Special interest ramble time!

All true tea originates from a plant species called Camellia sinensis. The leaves are processed in different ways to produce green, black, white, oolong, and pu-erh.

Fully oxidizing the leaves produces black tea, while green is heated promptly after harvest to prevent oxidation. Oolongs cover a range of partial oxidations, with some nearing green and others venturing closer to black. White is harvested early, non-oxidized, and minimally processed. Pu-erh is a thoroughly aged and fermented variant shipped in blocks or cakes. Matcha is a subcategory of green, consumed as a blended-in powder instead of steeped full leaves.

I know all this, but I will use “tea” to refer to both “tisanes” (herbal infusions such as chamomile, mint, turmeric, et cetera) and “true teas” because that’s how most people use the term and it’ll make my life easier.

Alright. Now that’s that out of the way…

Why tea? Why not coffee?

I’m not here to dunk on coffee. I respect that coffee brings people joy and that friends of mine imbibe pots of the stuff in the morning. I can even appreciate coffee myself. On rare occasions. In moderate doses. As long as the flavor is softened and obscured by milk or chocolate. But if I drink it in excess, I’ll bounce off the walls like a squirrel that’s been given a can of Monster, and then I’ll feel sick.

Tea is (usually) milder, both in flavor and caffeine content. It (usually) won’t give me heart palpitations. I shouldn’t steep, drink, and re-steep a three-cup pot of black tea within the span of a morning, but I can sip a pot of oolong over the course of a day, or one mug’s worth of tea in a sitting. Herbals? Perfectly safe to drink by the pot, at all hours of the day and night. I still prefer milk in the stronger blacks and spiced blends, but classic greens, fresh mints, and subtly complex oolongs do fine without. So that’s one reason. I handle tea better, physically and taste-wise.

I also love the idea and the ritual of tea as much as tea itself.

I’ve been a tea drinker for years, but until last year, I mostly bought bags to chuck in a mug. Tea bags are convenient, and they do offer a wide spectrum of quality. Grocery store ones are cheap and readily available. Higher-end ones can hold quality leaf. It helps, of course, when the office provides free tea bags as well. (I still use those.)

I did enjoy looseleaf chai when I was younger, but it ran out, and something about the process of preparing it in my clunky plastic infuser didn’t compel me to get more. I was also gifted looseleaf samples, and a roommate left me some old black and rose teas. The samples were good, but in short supply. The black tea was good too, though strong enough to merit moderation. The rose was… not my cup of tea, possibly because it didn’t age well. My looseleaf consumption remained sporadic. The black and rose teas sat in my pantry, growing older, and older, and older…

Still, I remembered how much I liked that chai, and in the back of my mind, I felt drawn to the notion of cups steeped with care and served with elegance, of serene moments cherished, and of pots split between host and visitor. Then one of my friends and I chatted about looseleaf, which inspired me to give it another try.

As it happens, I had an excellent looseleaf tea shop within reach. I perused the wares they listed online, ventured into the shop, and bought this:

A tea pot and two tea cups, made of borosilicate glass.

And some looseleaf teas. Primarily tisanes, because I knew how I could get with caffeine, but I got a classic green too. Over the course of the next months, I would try jasmine pearls, chais and other spice blends, whites, oolongs, and assorted herbal options. I would systematically steep and sample these teas and make notes in a journal like a mad tea scientist. But it all started with this tea pot and a few teas.

Back to the tea pot. Different tea pot materials have different advantages. Clay tea pots can absorb the flavors of a particular tea and lend that flavor to future cups. Many like ceramic, with good reason: it insulates well while the tea steeps and is fairly easy to clean. Borosilicate glass does not insulate quite as well as ceramic, but it is resilient to extreme temperature changes, phenomenally easy to clean, and very, very pretty.

Pretty was important. For me, anyway. As I said, the idea of the tea-steeping and the ritual had caught my interest as much as the actual tea-drinking, and if I was going to bring something new into my apartment, something that I would use regularly, I wanted it to be nice. This tea pot looked elegant and cute. I liked its squat, round shape and the fact that I would be able to see the infusion’s color.

I did take practical considerations into account. This tea pot is easy to use and clean, and I needed that convenience. I am a busy person, you see. (Although perhaps that’s not remarkable. So many people are so busy.) I also wanted a tea pot big enough to share with a friend, but compact enough that it could fit comfortably in my living space and serve me alone when I wanted it to. A 700ml capacity, or almost 3 cups, was the right size for that.

Even so, aesthetic was a deciding factor. Pretty might not be important for you, and that’s valid, but for me…

I have derived endless enjoyment and entertainment watching water turn different shades: translucent rose gold, caramel, reddish brown, green-tinted, pale like white wine, blue, ruby red. Crinkled balls and twisted strands of leaves unfurling in the basket. Milk billowing through dark umber and turning it a thick, creamy tan.

I had a procedure for trying new teas. After steeping, I would set the tea basket aside and pour a serving into one of the glass cups. I could feel the heat beneath my fingers. Once I could lift the glass, I knew the tea was cool enough to drink–just barely. I’d sip the tea, and I’d make notes about its smell, its coloration, its flavor, how it was with milk and without (if it seemed that milk could suit it), and how well it re-steeped. I learned the hard way not to over-steep a green. This led to me investing in a thermometer.

Most of the teas I tried from the tea shop were delicious. China Green Jade was a classic green, grassy and bracing. Woolly mint offered a pleasant, mild taste and a full mouth-feel. Chai cascarilla, a cacao-dominant blend, delighted me when served with milk. Hong Shui oolong was dark and toasty, while Hairy Crab oolong had a more leafy, complex flavor. Even the ones I didn’t like (licorice my beloathed) seemed like they’d appeal to someone else.

Tea wasn’t just something I drank anymore. I took time to really focus on it and enjoy it, both for its taste and its aesthetic. This was a hobby–and still is!

I’ve calmed down about it, but I still prepare and drink it regularly. I have also enjoyed sharing tea with friends and learning about their tastes. It’s a small, lovely thing I can give myself and share with others.

Pleasant pasttime, delicious beverage, highly recommend trying it if you’re so inclined. That is all.