Skip to main content

Treating Tea

The collection of teas in my kitchen are primarily from India not counting the Iranian rose tea, yerba mate and such. We gave first and second flush single-estate Darjeeling teas, several varieties of Assam and Nilgiri. The tea bags I have left are from J's high school years, she kept that drawer stocked and was the primary consumer of it. For me, loose leaf tea is the only way to drink tea, always has been, After a successful run with ordering Jasmin Dragon Pearl tea directly from China, I tried with Da Hong Pao this time. At the time of ordering, I did not know much about the tea expect that it was a nice oolong. It was delivered well before the estimated date and on a Saturday afternoon. Now that the tea was on hand, I spent time reading about it and the proper way to brew it. Turned out to be a great learning experience. 

Based on the price of the tea, I likely got the commodity Da Hang Pao - the stuff made for regular tea drinkers. The results of the first steep were excellent - this is nothing like any oolong tea I have tasted before. The smoothness and aroma are remarkably different compared to my baseline of oolong. It is great that the tea has so many benefits too. Whenever I drink an interesting tea I did not know about growing up in India, my thoughts always turn to my parents who introduced me to tea. In their case, it was typically Darjeeling teas. They trusted a specific tea-seller to make them a blend they would like. Friends and family would sometimes bring nice Darjeeling teas when they were visiting - in lieu of the mishti that is customary for the guest to bring to the host in Bengali culture.

They knew that the gift of tea would be appreciated a lot more. My mother was very scrupulous about keeping the flavor of the tea intact. Only small portions of it would be placed in the container she used regularly but the rest would be packed tight with layers of paper and silver foil secured in place with rubber-bands. This was the "for later" tea that lived in the pantry. Though I played no part in any of this except drink the tea once it was prepared, the attention to detail in storing the tea and preparing it stayed with me. If we were visiting someone and the ladies went to the kitchen to chat, I was usually there with them. I could see my mother cringe, if the woman in charge there did not steep her tea right. She would talk about how that person destroyed a fine tea by not treating it right. Might as well had not bothered at all and made a chai with the cheap CTC tea and be done with it. Atleast it would an honest beverage serving its intended purpose. Some might call my mother a tea-snob but that's probably not right - she just wanted to do right by the tea, make it shine.

While all this chatter was about tea, I took away a slight different lesson that has served me well in life - one of treating what is in front of you in the manner it is meant to be treated. Only then can you evaluate if that thing can and is indeed serving the purpose it supposed to. It could a fine tea but it could be an gardening implement or piece of software - it does not matter what the thing is, the true generally applies. 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Cheese Making

I never fail to remind J that there is a time and place for everything. It is possibly the line she will remember me by when I am dead and gone given how frequently she hears it. Instead of having her breakfast she will break into a song and dance number from High School Musical well past eight on Monday morning. She will insist that I watch and applaud the performance instead of screaming at her to finish her milk and cereal. Her sense of occasion is seriously lacking but then so is mine. Consider for example, a person walks into the grocery store with the express purpose of buying detergent because they are fresh out of it and laundry is only half way done. However instead of heading straight for detergent, they wander over to the natural foods aisle and go berserk upon finding goat milk on sale for a dollar a gallon. They at once proceed to stock pile so they can turn it to huge quantities home-made feta cheese. That person would be me. It would not concern me in the least that I ha...

Part Liberated Woman

An expat desi friend and I were discussing what it means to return to India when you have cobbled together a life in a foreign country no matter how flawed and imperfect. We have both spent over a decade outside India and have kids who were born abroad and have spent very little time back home. Returning "home" is something a lot of new immigrants like L and myself think about. We want very much for that to be an option because a full assimilation into our country of domicile is likely never going to happen. L has visited India more often than I have and has a much better pulse on what's going on there. For me the strongest drag force working against my desire to return home is my experience of life as a woman in India. I neither want to live that suffocatingly sheltered existence myself nor subject J to it. The freedom, independence and safety I have had in here in suburban America was not even something I knew I could expect to have in India. I never knew what it felt t...

Under Advisement

Recently a desi dude who is more acquaintance less friend called to check in on me. Those who have read this blog before might know that such calls tend to make me anxious. Depending on how far back we go, there are sets of FAQs that I brace myself to answer. The trick is to be sufficiently evasive without being downright offensive - a fine balancing act given the provocative nature of questions involved. I look at these calls as opportunities for building patience and tolerance both of which I seriously lack. Basically, they are very desirous of finding out how I am doing in my personal and professional life to be sure that they have me correctly categorized and filed for future reference. The major buckets appear to be loser, struggling, average, arrived, superstar and uncategorizable. My goal needless to say, is to be in the last bucket - the unknown, unquantifiable and therefore uninteresting entity. Their aim is to pull me into something more tangible. So anyways, the dude in ques...