TEA AND ME

Have you noticed that in British mysteries, whether in book form or on TV, tea is the universal comforter?  A nice "cuppa" will take care of nearly everything. 

And so it does for me.  

Because I grew up with Scottish immigrant parents, tea was a constant in my childhood home.  I don’t remember how old I was when I was first permitted to indulge, but I do remember that by the time I was ten or so, I was the one who would get up on Saturday mornings to put on the kettle.  

I would make a pot of tea – loose tea, of course, and after the tea had infused, I would pour the liquid through a strainer into a cup for each of my parents, who would sit up in bed to enjoy this service.  Let me hasten to add that I poured the tea into actual teacups. With saucers. Not the mugs that they, and I, later favored.  

 

                               

After serving my parents, I would pour a cup for myself, load it up with milk and sugar, and carry it into my room, where I would get back into bed with my tea and a book.  (The other constant in my young life.) 

In later years, my folks switched to tea bags, but those early days of preparing loose tea are etched in my memory.  And I can still see myself sitting up in bed, cup of tea in hand, happily reading Anne of Green Gables—with no electronics to spoil the pleasure of the moment. 

I have said that ours was a tea-drinking household, but my mother did keep a jar of instant coffee in the fridge, from which she would occasionally spoon out enough "coffee" (who knows what was in that stuff) to prepare herself a mid-morning cup.  My father, on the other hand, was a purist – I never saw coffee pass his lips.  On the rare occasions when we would go to a restaurant, he would send his tea back if the water wasn’t sufficiently hot, insisting that tea required boiling water in order to properly infuse.  And on very hot days, he would drink very hot tea, insisting it was the best way to cool down.  (No, I don't get it either.) 

For many years, I continued to desecrate my tea with milk and sugar, but sometime in my twenties, I gave up the additives and began to drink it black.  Over time,  I, of necessity, made other adjustments.  In my youth, I could drink tea until bedtime with no adverse effects.  I was maybe in my forties when I had to stop drinking tea after noon if I wanted to sleep at night.   And, eventually, I had to give up caffeine altogether in order to avoid tossing and turning away my nights.  

I wasn’t about to give up my tea, though.  I simply switched to decaf black.  (Here is a tip for the unwary – most restaurants do not carry decaf black tea, so bring along your own tea bags.  I don’t know about you, but herbal tea doesn’t cut it for me when I am wanting my cuppa.)**

Through all these changes, I never strayed.  Never had a fling with coffee.  Oh, sure, I tried it once or twice – didn’t like it and it tore up my stomach.   I do, however, love the smell of brewing coffee, so it is a bonus to have a husband who prepares a pot each morning. 

And here is another happy thing.  Most of my close friends are tea drinkers.  Is this a coincidence?  Americans drink three times as much coffee as tea—I looked it up.  How fortunate am I to have found my tribe?  Even those of my friends who are coffee drinkers will enjoy the occasional cup of tea with me.   Indeed, for my last decade birthday, I gave myself a tea party, and, to my knowledge, no one snuck in a flask of coffee – or whisky.

So, like the denizens of those British mysteries, I expect it will always be tea for me.  Tea with friends.  Tea for comfort.  Tea for warmth. Tea for its own sake.  

And you, dear reader, what is it that you have brought along from childhood to bring you comfort?

                                Photo by 童 彤 on Unsplash

**Another pet tea-drinker peeve:  Hotel and motel coffee machines where the tea water runs through the same hose as the coffee.  The only thing worse than coffee is tea that tastes like coffee.