Tea for two

Last week my old chum J turned up with some startling and extremely upsetting news. Twinings have stopped making Lapsang Souchong. What was even more astonishing was when I was relating this shocking tit bit to a younger friend, she said she hadn’t even heard of it. Never heard of it? What is this younger generation doing with their time?

Twinings have replaced it with something that comes in a similar coloured box, but its is now called ‘Distinctly smoky’ which sounds like something you would find on a pack of bacon. Indeed one disgruntled customer likened it to ‘fake bacon that you get in pizza’ which in itself gets me going as pineapple and sweetcorn are in my opinion bad enough, but fake bacon? Another comment was that it tasted like old cigarettes which again is enough to make us all run for the sick bucket. Then again people who I love dearly think Lapsang tastes like creosote, but personally I have always rather liked creeping up on wooden fences for a quick lick, and I find the whole smoky smell comforting and warm and it reminds me of my mum.

Tea has always been a huge part of my every day life, and mornings simply don’t feel right without a couple of mugs of Earl Grey, despite the fact that the last one invariably gets left somewhere ( in the garden, allotment, bathroom, in the car etc). I once drove the whole way to Greenwich with a cup of tea on the roof of my car. It was still there on arrival but disappointingly the tea was cold.

The only time I was unable to see the joys of tea was when I was pregnant. Each time the very thought of tea, teapots, tea bags would send me into a panicky sick frenzy. Even the smell sent me waddling from the kitchen. But each time, nine months later the first thing I would ask for after giving birth was a cup of tea.

There have also been some challenging tea encounters, firstly in Japan where traditional tea is nothing like tea as we know it, but is a green sort of frothy green spinach like substance that gets stuck in between your teeth, not helped by the fact that by the time you get round to actually drinking it you have been kneeling for hours, have lost any feeling below your waist, and have slightly lost the will to live.

The second incident was when a very well meaning student took me to a ‘ Olde English tea room’ which was rather ominously placed on the 19th floor of a large department store. The decor was what could be described as ‘Holly Hobby’ twee ( for those of you who remember this kitsch cutesy flowery 70’s look). Rather bizarrely (then again remember this was Japan, where bizarre has its own fabulous meaning) the waitresses were wearing Little Bo Peep outfits with large frilly bonnets and though there wouldn’t have been enough room you could imagine a couple of coiffured ( and dyed Barbie pink) sheep frolicking around the fake Baroque style tables and chairs. The food was predictably muffins ( which are on offer everywhere) and sandwiches made out of thickly sliced white bread that was so soft and chewy it dissolved in your mouth like a marshmallow.

And then of course the friendly muffin. I’m not sure I had ever eaten a muffin before I went to live in Japan, though all our friends there were convinced that all us Britishers ever did was munch on a buttered and toasted muffin to lift our spirits as yet another pea souper descended over London ( and yes, raining cats and dogs caused concern amongst many).

Anyway, my ‘Tea Royale’ was spectacular and very very wrong. It was made from hot milk which had had the tea bag dunked in it, and was served in a tall glass with whipped cream, grated chocolate and hundreds and thousands sprinkled on top. All these years later the very memory sends a shudder through me.

And the last and most memorable is Yak tea, a drink that is quite hard to describe on every level and I can’t quite imagine that we drank it several times, but we did. We were travelling through Tibet and it was often offered to us by our sweet and generous hosts who were simply the nicest people I have ever met. Think slightly rancid milk, slightly warmed, with a hint of stomach. Add a garnish of hair ( yak) and what seemed to be toenails, and there you have it.

And on that note it’s time to put the kettle on.