A guide for an age when a cup of tea is anything but a cup of tea
The modern man is condemned to consume astonishingly numerous varieties of hot and sweet liquids, all masquerading as tea. That’s because it is often socially awkward, if not downright impolite, to decline such offers. I don’t know about others but once I partake of some such atrocity passing for tea, I need to drink a proper cup of tea before I can again convince myself that God’s in his heaven and all’s right with the world. Tea-making as an art is on life-support, if not already dead; and something clearly needs to be done about it. For what it’s worth, I have decided to share the recipe for tea that I have always found quite satisfactory.
George Orwell, in a classic essay written three scores and ten years ago, had famously undertaken a similar exercise. Now, anyone having the audacity to write on a subject already touched by the great Orwell must have a convincing excuse to do so. I offer not one, but two. Firstly, it would be safe to assume that the majority of today’s tea-makers have not read Orwell (which is a shame for reasons other than merely the tea-related ones). Secondly, some of the things in Orwell’s masterpiece – he talks about cauldrons, urns, and tea-leaves – may be outdated for the age of the tea-bag and the electric kettle.
By tea of course I mean regular, black tea. Where green tea and the like give great pleasure occasionally, the good-old black tea is a way of life. (To doodh-pati lovers I humbly submit that by no stretch of imagination can it be referred to as tea.)
Like all finer things of life, a perfect cup of tea is much more than merely the sum of its ingredients – much less, if done wrong. Correct proportioning of ingredients is the key, of course, but order of introduction of each is equally important. Some people throw in the teabag, sugar and milk; pour hot water on the unholy mixture; and insist on referring to the resulting abomination as tea. The correct sequence: The tea-bag goes in first, boiling water goes in next, and the tea-bag is bounced a few times. Sugar is now added, and the mixture is stirred. The cup is then covered for the all-important thirty-second dum. The stirring and the dum are grossly under-rated by the bulk of tea-drinkers, with very unfortunate, if unsurprising, results. Finally, milk is added. Disposing the tea-bag off at this stage ensures uniform taste as you sip along.
As long as the flavor and the aroma of tea dominate everything else (a cardinal rule), the quantities of milk and sugar are to an extent a matter of individual taste. Too much milk or sugar will ruin the strength of the blend. One-half or one teaspoon of milk is usually enough. Powdered tea-whiteners usually have a pronounced taste and/or smell, and are therefore not recommended. Many ladies are fond of warning the young ones that they will only drink strong tea at the detriment of their fair complexion. Their good intentions notwithstanding, this is obviously rather charming nonsense.
As for the cup/mug debate, that’s a matter of personal preference, really. A cup gives perfect measure for just the right quantity of water for a tea-bag, but the flip side is that the tea cools down faster in it. The smaller mugs hold only slightly more than a cup, but if it’s one of the bigger mugs, it is difficult not to pour too much water, resulting in a weak blend. The cup comes with its own saucer too, which comes in handy for the dum. Personally, I prefer the cup – but not for utilitarian considerations. Here we cross-over to the wider overall tea experience: Tea drinking is one of those things where I feel form matters. The saucer and cup lend the necessary solemnity to the act. Once you take tea-drinking to be a casual act, only God knows what you will do next: start dipping cookies in the tea, for example!
Tea has to be taken hot. This leaves you about three minutes to start once it’s ready. If this window is missed, throw it away and make a fresh cup. Microwaving it is a definite no-no.
It’s true that a sip is all one needs to know whether a given brown liquid is tea or something else; in fact the aroma precedes even the first sip. For the benefit of the novice however, let me finish with a litmus test to ascertain whether or not the liquid qualifies as tea. If the after-taste in your mouth is that of milk, biscuits, or – heaven-forbid – sugar, you’re doing it all wrong.
