countessian

i’ve got a green japanese teapot

Everyone here thinks tea is the archetypal Brit-girl drink, but I never really drank it ’til I hit SoCal. Perhaps I was too young back home; maybe it’s age that gives me the patience to boil water and steep leaves. I couldn’t've sat still enough in London.

I was 21 when I left, and lived on smoothies. Since then, life slipped tea-wards. Between Russian classes sitting in the kitchen gossiping bilingually, (smart-girl-pretending-to-be-a) party-girl-detox frenzies in the early hours, health-conscious coffee-quitting coworkers mid afternoon and the near-constant sore throats caused by sleep deprivation and daily use of public transport, tea has become a staple.

I finally understand the theory that putting the kettle on is the answer to everything, or at least what you do while you’re waiting to come up with the answer to everything. It’s deliberately inefficient. It’s how you welcome someone in to your home, because once you’ve got the water going you might as well sit down for a bit. Tea’s like speed bumps — slow down or else.

PS — The subject line’s not just an adjusted Raconteurs lyric. I really do have a green Japanese teapot. Making tea with it feels magical. (Drinking whiskey from the little bowl cups feels sacrilegious, but that’s not entirely a bad thing.)

Related posts:

• smoke vs the green wall
• subjective magic

This entry was posted on Monday, April 7th, 2008 at 2:05 pm. It is filed under documentary. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.