Tea is the only friend you can trust

By Tom Browne

Is there anything more cliched than an English writer extolling the virtues of tea? Probably not. But I have to confess, I can’t stay away from the subject.

Tea has been my constant companion ever since I was a toddler (when I favoured a very milky blend). Throughout my whole life, whether I’ve been happy or sad, busy or lazy, home or abroad, a mug of tea has been at my side. It’s like a constant soundtrack, the beverage equivalent of The Beatles. It’s bloody lovely.

So, at a time when coffee is threatening to challenge tea’s status as the nation’s favourite drink, we need to stand up for the humble cuppa.

Survival in the wild

Two not-very-interesting stories illustrate my commitment to tea.

The first was in New York about 15 years ago. It was my first visit to the Big Apple, and I was thrilled to be in such a vibrant and iconic city, particularly one that allows you to recreate movie scenes at will.

Alas, New Yorkers (and Americans in general) seem to have an unwarranted disdain for tea, for which I was foolishly unprepared. A cup of coffee? No problem at all. A cup of tea? Well, here’s some lukewarm water with a Lipton’s teabag on the side. After two weeks of this, I was really starting to panic.

Fortunately, a group of British ex-pats, anticipating my distress, had set up a delightful cafe across town called Tea & Sympathy. This not only offered a range of loose-leaf teas served in steaming pots, but also tasty accompaniments such as crumpets and toasted tea cakes. Somewhere in my archives, there’s a photo of me grasping an outsized pot as if my life depended on it, grinning with relief.

The second was an early work-experience stint on a slightly wacky New Age magazine (I can’t remember the name, and I’d be amazed if it was still going). Being the new boy in the office, my tasks involved opening letters (from assorted moon-calves), pulling together readers’ tips (how to make face balm from dandelions and nettles) and subbing short-form articles (‘Ten Tasty Thistle Recipes’ or suchlike).

After maybe five minutes of this backbreaking work, I went to the kitchen to make a cuppa. Slightly thrown by the lack of tea next to the kettle, I opened a nearby cupboard… only to be confronted by row upon row of herbal teas, stacked from floor to ceiling.

Given my mood, I’d have settled for a mug of PG Tips. But this was the last straw.

The alternative tea trap

Here’s a joke.

Why do anarchists drink herbal tea? Because all ‘proper tea’ is theft.

Admittedly, it works better when said out loud, but it does contain a central truth. We’re talking about PROPER TEA here, not the kind of rubbish that masquerades as tea these days.

I’m prepared to concede some ground on jasmine tea (happy memories of Chinese restaurants), but that’s about it. Green tea? A beverage that only appeals to health freaks and sadists. Fruit ‘infusions’? Can anyone tell the difference between those and warmed-up cordial? Camomile tea? Well thanks, Beatrix Potter, for popularising that tasteless nonsense.

Even iced tea leaves me cold (and not in a good way). Subtract the soothing heat from a nice cup of tea and what are you left with? Something pretty unimpressive, that’s what. When it comes to chilled options, I’m quite prepared to admit the superiority of coffee.

But if not these variants, which blends get my seal of approval?

Well, if I’m in a cafe that offers tea in a pot, I generally opt for Darjeeling. It’s a light and refreshing tea, although slightly on the weak side (give it time to draw). Assam is also a solid out-and-about option if you want something with a bit more punch, but be warned: it’s easy to end up with a stewed cuppa.

At home, however, I favour a blend of two teas that, in my opinion, work less well on their own: English Breakfast and Earl Grey.

The former seems to have bluffed its way into the nation’s affections despite being entirely undistinguished, while the latter is a tad overpowering in the bergamot department.

However, if you combine one bag of each in a pot, you instantly unlock the full-bodiness of EB with the flavour of EG. Serve with a splash of milk, et voila!: the perfect all-round blend, one that gets rave reviews from all my guests.

Ceylon works just as well as a substitute for English Breakfast in the above recipe. But if you can’t be bothered with all this faff, then my recommendation for a standalone brand is Twinings Everyday tea: a blend that suits nearly every occasion.

Getting your priorities straight

Of course, there’s no accounting for taste. Tea is a lifelong journey of discovery, so figure out what works for you and get brewing. But before you start, be aware of all the annoying rules that tea pedants will attempt to impress on you.

You know the kind of thing: warm the pot, put the milk in first, serve in china cups, etc. This is pointless, fussy ephemera, which distracts from the crucial issue of the tea itself. It’s even less interesting than that tedious debate about cream and jam on scones (or is it scoooones?).

And yes, I know George Orwell endorsed some of this crap, but he wasn’t right about everything.

Cream or jam on first? Forgive me if I don’t give a damn

Believe me, it’s nothing more than snobbery, an attempt to impose some kind of etiquette on an otherwise egalitarian drink. Before you know it, you’ll be serving tea with crustless cucumber sandwiches on stacked plates.

I’ve tried warming the pot, and it doesn’t make a blind bit of difference. Nor does putting the milk in first, or vice versa. If the milk and tea aren’t properly mixed, use a sodding teaspoon—the clue’s in the name. As for china cups, does anyone outside of a 1950s Ealing comedy still use those? I’ve probably got a set in the attic somewhere, but I’ve never had the nerve to inflict them on others.

Mugs not only hold more tea, but they come in all shapes and sizes, a colourful and varied record of places visited and gifts received. You can also enclose your hands around a mug, hug it close and keep warm. Who wants to swap that for some undersized trinket you’ll probably smash anyway?

Only pay attention to rules that actually improve the quality of the tea. A pot, I’m afraid, is necessary. The brewing process is essential to unlock the flavour, and a single bag hastily chucked into a mug just doesn’t cut it. Plus, you can get several refills from a pot, and who doesn’t want that?

I’m also persuaded that loose-leaf tea has advantages over teabags, but it’s ultimately a judgement call: how much time do you want to spend straining and disposing of tea leaves, in return for a minor improvement in flavour?

Then again, nothing worthwhile is ever easy. Given the lengths people go to for the perfect cup of coffee, we should be prepared to go the extra mile for tea as well. As Muriel Barbery put it, “When tea becomes ritual, it takes its place at the heart of our ability to see greatness in small things.”

Anyway, it’s four o’clock. Time to pop the kettle on.