There are a million blogs out there about coffee, and millions of bloggers paying homage to it, describing their love for it, discussing different delectable ways to doctor it, sharing their feelings when the first sip of steaming warmth passes their lips.
I am not one of them.
I know. It’s crazy, right? I must be the only (or at least one of the only) person in the whole -osphere that could care less. I don’t think it smells good, or looks nice (no matter what you dump in it), and I can taste it in anything you try to hide it in (I don’t know who they think they’re fooling with “mocha” ice cream; anyone who drinks coffee all the time only tastes chocolate, and anyone who doesn’t has to spit it out because of the disgusting coffee taste).
My mother loves coffee. She loves to try new interesting different kinds, and the harshest thing I’ve ever heard her utter about one of these new adventures is “I don’t think I’ll try that kind again.” She’s one of those people who savors her coffee to its last drop, even going so far as to reheat a cup several times, until it’s hot enough to enjoy again, which sometimes leads to finding a freezing cup in the microwave hours later. My brothers and I used to (and still do) tease her about this, and about the fact that she had to have her coffee so much that even when we did find it hiding in the microwave she’d just push the button to warm it up again. She never wavered. She just informed us that when we were mature enough, we’d like coffee too. We scoffed and swore it would never be so.
The years have gone by and both my brothers enjoy a cup of coffee in the mornings (one adds as much sugar and cream as coffee to the mixture, but there is coffee in it, so it still counts). I still dislike coffee as much as ever. I have, however, gained that level of maturity that sends me to the cupboard looking for something warm to drink. The cupboard in question contains tea.
I discovered chai in high school. I would stop by a local coffee place on the way to my 7 AM Calculus class, and it’s the only time I’ve ever had the fun of being an actual “regular.” I would walk in, and the barista would see me and say, “large chai, right? Skim milk?”
Tea is really a cold weather thing for me. I don’t drink it in the summer, because there’s really no reason to warm up. I’ve followed in my mother’s footsteps in a least one way: by trying tons of different kinds of tea. My tea cabinet contains every kind you could ask for: black, green, red (rooibus), herbal, whatever you like. Some I’ve purchased at the grocery store, and others (more expensively) loose-leaf at specialty tea shops (like The Tea Smith in Omaha).
Last week I had a visit from my wonderful aunt who shares my love of tea, and she encouraged me to put a gorgeous tea set that I’ve had on a shelf for years to actual use. We sat down and had a pot of Finest Lady Grey. It was delicious. I had just recently run out of Tazo chai, and was lamenting the fact that all I had in was some weird off brand chai that wasn’t very good. My previous routine was to heat the water and brew a single cup of tea in the mug I meant to drink it in. But since her visit, I’ve gotten out several of the loose-leaf teas that were sitting in the back of the cupboard and brewed them in the teapot (even a lemon grass chai that I wasn’t too sure would be good but it turned out to be awesome). It’s nice, because if I want some more, it’s all brewed up and ready for me when I’m finished with the first cup. I don’t feel like I’m wasting the tea anymore, since I can brew several cups at a time before tossing out the used leaves, and if there’s any left I can keep it in the refrigerator to reheat later.
I might not be mature enough to enjoy coffee, but I’m at least old enough that I can enjoy tea in the same sort of way. Because I definitely forget about it in the microwave for hours.
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