Being the Anglophile listers that many of you are, I felt sure that you would
be interested in reading the following:
Tea is a national obsession. Everybody I know drinks it. Everybody loves it.
The average Brit gets through four to eight cups a day. According to Boy
George, it is better than sex, but I'm sure you'll agree that's pushing it a
bit far.
Whatever the occasion, for a celebration or as a consolation, tea is always
"just the thing". You've just got a promotion? Hurrah, let's get out the bone
china. Your company's gone bankrupt, the Inland Revenue are investigating
your tax affairs, the bank wants to take your house and your daughter's
decided to become a lap dancer? Well, a nice cup of tea should take your mind
off it...
It has represented Britishness for what seems like forever. Even the
Americans recognised its symbolic value when they decided to try and turn
Boston Harbour into the world's largest urn. By destroying tea, they were
destroying that which we all hold dear. To get even close to that level of
offence, we would have had to draw a silly moustache on Mount Rushmore and
invaded Walt Disney World with giant rat traps.
I wouldn't mind having a cup of tea now and again, but so many rituals
surround the process of brewing a cuppa. It is a serious business. Disciples
of the different methods are almost fanatical about it. Wars have started for
less. As long as hostilities could stop for a tea break at regular intervals.
The opposing sides all start off by agreeing on one point, however. They all
begin by warming the teapot. That is considered essential, though as the pot
will surely be warmed pretty quickly when a kettleful of boiling hot water
cascades into it, I cannot really see the benefit. It's a bit like giving a
frozen turkey a quick slap to put some colour in its cheeks before putting it
into the oven.
After this, the trouble starts. Leaves or bags? As someone who still has
nightmares about spitting out tea leaves for weeks after a cup of my granny's
industrial-strength paint-stripping concoction, I have great sympathy for
anyone who prefers tea bags.
I do have compassion, though, for people whose livelihood has been affected
by the relentless commercial success of the merciless tea bag conglomerates.
A number of professionals have been made jobless by our national conversion
to tea bags. Just think of all those unemployed tea strainer manufacturers.
And, most tragically of all, the millions of jobless fortune tellers. My
heart goes out to them. They are simply victims of fashion.
But the tea leaf vs. tea bag debate dwindles into insignificance before the
next, and most controversial step in the brewing process. Most tea
afficionados agree that milk is essential to the making of a good cup of tea,
though I side with P. J. O'Rourke in the BA adverts when he questions the
logic of "taking a refreshing Oriental herbal infusion and putting cow juice
in it". Real tea fans detest those who do not take milk, preferring, perhaps,
a nice slice of lemon. None of that arty-farty stuff here. All camps are
agreed on that. The conflict arises, however, when we come to the timing. Do
we add the tea to the milk, or the milk to the tea? Is there really a
difference?
The mind boggles but this stuff is taken very seriously, and in a way, so it
should. Tea has always been an important part of British life, and the ritual
element of the brewing process has added to teatime's status as a lynch-pin
family event. The more care and effort taken in the process, the more
important the gathering becomes. No wonder we offer a cup of tea in all
circumstances - it is a gesture of solidarity, friendship and togetherness. A
cuppa has been part of the glue that has kept the fabric of Great Britain
together over the years.
You don't get that in Starbucks.
Léon
Triumph Sports Six Club
International Liaison Secretary
1963 Triumph Vitesse 2-Litre Convertible
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