After last week’s post on the marketing synergy of a local pot purveyor, I’m sure that random visitors to my little blog will be disappointed to learn that my drug of choice is Camellia sinensis, otherwise known as tea. I’m probably one of the few strictly tea-drinkers in the coffee-crazed Seattle metro area.
Over the years I’ve become rather particular about the kind of tea I drink: Black, strong, caffeinated, and unadulterated. My mother will ask when I steep tea for longer than two minutes, “Are you going to drink that tea anytime soon?” Julian will observe jokingly that the mug is disintegrating because the tea is so strong. (This from a man who drinks coffee so strong it will grow hair on the palms of one’s hands. More on his caffeine proclivities later.) I rarely drink green tea, although I will occasionally drink oolong. I don’t care for sweetened drinks, especially tea. I usually buy Typhoo, Yorkshire Gold, or similar British teas at the Perennial Tea Room in Pike Place Market.
As doctrinaire as I am with hot tea, I am even more opinionated about iced tea. I lived in North Carolina for several years, where if you ask for iced tea, you’ll get it so sweet that your dentist will be able to send all of his or her kids to Harvard on your bills. I felt as if I was fighting a losing battle with my students and colleagues when they’d have the sweet swill at department potlucks. Here in Seattle, some restaurants serve only tutti-frutti flavored iced teas. “It’s only slightly sweet,” the waitstaff will croon in an attempt to make the sale. Mango and passionfruit are best in a fruit bowl, not in my glass.
And when it comes to herbal tea: FEH! I’ll drink mint tea under certain conditions, but most herbal teas just taste like boiled lawnmower clippings.
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