I talk a lot about being fuelled by coffee but it’s a bit of a lie really. Coffee is my kickstart to the day. Before that morning shot of caffeine, I’m almost incapable of speech or pleasantness. If I don’t have my daily coffee, I get a stinking headache later in the day. But it doesn’t keep me going during the day, through the afternoon and into the evening. No. That job belongs to tea.
I still remember the best cup of tea of my life. It was in Sri Lanka. The late Mr Jacqui and I had scaled Sigiriya, an ancient fortress which sits atop a 180m high column of granite. Not only a famous historical and geological site, Sigiriya is also home to enormous hives of giant honeybees.
The day we visited something, or someone, disturbed the bees and they swarmed. A man screaming in total panic a ran towards us ‘Help. I’m allergic.’ We grabbed him and lay on top of him as thousands of angry bees buzzed all around us. None of us got stung, we were filthy though.
From Sigiriya we went straight to an immaculate white, and uncomfortably colonial, tea house. There, smelly, sweaty, and covered in dirt, I had my first ever taste of orange pekoe tea. This was not the dusty tea of a teabag. It was sweet and nutty and bloody delicious.
I’ve had thousands of cups of tea since that day. None have been as good.
My tea is not always tea. As I write this, I’m drinking a pomegranate tisane. It’s a deep russet with a tangy flavour that delights my taste buds. A couple of days ago, I mixed delicate pink rosebuds with a sprinkle of orange pekoe and enjoyed a lovely, perfumed light golden beverage. In summer, I like a gorgeous green tea with hints of strawberry, and in winter a heady, smoky Russian caravan or a lapsang souchong do the trick.
My writing critique group meets at my place at 3pm, once a fortnight. Our rule no cake--just tea. For these precious women, I have bought a bag of orange pekoe tea. Only the best for my writing champions!
So, while I can’t start the day without my morning coffee—it’s tea that fuels my writing.
Lovely [insert satisfied sigh here!].
I still remember the best cup of tea of my life. It was in Sri Lanka. The late Mr Jacqui and I had scaled Sigiriya, an ancient fortress which sits atop a 180m high column of granite. Not only a famous historical and geological site, Sigiriya is also home to enormous hives of giant honeybees.
The day we visited something, or someone, disturbed the bees and they swarmed. A man screaming in total panic a ran towards us ‘Help. I’m allergic.’ We grabbed him and lay on top of him as thousands of angry bees buzzed all around us. None of us got stung, we were filthy though.
From Sigiriya we went straight to an immaculate white, and uncomfortably colonial, tea house. There, smelly, sweaty, and covered in dirt, I had my first ever taste of orange pekoe tea. This was not the dusty tea of a teabag. It was sweet and nutty and bloody delicious.
I’ve had thousands of cups of tea since that day. None have been as good.
My tea is not always tea. As I write this, I’m drinking a pomegranate tisane. It’s a deep russet with a tangy flavour that delights my taste buds. A couple of days ago, I mixed delicate pink rosebuds with a sprinkle of orange pekoe and enjoyed a lovely, perfumed light golden beverage. In summer, I like a gorgeous green tea with hints of strawberry, and in winter a heady, smoky Russian caravan or a lapsang souchong do the trick.
My writing critique group meets at my place at 3pm, once a fortnight. Our rule no cake--just tea. For these precious women, I have bought a bag of orange pekoe tea. Only the best for my writing champions!
So, while I can’t start the day without my morning coffee—it’s tea that fuels my writing.
Lovely [insert satisfied sigh here!].
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