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My parents are big tea drinkers. Like me, they are British so it’s pretty much hard-wired into their DNA.
Tea-making facilities have a permanent place in their kitchen: kettle, tea pot and cosy, fridge below for milk and canisters alongside for tea. Beside them a row of mugs in age order right to left. When finished, you put your mug back in position ready for the next brew. If a mistake is made you can often identify the owner by the style of mug or the colour of the dregs in the bottom like a Pantone chart of taupey-brown.
When I was little, we used leaves. Then tea bags took over just as they took over shelf-space in the supermarket reducing leaves to a couple of out-of-reach boxes up high. Only now are leaves fighting back since they aren’t wrapped in plastic and thus environmentally friendly and perfect for home composting.
Tea has to be made properly (Americans, I am looking at you). Water must be freshly drawn and when boiled poured immediately onto the leaves. Re-using water is an offence as bad as leaving the bag on the side. Milk is optional, although the British believe putting the milk in first is a working class thing whereas it was started by Queen Adelaide who disliked the cracks caused by boiling hot liquid meeting her fine bone-china cups.
The British need for tea and sugar fuelled the empire and slave trade, not our finest hours. Even now with the shadow of Brexshit looming over us most Brits will be stockpiling tea, sugar and wondering where…
