I love tea. In fact, I’m indulging in an artfully made cuppa as I write this. I’ve been called a tea freak, a tea snob, tea-obsessed, and a tea addict, but there are points on that list with which I take issue. My relationship with tea is not one of addiction or obsession, but rather of appreciation and indulgence.
I do not need a cup of tea to get out of bed, nor does my well-being depend on having my daily fix. I normally enjoy a few cups each week, but I have had entire months without a single drop. Last Spring, it became a communal habit for me to enjoy at least a cup or two every day, but that was because of my rigidly structured schedule and close interaction with other tea lovers. These days, the onus of tea making falls entirely to me, so I’ve had to approach it differently.
I tend to take things seriously. Any time I make a purchase, I aim to acquire the absolute best quality I can afford. This goes for computers, socks, milk, books, and beverages. I use an Apple MacBook Pro because I consider it to be the best laptop available. I buy my school books as close to new as possible because I don’t bend pages, so I don’t see why I should have to deal with pages that others have bent.
In this vein, I purchase only the highest quality loose leaf teas, and I’ve indulged in a crimson electric kettle and a cast iron tetsubin teapot. These things have combined to bring people to call me a tea snob. All right, so I am a snob. I’m okay with that because it implies that I hold high standards. It is precisely these high standards that bring me to enjoy tea as much as I do. Further, it is this level of enjoyment that brings others to assume my addiction. I can’t quite blame them for this conclusion, especially in light of a recent conversation with my supervisor.
“I have to be in a special kind of mood to enjoy Earl Grey. Like, if there’s nothing else available.” Adam likes to make snide comments like that.
“Earl Grey puts me in a special kind of mood,” I retorted. “Like, the kind of mood where all I want to do is squeeze puppies.” Yes, I clearly said that for comedic effect, but it didn’t exactly stop my coworkers from thinking I’m addicted to tea.
My point is that I enjoy tea–and even coffee, for that matter–as an indulgence. I love the method behind it. I boil the water, let it cool to about 195°F, pour it over the leaves, and let it all steep in my tetsubin for a precise measure of time. The care and precision that goes into the preparation accounts for very nearly half of the satisfaction in each sip. In fact, it is just this intentional mindset that is responsible for my enjoyment of knitting.
I realize that I’ve just made myself sound like a 65-year-old woman, but I’m not interested in dealing with cultural stigmas and stereotypes right now. I am only trying to explain the difference between an addiction and an indulgence. Oh heavens, my friends will just have to learn to love me for the tea-based joy I bring to their mugs.