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If you're a regular reader of this tea blog, the past month's posts have taken you to Spain, Hawaii, Britain, and my grandparents' dining room table. Next up: Israel.
I spent several months living and traveling in Israel last year. and I came home hooked on Middle Eastern favorites like just-baked pita, falafel (deep-fried balls of mashed chickpeas, usually served
with hummus), and halvah (a melt-in-your-mouth sesame candy). But if there's one thing that can transport me to that foreign place in the blink of an eye, it's the tea that I drank almost daily: Rooibos with cinnamon and vanilla.
This tea blend is not a notably Israeli one, nor is it particularly popular (as far as I know). I saw it on a shelf, tried it, and got hooked. It's created a quirky memory highway which I consider wholly mine - there just can't be many other people who also happen to associate this unassuming tea with this ancient, beautiful, and long-disputed land.
When I small this tea, I instinctively breathe it in deeply, slowly. My shoulders relax. When I sip it, I smile. This tea is unhurried. It doesn't conjure up hammocks and palm trees specifically, but it clearly brings me to the mellow mindset of a lazy, blue-skied afternoon.
Israelis, if you're wondering, usually drink stronger stuff, like mud-thick Turkish coffee. And the tea drinkers are crazy about black tea with mint - which is available bagged, but is best if you grab a fresh "nana" (mint) sprig or two for your mug. (Now there's a delicious idea I'm suddenly itching to revisit...)
When I arrived in Israel, my carry-on contained a small bag of can't-travel-without-'em teas (my longtime favorites). When I left, it was with a soothing new go-to. This magical tea is every bit as sweet as the memories I made while I was away.
I really enjoy mornings like this. I'm having a cup of Easter weekend tea, Peach Tree Oolong, and thinking about some great Easter memories of old times that in so many ways I wish had never left.
When I was little, we would always head to Rosebud, Texas to my great grandmother's house for Easter. Rosebud is one of those simple, innocent southern towns where neighborhood kids are friends and there are no fences between properties. There are no curbs along the roads through the town, so the storm water flows to the road-side, dirt bottom swales like nothing I've seen except for in small towns in Europe. These swales have their own ecosystems of grasses and the source of lots of fun for my cousins and I, crawdads (crayfish if you're from Louisiana). When we had our fill of crawdad fishing, we would head down to the 5 and Dime to pick up a very deadly watergun and bag of water balloons to spend the rest of the day playing games around the huge Magnolia trees in the yard. Meanwhile, our great grandmother would cook up the crawdad tails or she would be busy making us some big glasses of Bluebell vanilla bean ice cream covered in Big Red cola.
On Easter morning, we would wake up to Easter baskets by our beds filled with candy eggs and on many occasions, an Easter pet of some kind like an albino bunny or a blue duck. With three brothers each getting bunnies, our house was filled with screaming and running around chasing our new pets. We would all get in our matching Sunday clothes and walk to church. After church, we would pose for photos in my great grandmother's backyard, hunt for Easter eggs through the iris beds, then play croquet across her always lush, thick bladed Saint Augustine lawn.
How can I compete with times like that for my kids?
*image by bbcgoodfood.com
Here in Southeastern Pennsylvania, the Philadelphia International Flower Show’s one of the big social events of the year and the largest harbinger of spring. This year’s theme was Hawaiian. Think leis, orchids, and hibiscus. Also think many judging categories and the crowds befitting the largest indoor exhibition in the world. So, when my husband and I discovered that the Pa Horticultural Society was offering a garden tea in a converted conference room away from the bustle of the crowds, we leaped.
Each tablecloth in our delightful improvised tea room was of a Hawaiian floral design and each was graced with an elegant large silver teapot in the shape of a watering can. As a matter of fact, the large teapot really did contain just water and we were offered a selection of bagged teas to steep in individual ceramic pots.
I first chose a black mango coconut which I sipped while eating crust-less tea sandwiches. We were served 5 varieties of those which included salmon with cream cheese, deviled ham, cucumber, watercress, and egg. My favorites were the cucumber and the salmon. My husband loved the deviled ham as did some of our table-mates. We were also treated to cheese, a strawberry garnish, and seedless grapes as well as a few yummy bites each from a pineapple upside down cake and of a tasty basic scone with the option of adding the classic accompaniments of cream and lemon curd.
While finishing up all my goodies, I drank a cup of mango passionflower herbal tea and combined it with some black tea. That was both to cut the tea’s sweetness and to get just a little more energy for round 2 in the Flower Show’s exhibit area. To keep my aloha spirit going, I’m planning lots of tea breaks with macadamia nut cookies and green mango tea.
One of the charms of tea drinking is the accessories, most common of which is the teacup. When we think of tea service we usually think of china or silver. Generally, when we use the term "china" in modern terms, we are referring to any type of ceramic dinnerware. As the name suggests, china was originally used to reference ceramics from China. The term has since broadened over the centuries.
Porcelain, however, has a specific definition and identifying criteria. Porcelain is delicate and should be translucent. If you hold porcelain up to the light, you should be able to pass your finger behind the piece and see your finger'shadow. The Chinese probably were the first creators of porcelain in the seventh century. The craft migrated to Korea and Japan, then when trade with Europe opened up, porcelain took hold in Europe around the twelfth century. The Europeans developed the art of decorated porcelain for food-service that we are now so familiar with.
Before you pour your next cup of tea, hold your teacup up to the light to see if your cup is porcelain, or a lovely ceramic.
One of my versions of heaven is a quiet room, homey, with an endless supply of books and an on-demand selection of perfectly-brewed teas. (Since it's heaven, I'll request some tasty snacks, too.) So anytime I happen upon a teahouse, I seriously consider moving in. I recently enjoyed an hour in just such an idyllic spot. 
The coffee houses I've experienced (yes, sometimes I do enjoy a cup of joe) can't hold a candle to tea houses. Step inside a tea room and you're met with an air of calm, because people aren't doing that grab-the-caff-and-go routine: they're sitting and chatting, sipping slowly, savoring. (But they're not holier-than-thou, so you can get a cup to go if you need to hit the road.) Plus, tea houses provide the utmost in personalized service. Select your tea from a list which might be several pages long - not from a "what we're brewing today" mini-list. It arrives at your table perfectly steeped, or accompanied by a tiny hourglass to tell you when it will be ready. These details never fail to make me feel special.
And what's on the shelves? (Of course there are shelves.) Quirky teapots, flowery cozies, gold-accented teacups, and other paraphernalia to allow you to savor at-home infusions with all your senses, like quilted coasters that emit sweet scents when placed under a warm mug. And then there are the canisters of aromatic teas and tisane selections, just waiting for you to select them.
Though I'm comfortably settled on my couch with a steaming mug of English Breakfast, a part of me is pining for a tea house right now. Somehow I don't think that just pulling out a little hourglass will do the trick.
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