Yesterday was winter all over again, today it’s gone. It is a fickle being, this weather. It’s not that cold either, which is nice in a way. No freezing is a good thing, nut it would be more cozy if it were colder. The bowl of tea steaming in the room, the atmospheric music of Magnolia Electric Company and just sitting there. Not doing much at all, reading a book (Contract), surfing photography sites.
I tried listening to Mingus earlier, but I couldn’t find the right album. That’s the problem, if you’re in the mood for some Mingus everything is good and if you want something a bit more specific you might be shit out of luck finding it — even though it is there, waiting to be found. Today it slipped me by.
Wish it could snow and that I had a lamp outside the window. Or some rain. Fuck yeah, rain on the roof. Give me that. It is necessary for this evening to be conducted in a proper way.
The tea infuser was emptied into the trash as I put the water on boil. Still, some leaves tried to stay behind, not wanting to let go. So I hosed it with cold water, of course, and that was the end of that.
But it was also the beginning of something else. There were some old tea left in the cup and this is where my mind does something stupid. It told my brain to put it under the stream of water. I could se it in slow-motion, or perhaps bullet time and I though “oh shit” as the water twisted and spun around in the cup. Then it leaped out and went inside the arm of my shirt. Possibly, it wanted to hide but all it did was make my arm soggy. I tried to dry it with a towel but you know how that works; it hardly makes any difference.
So now I sit here. Warm tea in a cup and a cold soggy arm.
Day spent with sneezing and bleeding nose. I’m trying to cure it by having some tea and listening to GZA and read books. It works. Sort of. Still sneeze. The bleeding has stopped though, but it might start again as the nose feels a bit odd.
Have tea and listen to GZA on the other hand, that works damn good together. Almost like they were made as pieces of the same puzzle. Perhaps not always the exact annexing bits but still part of the same whole.
Do you want to dildo your kettle? Personally, I can’t see what’s wrong with a normal kettle in clay. Making tea is supposed to be calming and something that requires attention. It’s the liquid version af a vinyl record if you like. Sure, it is possible to just put it on and then not be bothered but then much of the point disappears.
The cup you use to drink tea (and whisky) is important. They need to have the right feel. Sure, you can go ahead and drink the dub from a glass like normal people but where the feeling in that? And tea like that? Shit, don’t get me started on those cafés where they give you hot tea in tall glasses that’ll burn your fingers to crispy frensh fries — but less yellow and tasty. Just getting the tea from the counter to a table is problem.
No. Paper cups work better. Not all of it gets hot in an instant when you drink tea and whisky… Well, it’s fun to watch die-hard traditionalists cringe and almost break apart in front of your eyes.
These cups though, they’re the real deal. Proper workmanship, and clearly individual. Found a set of two for 10 SEK while thrifting — about $1 and a few cents — and the edge on both of them are clearly not the same. It’s a bit wobbly if you look closer and it has lots of small marks. They also feels damn good in the hand, which is the most important thing.
My quest for a good tea cup has ended. Now I just need top find a good pot.
While I do prefer loose tea to the bags, I have to admit they’re quite handy in some ways. Easier to carry along and it also serves as a way to remove eventual discomfort of getting condoms. Look at the wrapper. It’s like getting the same thing and no sane person is ashamed of getting tea — except for that Lipton crap, yeach. The one who came up with this ought to get the Nobel prize in something.
It can’t be a coincidence that there are a lot of sex metaphors in tea. (Dunk the bag (which you shouldn’t do), fill the pot, burn the hand, steaming cup of the fine stuff, pull out the bamboo whisk and give it a good stir. Endless possibilities.)
One can never have too many teapots. I believe we have discussed this before.
Oh, my, god. The Buddha Tree teapot! If someone gives that one to me, I’ll love that person till I die. Gender and possible necrophilia be damned.
For people who like design and tea, this is fucking porn.
Developing tea. All this snow and keeping warm by tea reminds me of Uppsala. I’m not an overtly nostalgic person, too much of the past is covered in a murky cloth sack of dread for that, but I do miss that sense of belonging. Sharing a pot of tea while sitting on the floor. The small things.
Source: Flickr / carboncopy
Okay, but what kind of tea? I am always looking for new ones to try out.
Right now, it’s a cocoa/whisky-blend that I don’t know what’s it called. And then I add a tiny amount of Lapsang in order to give it some smokiness. I’m one of those that prefer fruit and flower to be at a minimum in my tea. (Even though I cheat with the Earl Grey variants.)
Vitt te = Swedish for white tea.
Vitae = Latin for life.
The likeness of vitt te and vitae can not be a coincidence! Also, I accidentally forgot about the tea and had the infusor in the water for an hour or more… It’s a bit cold now.