Tea Culture

Tea Canvas

June 8, 2018 By Allison

Sometimes I fantasize about being a cocktail maven. A dainty antique cabinet would hold my liqueurs and artisanal bitters. I would shake and stir highballs, sours, and eye-pleasing botanical libations. If you were a guest in my home, I’d serve you the perfect cocktail in the perfect cocktail glass.

Sadly, I am not that hostess. As much as I like the idea of cocktails, I usually find them to be too sweet, too expensive, and too alcohol-heavy. Although I do make the occasional Aperol Spritz, I am usually happiest serving and sipping rosé.

Since the arrival of hot weather, my impulse to decorate drinks has been strong. I accept that cocktails aren’t my thing, so I’ve turned to iced tea. I make a cold infusion with this iced tea blend from the Nilgiri region of India. My iced tea is smooth, crisp, and clear. It is a refreshing canvas for my summertime decorations—sweet mint, cucumber, Thai basil, blueberries, strawberries, lemons… These days, my iced teas are juicy and complex. My culinary imagination blossoms as I slice, infuse, and taste. My berry forward iced teas are buoyant and lush. Basil and lemon give the teas a bite. When I allow them to rest in the fridge for a few hours or even a few days, they develop depth.

Although I can’t garner much enthusiasm for Old Fashioneds or Mint Juleps, stunning teas and seasonal garnishes serve as my creative tools of experimentation. I brew, smell, sample, and tinker. Eventually, I achieve a drink that captures the moment–a modest, ephemeral taste of summer.

Inspirations

My Sparkling Apple Spice Tea Cocktail

Elmwood Inn Fine Teas’ Kentucky Tea Julep

The Tea Squirrel’s Summer Tea Mocktail

Tea Party with Littles

May 24, 2018 By Allison

It was their first tea party and my first time to host a tea party for toddlers. A year later, Nora and Sylvie still talk about the “lovely tea” and the “treats” we shared on Grandma’s patio. Here are my pointers for teatime with toddlers.

Philosophy
Keep it simple. Most toddlers will not appreciate elaborate, time-consuming pastries or sprawling tablescapes. Prepare everything in advance: tea, food, and activities. If possible, have the tea party outside, as the littles are sure to make a mess!

Teaware
Keep your grandmother’s fine china away from toddlers! I purchased sturdy, inexpensive, and mismatched cups and saucers from TJMaxx because I wanted the girls to experience afternoon tea. I served sweets and savories on small enamelware plates. The feeling was “grown up” for them and no stress for me.

Tea
I served Strawberry-Kiwi fruit tea, which is caffeine-free and naturally sweet. It is delicious warm, at room temperature, or iced, so it’s easy to make and set aside so you can keep an eye on the kids. I added about 2 teaspoons of honey to the 6-cup teapot.

Sweets and Savories
I served a few items I knew they’d be familiar with: apple slices and peanut butter and cheese and crackers. I also purchased a few pastries that would be new to them, in the hopes of expanding their gastronomic horizons. Mini petit fours and bite-sized lemon tartelettes from the local bakery were the perfect size for their little fingers.

Activities
I had some small coloring books, crayons, and stickers on hand. I also played a Disney playlist from Spotify. They sang, they danced, and their grandmother was surprised that they knew all the words to almost every song.

Takeaway
We had a ball! Sylive and Nora nibbled and gulped cup after cup of Strawberry-Kiwi tea. I didn’t worry too much about etiquette—I’m the fun aunt, after all! They occasionally left the table to collect acorns or crawl around on the patio. They were cute as buttons, and our next summer tea party is in the works.

Mrs. Kiersey’s Brown Bread

March 8, 2018 By Allison

I am several generations removed from Ireland, so I access my “Irishness” in oblique ways. Little bits come down through language—a sweet prayer to my guardian angel taught to me by my grandmother or my mother’s admonishment to stop screaming like a banshee. A few objects evoke Ireland for me—the delicate Belleek dish at my bedside, adorned in roses, shamrocks, and Irish heather. An understated Waterford bud vase that I pull out in the spring.

I believe that food also has the potential to connect me to my almost unreachable, virtually unknowable heritage. But how? My family’s “Irish” recipes have been liberally adapted to suit American tastes. In flipping through Irish cookbooks, I am delighted by the names of traditional dishes: Dublin Coddle, Barmbrack, Wicklow Pancake.

Yet I gravitate toward something more basic: Irish Brown Bread. My family doesn’t bake brown bread, so I have no family recipes to reference. A few years ago, I fell into an internet hole of brown bread recipes. Overwhelmed and confused, I abandoned my brown bread quest. But then I thought to pester my Irish friend and colleague. He is a real Irishman with a real Irish mum, and I suspected that she would have a tried and true brown bread recipe. My persistence paid off. When I finally got my hands on the recipe, I knew I had found “my” brown bread.

Over the last few months, I have been playing with this Irish recipe in my Kentucky kitchen. Mrs. Kiersey’s recipe for brown bread is quick and straightforward. Coarsely ground whole wheat flour is key, as it gives the desired texture and density to the loaf. Buttermilk gives it a nice bite. Baking soda does a lot of heavy lifting, so make sure yours is fresh! The resulting loaf is crusty and hearty. Serve it with salted butter or hard cheese. Enjoy at breakfast or for an afternoon snack with a bold, black tea.

Baking Irish Brown Bread has created a subtle, yet moving pathway between my foremothers and me. Were they Irish? Yes! Did they bake brown bread? They may have. I acknowledge that my new penchant for Irish Brown Bread is a tenuous connection to women whose names and stories I do not know. Nonetheless, the gesture of bread making allows me to imagine the invisible women of my distant, yet meaningful history.

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Luxurious Boredom

February 4, 2018 By Allison

Tea and citrus got me through my week with influenza. When I got sick, I immediately cut myself off from the world and settled in for a week of quiet recuperation. I didn’t have much of an appetite during my bout with the flu, but fluids perked me up. Warm lemon water with honey soothed my throat, sparkling water quenched my thirst, and hot tea gave me warmth and comfort.

Being sick and alone is boring. I hadn’t experienced boredom in years, and so it was odd to get reacquainted with this sensation that I knew so well as a child. I binge-watched The Crown—a welcome distraction. But my mind was too cloudy to read, my voice too shaky to call friends. I spent most of the week wrapped in blankets and scarves, sipping tea.

I’ve long understood that silence is productive, and I now see that boredom is too. Expansive, quiet minutes slid into hours and days. I stumbled upon empty corners of my mind that didn’t house thought. My internal chatter slowed, my anxious mind relaxed, and for a time, I stopped thinking. Spacious boredom replaced my drive to achieve.

The flu drained me, yet my week of isolation revived me. Tea and water were life-giving and clearing, and so too was boredom’s hollow loneliness.

Hygge for One

December 15, 2017 By Allison

Although there is much to be done in the coming days, I am taking a hygge day—choral Christmas music, ginger spice candle, fuzzy clothes, baking,and tea…

I realize that community is central to the Danish practice of hygge—coziness, togetherness, sharing, and reciprocity… board games, comfort food, and mulled wine…

Seeing that my near future holds an abundance of family time, I am content to build a solo hygge experience right now. Let’s hope that this cozy “me time” helps me to refrain from snapping at my family next week. (Who are we kidding? I will be short with them!)

Later today, I will prepare a savory pork roast. I will roast vegetables. I will sip lush red wine. I will listen to podcasts, and I will write in my journal. Maybe I will Netflix and chill.

But for now, I am indulging in freshly baked cookies: David Lebovitz’s Buckwheat Chocolate Chip Cookies. They’re earthy, sweet and robust. I pair them with an appropriately cold-weather tea—Nilgiri Frost Oolong. This rare tea—from India—develops its intense fruitiness during chilly winter months. Its assertiveness stands up to the chocolate, buckwheat and walnut. This cookie-tea pair is quintessential winter fare.

My solitary hygge day is not lonely—I deliver Buckwheat Chocolate Chip Cookies to a baker friend, I chat with my stylist about her holiday plans, and I text a sleepy friend in Europe. My hygge mindset weaves a web of meaningful togetherness that will gently carry me into the chaos of the coming weeks.

Inspirations

The New York Times on Hygge

The New Yorker on Hygge

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Rooibos Season

November 17, 2017 By Allison

My former student and friend Maggie Heine of Louisville, Kentucky kindly agreed to contribute to Creative Sanctuary this month. Her thoughtful piece celebrates autumn, rooibos, and wanderlust. Thank you, sweet Maggie!

If you ever find yourself in southernmost South Africa, pay attention to its strange, shrubby fields. You may happen to see an odd little plant with needle-like leaves, covered with tiny golden flowers. Aspalathus linearis. You won’t find this bush, somewhat unremarkable at first glance, growing anywhere else in the world—farmers ranging from China to the U.S. have tried to harvest it in their home countries and failed. That’s because of the wonderfully strange ecology of South Africa’s Cape region: our planet is composed of six floristic kingdoms, or geographic areas with relatively similar plant species. If you’re reading this, chances are that you’re in the gigantic Holarctic kingdom, which comprises the vast majority of North America, Europe, and Asia. The Cape kingdom, on the other hand, is miniscule, containing only the very southernmost tip of the African continent. Despite its small size, it’s extraordinarily rich, and the majority of plants that call this kingdom home can only be found in that dot on the tip of South Africa.

The entire area is beautiful beyond comprehension, nearly extraterrestrial with its mountains that jut up against the sea, its preponderance of baboons and ostriches, its wide blue skies that become enveloped in clouds in an instant. Now that fall has finally arrived, I find myself thinking about that remote speck and all of its ecological strangeness regularly. I’ve been to South Africa twice, once in the southern hemisphere’s winter, and once in its early spring. During these trips, about six weeks in total, I was rarely without a cup of tea clasped between my hands. This brings us back to Aspalathus linearis, or as it’s commonly known, rooibos. When its leaves are plucked, dried, and steeped, they create an infusion that’s smooth, nutty, and the slightest bit sweet. It’s sold en masse in South Africa like we sell our Lipton green tea—clearly, it’s nothing fancy, but it’s my constant companion when the weather turns chilly. I love the drink for its flavor, but it’s also more than that. For me, rooibos is the feeling of bundling up at daybreak to search for zebras and lions from an open-sided Jeep; it’s looking out over the expanse of the ocean from 4,000 feet up a mountainside; it’s falling asleep to the sound of rain on an old tin roof. It’s South Africa, in all its botanically bizarre wonder.

Shape

November 11, 2017 By Allison

Without darkness, nothing comes to birth.
As with light, nothing flowers.
-May Sarton

Early morning stillness… the Earth rests. I flutter in and out of a last dream. What time is it? Still dark.
I roll on my side. Push myself up. Feet dangle over the carpet. Gentle movements. Deep breath. My feet touch the floor. Warm socks, cozy wrap.

Time to shuffle downstairs. What shall I drink?

Cool water in the kettle. Tea tins in the cupboard.

Black tea? Yes.

How about a Ceylon? Smooth, elegant. Just right.

The water trembles. Shy light filters through the blinds. A couple of teaspoons of dry leaves slipped into the teapot. The water begins to bubble… Just a little longer.

Ritual gives shape to our days. I await the first sip, and the events of today take root in my mind’s eye. As the day unfolds, they will push through the surface. Now, though, I focus on the breath running through me.

Sparkling Apple Spice Tea Cocktail

November 2, 2017 By Allison

In 2010, while living in France, I hosted Thanksgiving for 24 American college students. Our “Franksgiving” celebration was boisterous and joyful. My students decorated my apartment with handmade construction paper leaves and turkeys. I cooked for days in the rickety Strasbourg kitchen—green beans, apple and cabbage slaw, winter squash. Students contributed favorite family casseroles, approximated with French market ingredients. I had rotisserie chickens delivered to the apartment on Garlic Street. It required a lot of planning, coordination, and energy to pull off “Franksgiving.” That fall, I gained a deep appreciation for the beautiful and large family meals my grandmothers, mother, and aunts have hosted over the years.

Back in the States, the scope of my responsibilities is narrower. I host intimate, occasional dinner parties, and I leave Thanksgiving to the pros. I am a daring cook and contribute generously to the meal, but being a guest rather than a hostess is blissful.

This fall, I have developed and perfected a tea cocktail that will shine at your Thanksgiving cocktail hour. Prosecco serves as the bubbly backdrop of my Sparkling Apple Spice Tea Cocktail. The star of the libation is Apple Spice Black Tea syrup, which infuses the drink with a bright apple flavor. Subtle undertones of rosemary and cinnamon make the drink especially fitting for the season. A splash of sparkling water cuts the sweetness, and a snip of rosemary makes it deliciously instagrammable.

This is not a persnickety cocktail. The tea simple syrup can be made weeks in advance and stored in the refrigerator. It comes together quickly in a pitcher. I serve this aperitif in my Grandma Mary Ellen’s crystal champagne coupes. Use whatever glassware you can get your hands on, and feel free to mix and match. Cheers!

Inspiration

Elmwood Inn Apple Spice Black Tea

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My Madeleines de Proust

September 2, 2017 By Allison

“…I brought to my lips a spoonful of tea in which I had softened a piece of madeleine. But at the exact moment when the mouthful mixed with cake crumbs touched my palate, I shivered, attentive to this extraordinary thing that was taking place in me. A delicious pleasure had invaded me, isolated, no notion of its cause. It had instantly made me indifferent to the vicissitudes of life, made its disasters harmless, its brevity illusory, in the same way that love operates, filling me with a precious essence: or more accurately this essence wasn’t in me, it was me.” –Marcel Proust, Du côté de chez Swann

Shell-shaped madeleine cakes were a part of my life before I ever knew about Marcel Proust and the memory-inducing power of his petites madeleines. When I was a student in Paris, a bakery close to my school sold five madeleines for five francs—a deal! At lunchtime, I’d often make my way down the rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs to pick up one of the tidy white bags holding five portable cakes. Sometimes they were still warm. Madeleines were my ideal student snack—simple, toothsome, and shareable. A chocolate éclair or strawberry tartelette would have been more impressive, but the dainty butter cakes comforted me. I imprinted my own madeleine experience well before encountering Proust.

Later, I would discover that Proust, too, found comfort in madeleines. In the first volume of his 3,000 page novel Remembrance of Things Past, tasting a madeleine dipped in tea unleashes the narrator’s memory of taking tea and cake with Aunt Léonie. In French culture, a madeleine de Proust refers to a heart-warming, evocative culinary experience that joins past and present. Madeleine cakes are one of my madeleines de Proust. They bring me back to the sweet, exhilarating sadness of being so far from home. Other sweets unleash my involuntary memory, allowing me a delicious, temporary dance between past and present: Grandma Rose Mary’s orange cookies, Grandma Mary Ellen’s sticky rolls, and the frosted graham crackers Mom served me as a toddler. The frosting was always homemade, and she always served them on a rectangular, strawberry-patterned tray that is still in her kitchen.

What foods bring your past into the present? Tell me about your madeleines de Proust in the comment section.

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Le bon thé de Sahar

August 12, 2017 By Allison

My friend Sahar is a cardamom tea connoisseur. Milky and minty with a bold cardamom profile, her morning sips are robust and comforting.

On a recent visit to her home in Sydney, I studied her technique through my bleary morning fog. Her cardamom teabags are an easy reach from the electric kettle. As the water comes to a boil, she places one or two teabags in her favorite mug. She pulls fresh mint and milk from the refrigerator. She places a small container of cardamom pods on the counter.

When the water reaches a rolling boil, Sahar pours it into her mug, leaving room for milk. She brews a strong cardamom tea, sometimes boosting the flavor by dropping a cardamom pod in the mug. She pinches three or four mint leaves from a branch and slips them into the mug. The tea steeps for several minutes. Before drinking, she adds a splash of milk.

I was thrilled by her cardamom tea ritual, and she sent me home with cardamom teabags and loose tea. Sahar shared Wagh Bakri, Ahmad, and Premier’s Cardamom Tea. I have enjoyed preparing all of these teas à la Sahar. When I make “her” cardamom tea, my mind drifts back to her warm welcome and gentle spirit.

I have made a small adjustment to Sahar’s morning cardamom tea, adding about ½ teaspoon honey to each serving. Sometimes I zap the milk in the microwave for 15 seconds before adding it to the tea. I have also used her method to prepare Masala Chai, a symphony of black tea ginger, cinnamon, cardamom, black and white pepper, clove, and nutmeg. I find the fresh mint to be a lovely addition. This fall, I plan to work up a caffeine-free Sahar tea with this Chai Rooibos Caffeine-Free Infusion.

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