join me at the NY Open Center
Building a Tea Practice at the NY Open Center
Beginning in October, I am excited to be teaching a monthly tea class at the NY Open Center. The idea to integrate tea culture at the center is result of many inspired conversations Program Director Jonathan Bricklin. If you are in the NYC area, I hope you’ll join us!
Each class will be one-of-kind and will focus on tasting two teas. Sessions limited to 10 participants.
Every 1st Thursday of the Month, 6pm to 7pm, $15
To register: Contact the Open Center at 212-219-2527 or registration@opencenter.org, use Course Code 11FHN09
chai on lex – follow the yellow taxi cabs
Surviving last week, freezing cold on a stroll up Lexington, I stopped in ‘Little India’ for a cup of hot chai and samosas.
The neighborhood of “Little India” runs up Lexington Avenue between 26th and 30th Streets (Subway 6 to 28th Street.) The neighborhood where restaurants are named for gods and spices, yellow taxi’s double-parked and steamy windows line the blocks from all-day buffets. It’s the first “Little India” before cheaper rents drew Indian communities to Jackson Heights and the Lower East Side. Chai is offered nearly everywhere, to either stay in or take out.
The word Chai translates to “tea,” and refers to boiling black tea, spices and milk together. It’s labor intensive for restaurants – they make it in large vats, strain and keep it hot all day. Samosas, savory pastries stuffed with potatoes, vegetables, chickpeas and sometimes meat are the perfect match to sweet, spicy chai.
Pulling open the door of Curry In A Hurry, I breathe in a cloud of cumin, cardamom and clove. It is a casual restaurant with a deli style counter with take-out or cafeteria style dining upstairs. Employees greet with “what would you like?” within seconds of arriving. Aging photos of dishes light up the menu board; platters come with a complementary salad bar.
In India, families have their own chai recipe – usually connected to the type of tea and spices growing locally. Asking friends from Indian, Pakistan and Bangledesh about recipes, they all agree it must have cardamom. Some warn me, as a woman, not to have it too spicy – as it leads to ‘wildness.’ Never has anyone elaborated on this.
I order the usual. The waiter pulls out a paper cup, turns to a dingy metal dispenser and bends the spigot. He asks if I’d like sugar ‘it’s very strong.’ Another waiter hands me a plate of samosas on a plastic tray. I walk upstairs, following the sounds of strumming sitars and Hindi love songs, and find a table in the kaleidoscope of TV’s playing Bollywood films.
I sip, spices weight my tongue, steam gushes out flaky samosas as I pull them open. Spices, to many to count, engage my senses – and I secretly wish for the forewarned ‘wildness’ that the meeting of cardamom and cumin brings.
Curry In A Hurry, 28th and Lexington. Chai and Samosa: $4.00
wagashi
Oh, the dry, sweet taste that begs for tea. At one time, a mysterious, alien like dessert – that I have since come to love and crave. Especially when drinking Japanese teas.
Many Americans, upon their first bite, get slightly freaked out. I tell you, this is an ancient candy made of all natural ingredients. Having a bite of wagashi WILL engage all five senses: sight (design), taste (often bean paste!), texture (for you to discover), scent (aroma) and sound (the name is similar to saying a word of poetry). Invoking the senses, engaging with the seasons – this Japanese way of being – is at the heart of wagashi.
- Molds for higashi, a dry style of wagashi
They are made of grains, nuts, beans, fruits, etc. Their history goes back to Ancient Japan, and over the centuries the different shapes and styles of wagashi have taken on meaning. Their names express beauty of the natural world or refer ancient literature. In the 1400’s, they became incorporated in the Japanese Tea Ceremony.
Finding Wagashi outside of Japan
If you live in a major city, you most likely have access to buying wagashi at your local Asian supermarket. Mochi seems to be the most popular (gooey rice cake filled with red bean paste) – just the tip of the iceberg of styles.
In New York City, I go to Minamoto in Rockefeller Center. They have a fantastic selection of dried wagashi in seasonal shapes, plus fresh wagashi flown in daily from Japan. It’s a store, so everything is taken “to-go.” I enjoy the Japanese sales people that work there, and find myself bowing and speaking broken English, as I attempt to point/buy. Go there to get your “Lost in Translation” moment.
For Japanese teas paired with wagashi, I highly recommend Cha-An Tea House in the East Village. Ordering a bowl of matcha and mochi are one of my personal treats to myself.
taza de té, my summer vacation to galicia
I’m headed to Galicia, in the Northwest of Spain. Googling around to see if there might be teahouses to visit, I found this advice on Galicia Guide:
If you like tea, bring your own. To make matters worse, even when you speak Spanish and order a tea at a bar, the staff struggle with the concept of mixing it with milk (the English way) and you will invariably end up with a flavoured tea or the addition of lemon. If you are an American it should suit you.
Really?! Undrinkable tea should suit Americans??? (My eyebrow is raised high with this question). Hmmmmmmm. Looks like I’ll be bringing tea to make and share.
I’ll be staying in the town of Baiona, on the Atlantic Coast. I’m excited to swim, explore wineries, get medieval and spend time with the Smiths. Also curious to see what types of local herbs are grown, cultivated…and perhaps steeped. More from the road.
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Back from my trip
Trip Photos
Love Spain! However, Spain doesn’t love tea. They don’t have a tradition of drinking it really, as don’t have a history of cultivating or importing it. In the Spanish colonial days, the colonies grew coffee and chocolate. And then there was that whole English Royal scandal of King Henry the 8th divorcing Queen Catherine of Aragon – which didn’t entice the Spanish to take up a perceived English tea habit.
I confess: I enjoyed cafe con leches and cups of hot chocolate like a native. Why search for something that’s not there?
In traveling to Galicia, being hosted my Stephen’s family, I was the only American around. It was intoxicating living Spanish life on vacation. Waking up to the beach, having a cafe con leche, having a lunch of local seafood, wine and jamon. Taking a siesta. Going swimming in the cold Atlantic, then having a long dinner – with a swirl of English, Spanish and French languages.
I suppose the joy of all that…I can handle one country in the world that doesn’t drink tea.
An iris pond in flower
before the ancient hall,
I sell tea this evening
by the water’s edge;
it is steeped in the cup
with the moon and stars
one sip, you wake forever
from your worldly sleep.
–Baisao
We are all searching for moments when time stops, opens up. When something deep inside, says hello. Fleeting moments, shy they seem, angels they are. Vanishing as soon as you recognize them.
I drink tea because I love to lose myself in the moment. Poets, artists have long been inspired by this seductive nature of tea.
Stephen suggested I write about this. The love stories of tea. It got me thinking, does making tea and being a good lover require the same ‘skill’ set? I’ve decided to explore this topic over the next few posts.
It takes practice to become good at something. Enjoying love and sex to the fullest extent requires us to be open, giving and compassionate. How do we practice staying open, especially as we age? How do we keep our hearts full of love? When we are single? When we have a partner?
I have no answer, exactly. Only that making tea daily has helped me to be open to life. It is a steady presence, within constant change. Over thousands of mornings, I have stood half asleep, at my stove heating water, looking at the leaves – washing out my teapot from the day before. Somewhere in that space, something deep inside says hello. Something that wouldn’t mean much to me if I only made tea occasionally. But over the years, has made a meaningful difference.
Approach making tea with the caress and care you would give someone you love.
Appreciate the water. Feel it on your hands. Think about the part of the earth it once rushed over before finding its way to you. Heat it. Hear the bubbles and sound start to form.
Look at the leaves, think of the rain and sun it needed to grow. Remember all the people it took to bring it to you, be thankful to them.
See the leaves becoming soft, changing color ever so slightly.
Listen to your intuition. Let it tell you when the tea is ready.
Taste with small sips, swirling it around on your tongue, let it remind, inspire, take you where it goes.
lapsang souchong
My friend Heather recently had surgery, and while recovering, rented tons of Pixar movies. Cartoons, she confesses, her indulgence. She asked what I would have watched. Looking around, I said softly, Masterpiece Theater with, ummm, a teapot of Lapsang Souchong. Have to tell you she looked horrified, she a film school graduate working on a major TV series. Laughing, she said I was probably alone, a camp of one. Am I? Have you SEEN the Forsyte Saga? Does anyone DRINK Lapsang Souchong anymore?
Say what you will about smoked teas, but I’m telling you we are hard wired to love the aroma of wood fires. Period. Why not exploit this instant sensation and feel good? Isn’t that why we really eat bacon?
I understood Lapsang Souchong in this new revelatory way, about a year ago, in the depths of heartache. God, I didn’t intend to feel better from drinking it, but I can tell you that breathing in campfire, something strong, primal like, welled up in me. I actually experienced a temporary relief. And discoveries like that, my friends, is really why tea drinking is great and surprising.
So, Lapsang Souchong, what’s the story on it? I thought I’d tell you the legend, with the caveat that smoked teas probably go back further than the 17th Century. But it is in the Wuyi Mountains, sometime during the Qing Dynasty that the smoked teas we drink today became to take form. I like the story; it reminds me that good things can come from unexpected circumstances.
The Legend of Lapsang Souchong
Time: Qing Dynasty (1644 –1912)
Setting: Wuyi Mountains, Fujian Province
Players: Army Unit, Tea Harvest Workers
Our story begins…with a traveling unit of soldiers passing through the Wuyi Mountains, they decided to make camp, taking shelter at tea factory. This would have normally been fine, but they happened to make camp during the short window of harvest season. Tea needed to be picked; it needed to be processed; tea does not wait. So, as the tea workers bit their tongues and bided their time, they came up with an unusual plan to save the harvest…all they needed was the soldiers to leave.
And when they did finally leave…the workers immediately began harvesting the leaves and here is where it gets interesting…they took local wood (pine) and made a huge fire. They heated the leaves over the open fire to speed up the drying process. It worked! Plus they had stumbled upon a delicious way to make tea, as the fire flavored the tea with delicious taste and aroma. All accident, all by chance.
The style of smoked tea became so popular that it began being copied all over China, which pissed off the tea growers in Wuyi – they invented it after all. So, to protect their regional style of smoky tea making and claim it as authentic, they began calling it Zengshan Xiaozhong, meaning “Real Wuyi Subvariety.” Over the years, our less melodic tongues in the West have changed the pronunciation to “Lapsang Souchong.”
Now where to buy some in 2010? Check out your local grocer, teahouse or favorite online tea vendor. Ask about their selection of smoked teas. If want to taste authentic Lapsang Souchong, specify you are looking for one from Wuyi region of Fujian Province. If you are open to smoked teas from other regions (why not?), just make sure they have undergone a process of being smoked over a wood fire. Avoid synthetic flavorings, really, treat yourself to the real thing.
In the last year, I’ve really liked the Lapsang at In Pursuit of Tea and The Tea Gallery.
snow tea on my back porch
Waking up to snow, the air is soft and still, delicate. I heat the water kettle, pull snow boots over my flannels and wrap around a scarf. The wind throws open the back door. I carefully walk, slide through the snow to the table, sit down, make tea, and listen to the sounds of the coming day.
