The Tai Chi of Chai Tea

What I'm drinking: I'm not actually drinking chai; it's a clonal Nepalese tea instead.

I just lied to you. I am technically drinking chai, but not in the "chai tea" sense. We'll get to that, I promise.

Many people the world over enjoy a cup of spiced tea. Masala chai, literally "spice tea" is commonly found throughout India, with street vendors known as chai wallahs shouting at the heels of passersby in order to sell their unique tea blends. Masala chai is generally a black tea laden with some combination of cardamom, coriander, cinnamon, peppercorns, and ginger,among many other spices. Traditionally, it is served with milk and sugar and is a great way to warm up on a cool day.

I admit that I'm not much of a "chai tea" kind of guy. I like my black tea straight up: no cream or sugar for me, thank you. I like to taste the leaf in its purest form. the essence of the climate and soil is imbued in every cup of tea, and the pleasure of tasting the difference in geology or elevation is something I really enjoy. However, every now and then, I like to mis things up. Trying new things keeps me from becoming bored, and any chance I get to experience something unique or culturally significant simply cannot be refused.

That's why I recently had my first cup of authentic masala chai at a local Indian restaurant. The weather was chilly, and since my food was spicy, I decided I needed a beverage that could hold its own beside the melange of flavor in my entrée.

My first cup of chai, photo courtesy of Megan Haytcher

Today's teacher isn't actually masala chai, so we'll trudge onward to the lesson in the cup. I promised to explain how I'm drinking chai, even though this cup is sans spice.

You see, "chai" is a word that merely means tea throughout much of Asia and in many European languages, too. When tea was spreading into a global phenomenon, the disparate dialects of Chinese left a great mark on what we call this delicious drink. Two main camps exist: the "cha" group and the "te" group. Two families of pronunciations influenced the tea trade in its infancy, resulting in some cultures who refer this infusion as cha, chai, tsa, sha, etc. or as tea, te, thea, thee, etc. Obviously, in English, we are in the second camp. The "tea" pronunciation derives from early contact with Hokkien dialect of Fujian, among others. When the English and dutch began exporting teas, they carried the cultural and linguistic seed for tea alongside the leaves of the shrub itself.

Many other parts of the world, including Slavic countries, Japan, Korea, Greece, and India, among many others, retained the Mandarin-inspired pronunciation.

One of the earliest lessons I learned from tea was one of redundancy. As a culture we tend to have so much stuff- information, possessions, activities. After a while it all clutters our minds and our lives. Tea by its very nature is a teacher of simplicity. With the onset of political correctness and a need for young, educated speakers to prove the worth of their diplomas, we have grown into a culture whose language lacks efficiency and brevity. It is a reflection of the excesses in other areas of our lifestyles. After a while, it all grows into a repetitious slur of words strung together or nonessential gadgets that we amass to impress one another and stave off boredom.

Tea is not the only victim of tautology. There are innumerable cases of place names, colloquialisms, and other expressions that say the same thing twice. Whether it is the cane toad, Bufo marinus, which is commonly referred to as the "bufo toad" (i.e. "toad toad") or the unfortunate attempt to overcompensate with "Mt. Fujiyama" (literally Mt. Fuji mountain), the evidence of overcomplexity is everywhere. Tea, as our teacher, beseeches us to simplify.

I guess it's just one of my pet peeves. I don't need to be referred to as "Nicholas Nicholas" any more than my drink needs to be "tea tea." Specificity is appreciated in life, but sometimes we aren't as specific as we think we are. The universe always gives us what we ask for, so the next time you consider placing your order for your next manifestation, consider a cup of chai. Do you want any old tea, or a spiced tea? Do you need any job, lover, or project, or do you need the right one?

My tea today is as simple as they come. It's rather grassy for a black tea, but it is very brisk and aromatic. I don't need to worry about what it is called in order to enjoy it, and that is one of the key lessons here. As one of my favorite books on tea, The Spirit of Tea, reminds us:

"Everything you need to know is in the cup."

So yes, I'm drinking chai. I'm also drinking thee, teh, chaj, and herbata. Let's all sit back with our favorite cups and relish the sweet and savory liquor steaming within, with or without spice. For all the innovations the world has to offer, the simplicity of a cup of tea reminds us not to be too cerebral, lest we disconnect ourselves from experiencing the moment. We might even sound silly while doing it.

Alchemy in the Cup

What's in my cup: Houjicha, a roasted green tea from Japan

There is nothing especially sophisticated about houjicha. Maybe that is what I really like about it. Every cup is comforting, gentle on the palate, and easy to brew. Unlike other Japanese green teas, this one isn't particularly finicky when it comes to temperature or time. Houjicha is also a relatively young tea- it has been around for less than a century.

In the 1920s, a tea merchant in Kyoto, Japan was left with a surplus of late-flush bancha. This is a common tea produced from the last of the pick-able leaves on the Camellia plants in the autumn and winter. Bancha is a less-refined tea than earlier harvests of sencha, but, rather than let his product spoil, the innovative tea merchant decided to try roasting it in a ceramic vessel over high heat. The application of heat, and ingenuity, to the tea leaves gave the tea drinkers of early twentieth century Kyoto a new beverage.

This particular variety of green tea is not especially vegetal or astringent. It's mellow and earthy notes harmonize for a velvety serenade, one that is perfect at day's end. The roasting eliminates nearly all of the caffeine present in the tea leaves, and so I was able to enjoy more of this low-caffeine and low-tannin beverage after my kidney concerns. I really love the feeling of warmth spreading through my body that matches the warm and smooth taste on my palate with each sip of houjicha.

The secret to this tea is in it's simplicity; it is an entirely uncomplicated tea to master. With each successive sip, I found myself thinking about how easy it is to get caught up in the ceremony and and ritual of everything. Nothing about this tea holds onto false pretense. It has humble origins and undergoes a drastic transformation by a simple process, and that is what holds the key to everything we can learn from this tea.

Bancha, the base for this beverage, is often overlooked by tea connoisseurs. It is the least favorite child in the sencha family of leaves, consumed daily because of its price and availability rather than its complex aroma or sophisticated flavor. Despite this, houjicha is widely enjoyed as a delightful cup of tea with more notoriety than just any other late-harvest green. This tea began as a surplus. It wasn't particularly in demand, and would simply have gone to waste if not for some fast-thinking merchant in Kyoto. Perhaps he was inspired by the way that the Chinese pan-fire their green teas or by Taiwanese roasted oolongs. Perhaps the kami, or spirit, of the leaves themselves gave him the idea.

However it came to pass, houjicha went from one level to another. It underwent a process of transformation from a base substance to an infusion that leans a dark amber to golden brown. This is a tea of alchemy. We have a lot to learn from these leaves. Hundreds of medieval texts on magic and alchemy obscure the details of what it really was intended to be. Most of us today believe alchemists sought only the philosopher's stone in order to produce the elixir of life, a potion believed to endow one with immortality, and to transform base metals into gold. What we have yet to learn is that the complicated rituals and laboratory instructions are seldom intended to be taken literally.

Alchemy is a process of transforming the self. We take all of our dull, leaden bits and allow them to become shiny and golden. Attaining immortality has less to do with living forever than it does realizing that part of us that is undying and eternal. Real alchemy is an internal process of spiritual awakening whereby the alchemist becomes aware of the connection of all life and the simplicity of the spiritual truth that we are all one.

Our teacher for today, houjicha, undergoes a simple process involving a mere application of heat in order to become a new tea. It transforms from practically a waste product as a surplus harvest into a tea that will be forever endeared to the hearts of tea lovers around the globe. That sounds a lot like immortality to me.

Let's learn what we can from this tea. Houjicha preaches simplicity with each sip. It's difficult to spoil a pot of it because it is remarkably easy to infuse. Perhaps by uncluttering our minds and seeking simple pleasures, we can begin the process of transformation and open ourselves to what we are truly called to do in life. By allowing ourselves to be transmuted into the spiritual analog of gold, we can also touch those around us and live on forever in their hearts and minds.

Too much of a good thing

What's in my cup: Water

I'm sure that this was bound to happen eventually, given my predisposition towards indulgence, but kidney stones are never really welcome. I was hoping to have a normal, easy going week. Instead I have grains of crystalline ouch stabbing my insides and distracting me each and every waking moment. It adds up to a lot of waking moments, seeing as the pain was initially enough to keep me from sleeping well.

I am sure many of you are incredulous, wondering how someone who consumes as many antioxidants as I do get sick... Right?

Or maybe you can see the answer.

The thing is... I might have a problem. I drink a lot of tea.

A lot.

And there happens to be a good amount of tannin in the leaves I enjoy the most. After a while it kind of adds up. If you couple that with the fact that my palate isn't too fond of the water here since I moved in August, it does not make for a good combination. I always used to drink a lot of water. Now, whenever I get thirsty, I have put myself into the habit of reaching for kettle. As busy as work has been I haven't even been keeping hydrated there, either.

Let's be honest; I have a tendency towards indulgence. I have replaced wine with tea. I have replaced sweets with tea. I replaced playing the horn with tea, so as not to upset my neighbors. I have even replaced men with tea. Well, I tried to, at any rate.

Just when I began to stress myself out about life, it was as if everything crystallized into one painful process this past Monday. My ability to filter out the destructive thoughts failed just as badly as my kidneys at handling the saturation of calcium oxalate. Eventually, it precipitated into the shards of jagged and insoluble irritants that sluggishly thorned their way through my system. I spent each moment sitting in pain until it passed. Each and every breath pulled my diaphragm downward against the offending kidney, sending rivulets of pain shooting though my side. Every step was comically agonizing. I was forced to take time to rest and laugh at the irony of the situation, even if every chuckle drove daggers into my side.

Thankfully, that necessity for restfulness was met with support from my boss and my loved ones. I hate sitting around and doing nothing all day. I always have a million and three projects going at the same time so I can flit from one to the next without boredom setting in. Monday's highlight was napping. Tuesday and Wednesday I wrote and spent a fair amount of time on the phone. All the while, I couldn't do much to satisfy my craving for tea. I drank some peppermint, and some weakly re-steeped leaves leftover from my room mate's mug, too, but it is never the same as going through the ritual of making tea for myself. Instead I did my best to feel sated on water alone.

My system cleared itself sometime yesterday. I am continuing to flood my body with a deluge of fresh water to instill the habit. The best part of it all, aside from no longer being subjected to excruciating pain worse than a monotone professor on a day when you really need a nap, is the sense of relief accompanied by a greater awareness of what is happening in the here and now. When every deep breath is linked to a spasm of pain, you really start to pay attention to things outside of yourself that are happening in the now. Learning to write through that was a great experience.

I think I have learned my lesson in moderation. My father, who has had the same problem several times over, proposed that I add a few other indulgences back to my life. A little does go a long way. The new goal is cut my tea drinking back by fifty percent. That will help me appreciate the tea that I do drink even more. I won't just be waiting for my fix anymore. I've also already promised myself that it's time to invest in a water filter. I am pretending that it's just for encouraging me to drink more water, but I'm sure you've already realized that I'm excited at how much better my tea will taste, too. The effects of this lesson arc across my entire life; I will be so much better for it. Not only will my kidneys thank me, but I will break my dependence on an outside source for happiness.

True contentment comes from within, and Camellia sinensis, as one of my spiritual teachers, would want me cultivate that on my own.

Thy cup floweth over

What's in my tumbler: Dragonwell, a famed Chinese green tea from Zhejiang

Today is Thanksgiving. It's not the first one that I have spent away from my family, but it is the first one that hasn't been bustling with lots of preparations underway. Today I am taking it easy. Although my room mate is gone, I don't have work, and I won't be leaving the house anytime soon, the stillness is no longer driving me mad. It took some time to shake off a bit of nostalgia and loneliness, but here I am- smiling and perfectly present.

I decided to take it easy today in a number of ways. One of those was tea. I know I'll have plenty of tea to counter the tendency towards overeating that goes hand-in-hand with holidays, so I'm only on pot number two for the whole day. I started with one pot of a nice gunpowder tea; I wasn't in the mood for anything fancy or in need of diligent awareness to water temperature or steeping time. Now, hours later I am sipping my favorite tea, Dragonwell green tea. Dragonwell, or long jing, always cleanses my mind and soul as it washes down my throat. It's refreshing, rich, and slightly nutty; this is a tea once reserved for royalty for good reason. Although I love it so much, we'll save it's story for another day.

I admit that this morning I was permitting myself to feel lonely and not just a little forlorn. I threw myself into my research for the day as a distraction in hopes that I would get over it. Sure enough, I found distraction. I tripped over my books strewn about the floor, kept losing my pencil, and even managed to spill my tea as I refilled my cup. I realized that I needed to stay a little more grounded and focus on incorporating a more positive outlook. So, as I sopped up the tea from the table, I thought about what today should really mean to me.

I woke up to a beautiful day. Sure, I'm spending a lot of it alone and away from my family, but does that make it any less serene? I've had some wonderful breakthroughs in my research lately, and that will impact all of my further writing and teaching on that subject. I have had numerous offers for places to go and people to see today, even if they are a little farther away than would be comfortable, so I know I'm not really alone. Most importantly, I feel like my relationship with my immediate family is at an all-time best. I really think I've begun to understand the context of past concerns much better, and it helps me relate to them so much more easily. Although I might not be geographically close to my parents this Thanksgiving, I'm closer to them on other levels than I have ever been.

A very wise friend and teacher once reminded me of becoming the empty vessel through the analogy of the teacup. The Universe has so much to provide to us, and all we have to do is offer an empty cup to receive more. While absentmindedly pouring my tea today, I saw that lesson in action. If we don't accept the things that we receive with gratitude, we waste so much. Only by joyously offering back can we restore balance. It creates an endless cycle. Gratitude generates joy which begets more gratitude... It goes on and on.

Take some time to reflect on what causes you to feel grateful and see what happens. I can guarantee that you will feel joy for every moment in life. Each breath affords us an opportunity to grow and to learn. Even the lesson of spilled tea can remind us how abundantly blessed we are.

Remember that just like this morning's cup, life is overflowing with abundance in many forms; we just need to sip from it to receive some more.

A new harvest

What's in my cup: A fresh harvest of Mao Jian green tea from this spring

Autumn is in full swing in central Florida. The weather is fresh and crisp, like the aroma of a delicate green tea. The humidity has dropped, and there is even an occasional tree dotting the landscape that has remembered how to be deciduous. Fall is my favorite time of year. I don't entirely know why, but it does give me an excuse to wear scarves and drink lots of tea.

I know what you're thinking- Nicholas, you live in Florida, so there isn't an excuse to wear scarves. Also, you've got me on that part about the tea, too. We both know that I drink the same amount year-round. I like to pretend that it's justified, especially because it's not quite eleven o'clock and I have my second round on the way.

Playfulness aside, the fall never fails to remind me of everything in my life coming full circle. This is the time of year that is traditionally associated with the harvesting of crops, and I can't shake that feeling in my own life, either. So many things fall away year after year when the season finally shifts from the seemingly endless summer into the cooler, darker part of the calendar. It's as if life just permits the old bits to slough off just like skin cells; the new and the fresh is always awaiting just beneath the surface. 

This morning I finally got my long-anticipated package of new teas. I must admit that I shouldn't really add to the collection without downsizing first, but I could pass up a good deal when I found one. I was eager to dive right into brewing, but I know that tea really deserves more mindfulness than that. When I experience a new tea for the first time, I honestly endeavor to cultivate the "tea mind," a state of present-moment awareness that opens the consciousness to learning more from a cup of tea than you'd expect. So, instead of just jumping in, I took a moment to meditate, cleared some space mentally and physically for meeting this Mao Jian, and took the time to appreciate each aspect of the process.

I've had a lot of green teas before. I've tried a few Mao Jian teas in the past, and they never really left me excited. This particular one fascinated me because I even have the date it was harvested. Can you imagine knowing the moment when the tree made its sacrifice to delicate leaf and bud pairs to be lovingly handcrafted? How about knowing when human hands gently rolled those leaves into the characteristic pointed shape of this tea? It's incredible to be that connected to the foods and beverages we consume. It reminded me of all the sacrifices with which this year has come. Just as Camellia sinensis must lose a few leaves to yield a beautiful tea, I've had to let go and watch the process of change happen around and within me.

This tea is fun to watch brew. The thin, long leaves are bound into a rolled shape that twists open as it steeps. The downy covering of the tender buds disperses into the pot, which results in a tea of nominally higher viscosity. Bubbles tend to stay on the surface of the liqueur for longer than less downy teas. Because of that and the dance of the unraveling leaves I like to leave the lid off my teapot, just like this:

This newly harvested tea is one of many things that have recently transformed in my life. One of the big turning-points of being a grown-up has been getting my own phone plan. I know that might seem silly, but it is oddly true. I did a little homework, looked at fun gadgets, and ultimately just acted a little spontaneously. Steeping tea has taught me that sometimes you have to improvise. Some leaves don't behave just as you expect them to; they have hidden surprises, and you have to adjust your time or temperature accordingly. In light of that advice, I had to adjust my life. I have honestly had the same cell phone for half a decade. Now I have a smart phone. I feel like a kid with a new toy. It's going to take a while to get used to not having a veritable brick of a cell phone, and the whole qwerty keyboard thing is nifty.

The great thing about all of it is that I didn't freak out about the extra expense or the idea of having to do it all on my own. I usually hate the feeling of having to big, scary, responsible things without someone to hold my hand through the process. I confess that I had a friend with me, but it was more about getting input on colors, options, and having someone to crack jokes with during the boring bits than anything else. It wasn't as scary or stressful as I expected. All I had to do was be in the present moment and let myself receive the new harvest that life has to offer.

Many times, life is a little more stressful than we would really like. I always like to drink a nice cup of tea when things get hectic. It forces me to take time for me, time for clearing my mind, and time to appreciate something beautiful. That sense of appreciation opens the heart and ushers our vision beyond what our eyes can see. My life is completely different this fall than it was over the summer. I've felt as though some precious things have been plucked, withered, and rolled into a bunch of dead weight. Instead of focusing on the loss, I've really made the concerted effort to think of it as a fresh start. What happens when you take all that dead weight and just let it wash away? Well, supposing the metaphorical water is the right temperature, you will get a delicious pot of tea.

 

A forbidden affair with royalty

What's in the pot: Earl Grey

Try not to judge me too much, but as far back as I can remember, I've always loved a strong cup of Earl Grey- dark, aromatic, and slightly on the bitter side. In all my youthful ignorance, I used to steep it as strong as I could palate and load up my mug with milk and honey. On a particularly long day or cold night I would even indulge in two rounds, and that used to be a lot of tea to me.

My oh my, haven't things changed?

These days I still go back to sipping on my childhood favorite when I crave that sense of nostalgic comfort. Today is one of those days. Nothing is particularly wrong, but there are definitely times when one can use some extra cheer. Just hearing the kettle begin to simmer brings an uncontrollable glimmer of a smile to my face. It's that feeling of being home amidst the madness and merriment with my family. This time of year always evokes a longing to be with loved ones, and this year will be no different with a long stretch through the holiday season as I trudge through my weekly schedule in retail.

One moment- I hear the call of the kettle...
Okay, I'm back from the kitchen, and this pot is perfectly infused. It might not be a fancy dian hong cha, or some expensive cliff-grown oolong from Wuyi, but don't let its facade of plebeian simplicity fool you.

Today especially makes me want to reach for that familiar bergamot brew because it's my baby sister's birthday. Her eighteenth birthday. Let me repeat that for you: she's attained adulthood. Like, she can vote and stuff now. The years have flown by, and she'll be graduating high school before I even have a chance to blink. I feel like I've grown ten years older just by thinking about it.

In all seriousness, though, I miss home. I miss the seaside walks and salt breezes of South Florida. I miss the playful bickering between my sister and mother, my father's terrible humor, and, occasionally, the barking of dogs. Mind you, I really enjoy not listening to the noise, too, but I miss it all the same sometimes. Times were a lot simpler then; I could just go to school come home after rehearsal and unwind. After dinner I'd offer my family a round of tea, and I'd help myself to a nice cuppa. Although I consider myself a bit of a tea snob at this point in my life, I still long for the rising of citrus with vapor from that copper colored liquor.

Earl Grey is my homecoming in a cup. I always drink it out of a fancy, handled teacup with saucer. It's one of the few times I insist upon using a cup with a handle, and maybe that is from my adolescent propensity for giant mugs of tea. I think a large part of it really has more to do with being able to hold it close to my face without burning my fingertips. I love to drink up the aroma as much, if not more, than the tea itself. Bergamot, like all citrus, has an uplifting effect on one's mood, and aromatherapists often recommend this Ionian fruit to cut through depression.

I'm already on cup number two, and I can detect in a shift in the emotional climate of my day. I might not fuel the shift with sugar and enrich the experience with milk anymore (except for really bad days), but the Earl is still a good companion on a lonely autumn day. The single people of the world become hyper aware of their singledom in the midst of the season of cute family photos with Santa and couples who compete to out-gift one another and slink around the mistletoe. A cup of Earl Grey staves off solitude by reminding me of the nights before the TV with the family and late-night talks with room mates past.

When my romantic life is at a lull and I've no one to snuggle up against at night, I know I've still got a friend in the Earl. When the steam rises from the teacup, I feel as though I'm enveloped in a fond embrace from a past lover. Maybe this one will even spend the night.  Let's just not tell Lady Grey, okay?

Greetings and Green Tea

What I'm drinking: A blend of teas, mostly green and white

Welcome to the blog, my hopefully-soon-to-be-faithful readers. My name is Nicholas; as a brief introduction, I'm an avid tea-drinker and hopeful, though restless, romantic. I read voraciously and love to daydream during sunsets. The mineral kingdom provides endless entertainment, as do the topics of language, music, and the latest gossip. I'm a twenty-something looking for all the adventure that life has to offer, but often find myself retreating when too much rears its head in my face. I admit that I've got my faults, but I hope you'll enjoy the smirks they'll provide.

To get better acquainted with my vision, here's my basic premise behind writing Steeped in Serendipity: I find that I figure out life a little more each day (in rather unexpected ways), and that tea tends to remind me of what's really important. With those two concepts in mind, let's journey together on the wild ride and open road into the heart of my time here on planet Earth.

I'll start my entries with what's in my cup as I'm writing, or what leaves happened to unfurl as their analogous events also unfolded. At some point you're going to have to deal with my sense of humor. I'll probably make some dreadful puns and pretend that I can be witty, so be prepared. As we go along, though, I do hope that the lessons I continue to learn will elucidate something for one and all who read along.

In my first post, I would like to add an extra-special note of gratitude to the photographer whose work appears on the title of my blog, Jon Church. He's really fantastic, so let's all help make him rich and famous one day. Please visit Jon's other works on his website: www.jonchurch.com.

That's pretty much it for now. I promise I'll get to the juicy stuff soon enough, including some steamy pots of tea. And maybe other steamy moments.

Maybe.