I’ve just had to explain to one of my colleagues at work why I was sniffing tea bags in the kitchen. (Why the heck does that sound so wrong when you say it out-loud!) Anyway, I wasn’t being weird (or acting in a porn), I was just trying to figure out which was the good tea, because I can never remember with Earl Grey and English Breakfast, until I take the first swig, and get a mouthful of awesome and comfort, or the urge to barf.
I never even used to like tea until a few years ago, I got started drinking the fruity teas by my ex, who at the time had a hipster-crush on an amazing tea shop in town near where I worked. Fruity teas are the gateway tea, it turns out. I’d tried them before, probably at the insistence of my Grandma, who was a big fan of weird tasting stuff suspended in hot water.
The year she lived with us in Tauranga she made me drink freshly squeezed lemon, or homemade linseed jelly like paste in hot water every morning. I developed a love-hate relationship with the lemon, and a straight-out hate-hate relationship with the linseed.
I didn’t develop a liking for black tea until earlier this year, when I drove my alpaca accidentally off a small bank while avoiding a road hog. I killed a farmers fence in the process, and in turn he put me in a headlock and forced a cup of tea down my throat. Initially I only accepted the mug because I thought it would only be polite – I mean I had killed a fence – but halfway through mindlessly sipping it, I realised that there’s a bit og magic in sweet black tea with a ton of milk in it. It has restorative powers. No wonder everyone drinks it when they’re upset or in shock.
So it turns out that stuff adults always used to tell you as a kid – about how your tastes will change as an adult – was actually a little bit not so far off the mark. At least, not when it comes to English Breakfast. The other one still sucks perfumed ass.