THE PERFECT CUP OF TEA

For about twenty years off and on, I have been part of an online discussion group, the Copyediting-L. Though the group’s obvious focus is on subjects of professional interest to copyeditors—grammar, current usage, job opportunities, and so on—often the conversation veers into more personal areas of interest, such as food and drink.

One of the best-known contributors to the group was David Ibbetson, whom we called the Ib. He was a very kind and well-informed Englishman who had moved to Montreal, where few of us ever had the chance to meet him. We were all saddened to hear of his death several years ago. Many of us benefited from his editorial advice and amusing birthday wishes, but what I most remember about the Ib are his simple but specific directions for making the perfect cup of tea:

Tea Made Properly

Loose tea leaves

Boiling water

The only "container" you need for your tea is a teapot. Fill it with nearly boiling water to heat it. When the kettle boils, dump out the teapot quickly and add 1 teaspoon of loose tea per cup plus 1 for the pot. Pour in the freshly boiling water, cover the teapot, and let it steep. How long? Tastes vary.
The tea leaves will sink to the bottom of the pot; if you worry about an occasional one ending in your cup, pour the tea into the cup through a tea strainer. Silver, preferably.

I agree you need good loose tea; there are lots of places online where you can buy it. Some people say the teapot has to be brown, but that has been contested.[1]

Ordinarily I avoid tea, preferring a strong blend of coffee and chicory such as French Market in the morning, or a glass of white wine in the evening. However, by following the Ib’s directions, and using Market Spice, one of the few kinds of tea I actually enjoy, I can prepare tea that lifts my spirits as much as a cup of coffee or glass of wine, without any side effects. Drinking a cup of Market Spice tea is one of those small things that cost little but contribute to happiness.

Life is full of stress, and it is easy to become discouraged about the state of the world and about outlooks for the future. Being a liberal environmentalist, I worry about the changing global climate, about the NRA, about overpopulation, about creationists, about diseases such as Ebola, about drought, about floods, and about right-wingers in general. But if I go for a walk in the woods, within about twenty minutes I can see my worries in perspective. I may be Chicken Little, but so far the sky is not falling.

While walking is one of my favorite ways to seize some happiness in the midst of chaos, there are others. Buying a small native plant, planting it in a shady window box, and watering it can give me much satisfaction, even in the current drought when water is limited. Finding a good whodunit at the library can make me giddy. Sketching in my nature journal makes me feel akin to Darwin. Looking at the night sky with binoculars reduces my problems to trivia. Sending emails to friends thousands of miles away recalls happy times shared with them. I return the smiles of small children.

I am not a Pollyanna, perennially glad in spite of what is happening around me. In fact, I tend to be cynical and pessimistic in general. But finding some joy in small things reminds me of important broader facets of life—the history and philosophy of science, healthy and delicious foods, literature, the conservation of natural resources, friendship and love. It can all start with the perfect cup of tea.

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[1] David Ibbetson. In More Food for Thought. New York: Copyediting-L, 2005.