I can’t remember ever having a cup of hot tea when I was growing up. My beverage drinking experiences mostly centered on drinking water or milk, but not with meals. Somewhere along the way my mother heard or read that digestion of food was better served without sipping on some kind of liquid while eating. She encouraged us to drink either before or after the meal, not while we were in the process of consuming it.
The adults in my family were coffee drinkers. My mother launched each day with an unadulterated cup of brew. She eschewed cream and sugar and never had any interest in adding flavors to the dark liquid that seemed to jumpstart her brain each morning. As a child I learned to stay out of her way until the magic of a cup of coffee eventually jolted her awake and returned her to her generally pleasant disposition. Before that moment it was best not to provoke her ire.
My maternal grandmother famously brewed her coffee in a large enamel pot. Her concoction would never have been chosen as a contender for the delight of true coffee aficionados, but it seemed adequate for those needing a small dose of caffeine. I am told by those who love coffee that it was little more than hot water with a tiny dash of coffee. They called it weak, but I called it my grandmother’s attempt to be gracious and hospitable to anyone who came to visit, including her grandchildren. She never failed to bring us enamel cups filled with more sugar and milk than coffee within minutes of our arrival at her home. To this day I can see her proudly distributing the love that her concoction always signified to me.
I never developed a love of coffee like most people have. Somehow I was never able to acquire a taste for it even though I like its aroma. My mother-in-law would introduce me to the drink that really stirred my passion. After Sunday dinners when the men left us to watch whatever sport happened to be on television my mother-in-law always made a pot of hot tea that the two of us enjoyed while we talked about family, books, and philosophy.
My mother-in-law’s family had immigrated to the United States from Newcastle, England just before the outbreak of World War I. She had a grandmother who danced a jig and a mother who taught her how to brew a pot and share a cuppa the very British way. She would use a kettle to boil the water and then warm the pot before placing the tea inside and pouring the water into the container. She new exactly how long to allow the tea to steep in the hot water until the perfect chemical reaction had taken place. I absolutely delighted in sharing that lovely ritual with her.
Before long it was well known that I loved tea of any kind, but that my favorites were Earl Grey and English Breakfast. Nonetheless, I tried many different varieties and learned that there were few that did not please me. I began to collect tea pots and tins of different blends. I’d launch my day with a cup of tae and imbibe again in the afternoon when my energy began to flag. I delighted in the ritual of making tea and often laughed when I learned that my mother-in-law’s very English mother had always use Lipton tea bags to make her own brew.
Both my grandmother and my mother-in-law were delightful hostesses. The coffee from Grandma and the tea from Mary Isabel defined their graciousness and generosity. I suppose that the symbolism of sharing time with a warm cup of brew meant more to me than what was actually inside my grandmother’s enamel cups and my mother-in-law’s fine china. The time shared whether wordlessly or with dynamic discussion was priceless.
After joining Ancestry I learned more and more about my dual background. I’m almost perfectly half Eastern European and half British Isles. I’d like to think that my love of tea is a natural evolution from one side of my ancestors. It took my mother-in-law to introduce me to a tradition that must surely have been a staple in the homes of my long ago relations who came to the colonies before the United States was even an idea.
I introduced my grandchildren to tea time when they were rather small. Some of them really enjoyed both the tradition and the taste of the brew. Others navigated toward coffee which seemed to provide them with a bigger punch of caffeine for awakening to another day of studying. Only one grandson seems to still enjoy taking the time to let the tea steep in the pot while we talk about the world. He still plans to one day take whomever ends up being his wife to the high tea time at the Empress Hotel in Victoria, British Columbia, a delightful experience that we enjoyed together on a vacation trip of long ago.
It is quite remarkable how much impact two different kinds of brew have had on the history of the world. The stories of coffee and tea are more than just the way we start our days. They changed the world in both big and quite personal ways. For me they both represent love and in the case of tea, discovery. I can’t drink either one without thinking of the two remarkable women who gave me my first tastes of the drinks that would awaken my feelings in such positive ways.
All It Takes Is A Little Love 