Until the water begins to laugh

I am not much of a coffee drinker; for all that I am a South Indian. I like the occasional cup of filter coffee certainly, but I don't make a religion out of it. The recent profusion of coffee bars leaves me unmoved. The varieties of coffee they offer impress me not. I am a tea drinker, you see.

When we were growing up, we used to drink a glass of milk first thing in the morning. It wasn't until I started college that I discovered hot stimulants like tea and coffee. Oh, both coffee and tea were made and consumed at home, but that was for grown-ups.

It was in the Queen Mary's College canteen that I had my first cup of tea. And coffee. Vile though they both were, I preferred the vileness of tea to coffee. Later, in Presidency College, we used to have long chat sessions in the canteen over endless cups of tea.

I started having a cup of tea in the afternoon at home too, around that time. But it was made by the maid, and it was always Brooke Bond Red Label, and it was always cooked. Yes, I said cooked. It was made by boiling the water in a saucepan, spooning the leaves into the water, bringing the water to a rolling boil again and straining the decoction. Milk and sugar were added to this and it was ready to be served.

I know. It sounds ghastly.

I got married, and our khansamah served tea, and I suppose he made it the same way. It wasn't until he quit and I entered the kitchen that I had a reason to make tea myself. It was by chance that I learnt to brew tea. I'd just spooned the tea leaves into the saucepan when the phone rang, so I turned off the heat, covered the saucepan and went to answer the phone. Voila!

Then a friend gave a gift. Some Darjeeling tea, a brand called Runglee Rungliot. It came in a canister, and had detailed instructions about how to brew a good cup of tea. I was an instant convert. I became a fanatic about brewing tea properly.

I learnt the mantra, 'One for each cup and one for the pot', I learnt the finer points of warming the pot so that the boiling water doesn't cool too fast once it is poured, and I learnt the trick of adding milk to the cup before pouring the tea.

Once that lot of tea was used up, I found I couldn't go back to Red Label. It was like Cinderella dancing with Prince Charming and settling for the chimneysweep. I explored the teas on offer. Lipton Green Label was a decent tea, I found.

A cousin gave me an infuser. This is a perforated steel egg, with a little chain attached to the top. That chain makes it ideal for brewing individual cups of tea. It also does away with the need to strain the tea as the leaves are contained in the infuser, and it can be simply lifted out.

I don't drink as much tea as I used to, but I still brew it properly. Each cup of tea I brew is made the same way. Boiling the water, warming my tea mug, measuring out a heaped spoonful of tea into the infuser (one for the cup, one for the pot, remember?), and placing it in the mug, pouring the boiling water, covering the mug and steeping for four minutes - it never varies. My infusers lost their chains, but I still use them, as they hold the mess of tea leaves together and are still ideal making single cups of tea.

Nowadays I drink Castleton, which is a very good Darjeeling tea. I tried Earl Grey, but I didn't like it. And don't talk to me about teabags, please.

I laughed in delight as I read Douglas Adams teaching Americans how to make a decent cuppa. It is exactly how I brew it.

Among my cookery books is a gem, Food for the Emperor, a book of recipes from Imperial China and a dictionary of Chinese Cuisine. Compiled by John D. Keys, it is a collection of marvellous recipes and anecdotes, excerpts from Chinese literature and histories.

Here is an excerpt I love:

"I am sending you some leaves of tea. They come from the tree belonging to the monastery which lies upon the mountain Ou I.

"Take a blue urn of Ni Hung. Fill it with water which has been melted from snow gathered, at sunrise, upon the western slope of the mountain Sou Chan; place this urn over a fire of maple twigs that have been collected from among very old moss, and leave it there just until the water begins to laugh. Then pour it in a cup of Huen Tcha in which you have placed some leaves of this tea, cover the cup with a bit of white silk woven at Houa Chan, and wait until your room is filled with a perfume like that of a garden at Fouen Lo.

"Lift the cup to your lips, then close your eyes. You will be in Paradise."

Ouang Tsi (723-737), to a friend

Cheers!