I was hopelessly in love with this on my first tin. It has this thick “bready”, malty warmth that seems to be at odds, yet nonetheless, works so beautifully with the tropical fruity wave of sunshine.
I had my first cup of this while beginning BBC’s Sherlock with my older sister on a cold January evening. It was so wet and damp outside and nothing seemed more comforting or soothing than this tea. I steeped that first cup for all it was worth and drank as much as I could in the span of two episodes of Sherlock. I even got a giant mango piece. I love mangoes most of all.I was so enamored that, when I finally ran out,I bought it a fancy blue tin. Bliss was the world.
Now it’s almost a whole year later. I’m on my second tin of this and the mangoes are all gone. Sherlock’s gone too. Nothing is as good as it used to be and I don’t even want to re-steep the cup I have in front of me. I’m typing up a fifteen page essay. I should want to procrastinate! but I don’t. Maybe it’s the lack of mangoes, maybe the lack of Sherlock, but this just tastes like malty fake fruit fuzz now.
Oh, happiness, where did you go? Is it just me or can I blame another one on university papers? Why don’t I desire to repurchase you anymore? The world is cruel.
Self-pity, off. Please make a third season of Sherlock. Also, mangoes.
