I have never been to Paris – heck, I don’t even own a passport. I need to remedy this situation someday. In the meantime, Paris is making its way into my cup.
The tin is hiding in my cupboard under another tea that I use more, but like less. Lifting off the lid, I sneak a whiff – sweet, vanilla-y and fruity. While the 8 oz. of water comes to a boil, I measure out the leaves at 1.5 teaspoons.
Steeping the leaves for 4 minutes seemed like a long time when you’re just standing there willing it to finish. But I also love watching the color of the water change from sand to amber to nearly coffee-black. Finally, the timer goes off and the leaves are removed from the liquid.
Too impatient to wait for it to cool, I dangle an ice cube in the hot tea until three-fourths of it is dissolved. Add some simple syrup and my small cup is to the brim, full. A scary sight! I know better than to try lifting it to my mouth as I’ll end up wearing a quarter of it. After weighing my options, my best bet is to bring myself down to the cup and gently slurp enough so it won’t slosh when I go to pick it up.
A slightly turbulent journey, but I’m reminded of why Paris has it’s position in my cupboard – its special. The everyday teas are there to get you by, but it’s what’s underneath that counts.