1942 Tasting Notes
Full review with my thoughts on medicinal value is up at www.itsallabouttheleaf.com, but here’s an excerpt:
My sample was a little powdery; found some whole chamomile buds, but the concoction looked mostly like something you’d sprinkle on a roast chicken. Steeped to full recommended capacity, the lemon-mint essence that is the lead-in to most herbal nightcaps is okay.
This was a travel-bag tuck-in from a recent Tennessee hotel stay. Comfort Suites, to be exact. So we know it’s a food-service grade continental breakfast tea … therefore, I was not expecting much but some warm liquid for my sore throat and cold office. So why am I pleasantly surprised and why am I getting a nice, sweet almond aftertaste?
Then again, it could be dish soap. I actually scrubbed the mug for a change :)
Generally, I prefer rooibos add-ins that are ice cream flavors: chocolate, vanilla, orange cream—-rooibos just seems made for “smooth.” I’ve always thought minty and fruity stuff didn’t blend nearly as well.
However, the lime and lemongrass in this blend complements instead of distracts. Nice decaf afternoon perk-me-up.
A holdover from last year that’s held up pretty nicely. I don’t see it on Franklin Tea Company’s roster this season, but there’s a Hot Cinnamon Spice that I’m guessing is highly similar—cinnamon of the red hot variety, sweet clove and orange rind. I’m tasting all of those here.
Makes a very genteel cup, so I poured into a very delicate and dainty pedestal cup—gold trim and everything—that I hauled home from my parents’ attic Thanksgiving afternoon.
Seems that Grandma, still from an era when ladies had “club” at their house once a month or so and entertained with froofy cakes and servingware, fixed me up with a “flower of the month” set. (Currently drinking from September—Aster.) As a skinny, squirrely tomboy third grader, I had no use for foofy stuff in my room, so up to the attic they went and were forgotten until recently.
I’m still a tomboy—I know Grandma would cluck her tongue at me right now, dressed like a refugee from the DAV thrift store after raking leaves, sipping from her carefully chosen china cups with handles so lacy you can barely thread a pinky through them—but it makes me smile all the same that she might have had a premonition I would need something lovely from which to drink my tea.