Jack Gallagher

Despite my BIG FANCY CLAIMS to the contrary, I have not been diligently logging my tea drinking. I am having a cup of Constant Comment now. I wonder where they get the orange seeds from. An orange juice company? Were they cheap at first? But then did the orange juice company suspect something was up and try to jack up the price? Who won?

I have had many cups of tea in the past month or so that I have forgotten to log. Pardon me! To avoid getting things too exciting as I ease back into the world of tea logging, I have prepared a cup of a Twinings Earl Grey, a pleasant tea, but not one very likely to overstimulate.

A grim, joyless slog born more of a sense of duty to sunken costs than any desire.

This was prepared by adding a teabag to a mug of freshly boiled water, forgetting about it, going out for a walk for an hour, returning home, and drinking the result with a grim sense of obligation.

Drinking this unseasonal tea gives me a deep understanding of the lives of people in the sparsely populated Southern hemisphere.

It is unclear what relation this tea has to the Fleet Foxes song “White Winter Hymnal.” In one hypothetical scenario, Robin Pecknold becomes so bored drinking this pleasant but fairly mild tea that he suddenly writes a song to keep himself entertained for the moments it will take him to drink the remainder of his tea.

Warm, bitter, and familiar.

This tea weirds me out a little bit for political reasons. I suppose a plantation is just a place with plants, but I cannot help but associate it with America’s unhappy history in the slave trade. But the tea’s fine.

This tea was so drunk.

I’m just kidding, folks! The only sense in which this tea was drunk is the regard in which I drank it, which is to say, the tea was drunk by me. It’s like the Douglas Adams joke.

But racist “humor” is no joke. Self-deprecation is a tyrant far crueler than a thousand British empires. I guess it’s equally cruel to Oliver Cromwell, but he was a really bad guy.

Anyways, this tea was fine. Pleasant.

This is a tea that is not afraid to admit that it’s getting to be bed time. It is also a tea that is not afraid to be kind of crappy.

Fast facts. My favorite lemon related beverage is lemonade. Most of the body of Wikipedia’s article on Bigelow is about Constant Comment.

Tea time is the time for tea.

There was a character on the TV series Star Trek: The Next Generation who liked to drink Earl Grey tea. I believe it was Captain Picard.

This makes the non-jasmine Trader Joe’s green tea look like a lazybones.

This is like the Thin White Duke but not as important, I suppose. It’s not even as important as the White Margrave. But does a tea have to be important to be good? I am here to tell you, “no.” This cup of tea was totally okay despite its minor rank and whiteness.

I cannot help but be put in mind of the Phish toe-tapper “Stash” when I drink this tea. Who can say why these things happen.

More hospital food tea. Not as dispiriting as Swee-Touch-Nee but not spiriting in any real way, either.

Trip back to the hospital, several uninspired and uninspiring cups of Swee-Touch-Nee. I may start calling it Medi-Ocri-Tea to be mean.

Two cups of this. My future, as seen in the leaves, is a cartoon face.

Dude, I’m so frigging chai right now.

This is not my favorite tea. It’s just sort of something to do.

I kind of resent this tea.

This stuff zinged the heck out of me.

I had this for a British sort of small meal in the afternoon between lunch and supper.