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Squirrely tea is the new coffee. There, I said it, even though I probably risked life and limb to do so. Starbucks might come after me, bearing sharp sticks harvested from the pristine hills of Uruguay.

(Is it considered defamation of one’s tea-leaf character to mention coffee on Steepster? Can leaves and beans get along? I think they can. Tea has become a habit for me, while coffee is a rarity. Tea is necessary, like the oxygen I breathe or the calories I must consume in order to keep sauntering around on this crazy planet. Coffee is like dessert at the end of a ridiculously expensive meal: not necessary, but nice sometimes.)

Once I tried Adagio’s chestnut tea, I was sold. Nutty and sweet, it seems to be one of the most flavor-rich ceylons of the Adagio brand. How could one improve on such goodness? Can deliciousness be made more delicious? Moon-shooter that I am, I created this blend to try, and voila. Enhanced by traditional sweetener and cream, it’s even sweeter, even nuttier, and even richer. Yes please.

Lately it seems I’m only drinking blends that I put together, but I do own a lot of them. There is no tea finer than one made … uh, in your own diner. Wow.

Enough of this banter, and on with the tea-kus:

Chestnut, caramel, and
sweet cream on an open flame:
squirrels, mind your fur!

“I do love this tea,”
cried one squirrel to his friend.
“Don’t bogart,” friend said.

Vanilla with a sweet background of blackberry, mmm mmm good. This ode-to-Jane Austen tea seems to fancy drinking in the perfumed shade of an overgrown blackberry bush — while seated at a tea-table, of course, so you don’t muss your elaborate frock coat or embroidered empire-waist gown.

I’m immensely proud of this blend (although not prejudiced, or so I hope), as it was I who made it. I blame the education system for making my brain all literary. I also blame the tea system for making my taste buds all blendy.

And now, two thusly tea-inspired haiku:

Vanilla, my love,
and blackberries too; how sweet!
Word up, Regency!

Are you strolling fields
and strapped for cash? Drink this, then
wed for (wealthy) love.

Intense pride alert: I created this zany-named blend, and to me, it is perfection. Who doesn’t love a steampunk-inspired tea, after all? Orange spice at its finest, this ceylon blend is rich with tart orange flavor and the perfect amount of spice. Neither too fruity nor too spicy, Zeppelinmobile is juuuuust right. Represent, Goldilocks. A little sweetener + a wee dram of cream = putting on your goggles and soaring away in a teamobile.

Today this tea is helping me combat a cold with its warm, liquidy embrace, and so its heroism deserves a little haiku:

O, Zeppelinmobile:
velvet spices in my cup!
Steampunks heart airships.

A decaf green-lemon-strawberry blend that always makes me feel light-bright-sweet. This is summer in a cup — still need to try it iced!

Because this blend includes both green and herbal tea, steeping time depends on the taste for which you’re looking. Steep for 3 minutes at a lighter temperature, and you get a green tea with a touch of strawberry. Steep for 5 minutes at a higher temperature, and you get a strawberry tea with a touch of green-lemon. Ah, choices!

I created this blend myself, and it has become one my favorite evening teas. There is a hint of flavor still missing from it, though, or so I feel — Space Cowboy may need one more flavor to become a fully-layered blend. Perhaps an update is in the near future!

One of the best dessert teas of all time: sweet and full-bodied with just a touch of rosy floral in the background, and with cream and sweetener it is perfection. This is the sort of rosy/sugary/fabulous tea that Marie Antoinette might have enjoyed — before she realized that the populace tends to get a little peeved when they can’t eat on a regular basis, of course.

The chocolate flavor here tastes exactly like dark chocolate, too, without the overbrewed flavor that some chocolate ceylons can aquire without careful attention to steeping time. The rose flavor is far more delicate (read: less evident) than the chocolate flavor, but that’s appropriate, after all, unless you are a honeybee with an agenda.

Chocolate tea seems like something of an art. Like chocolate itself, some are full and rich, some are light, some are better when blended, some are … bright.

I like rhymes with my rococo-inspired chocolate tea. Sue me.

A light green tea with a pleasantly nutty underbelly — okay, okay: undertone (undertaste?) — that is very interesting, particularly since it comes from the addition, apparently, of twigs. Well done, twigs! Who knew you were dying to get into the tea business lo these many centuries?

Green teas on the nutty side tend to intrigue me far more than their grassier-tasting cousins. Too much grassy flavor = liquid lettuce. Although I do love a good salad, said love is incredibly fleeting when composed in liquid form.

Sidenote/Sidemuse: Drinking a cup of green tea always makes me feel distinctly mellow, the sort of mellowness I never feel with black, white, or even herbal teas. Why is this?