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奥 ・鉄瓶 / 手前左・軽量スプーン / 手前右・台湾高山烏龍茶 / Back: Cast iron kettle / Front left: Lightweight spoon / Front right: Taiwanese high mountain oolong tea |
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奥 ・鉄瓶 / 手前左・軽量スプーン / 手前右・台湾高山烏龍茶 / Back: Cast iron kettle / Front left: Lightweight spoon / Front right: Taiwanese high mountain oolong tea |
Last week, I was delighted to share some wonderful news with everyone who looks forward to the Sunday edition.
I'll try to write without focusing too much on whether it's for readers abroad or at home, so please bear with me.
I think I've written about tea several times before. Do you enjoy brewing tea?
I wasn't very good at it myself, due to certain circumstances.
Later, when I started working, I was taught how to brew tea properly, so I could do it well if I tried. Even now, I enjoy the seasonal subtleties of savoring matcha in the tea ceremony, but I'm not particularly fond of everyday tea or tea served to guests.
When I started living independently, instead of brewing tea for daily life, I began a routine of making black tea and coffee upon waking each morning.
That habit continues to this day.
The reason I dislike everyday tea and tea for guests is because I dislike the atmosphere surrounding the people involved with tea.
I dislike the unspoken message conveyed by those who drink tea daily, who are knowledgeable about tea, and who know the details of tea for guests – that they are extremely high-class individuals.
Or that their birth family and background were high-class.
When I was envied for brewing tea well, I was utterly dumbfounded, thinking, “Are these people stupid?”
Tea is indeed a beautiful melody.
I believe the taste, aroma, vessels, and even the water temperature from the teapot all contribute to “the act of playing the beautiful sound that is tea” and “the act of listening to the lovely flavor that is tea.”
But knowing this, being able to do it, and then genuinely believing people who can't are lacking in basic necessities—being unable to escape that stereotype—is a rather dull mentality, I think.
I do want to drink delicious tea.
But I suspect there are quite a few people besides me who simply can't find value in that effort within their daily lives.
I don't dislike brewing tea, but the washing up afterward and preparing for the next time just don't feel important to me.
So, in the end, my days are colored by the aroma of coffee and the occasional scent of Earl Grey.
Surprisingly, it came with one of those stainless steel tea strainers you find in modern teapots.
I wondered if Japanese goods were circulating overseas, or if it was a simplified iron teapot made for people in countries without tea culture, perhaps via the Chinese diaspora, given the recent trend in Chinoiserie. But I concluded this was likely an iron teapot preserved by people living in mainland China or overseas Chinese communities, adapted to their current lifestyles.
The reason I don't find value in the act of brewing tea is that if you leave tea sitting, it develops bitterness and becomes less tasty. Plus, unless you know the tricks and methods for brewing it well, you won't get that “Wow... delicious...” flavor that leaves you speechless.
Honestly, bottled tea doesn't reach the level of deliciousness you get when you brew it properly.
And in our busy lives filled with countless tasks, we can't find value in tea that doesn't deliver that level of flavor, so we don't feel motivated to spend money on tea leaves either.
Even expensive tea bought with effort requires concentration when you're feeling lazy to brew it well.
After so long, I recalled it and paused to consider the value of that effort and time. Yet I still cannot find the value to incorporate a new element into my life—a thirty-minute break for tea.
So I used to think that people who are serious about tea, or for whom tea is essential in daily cooking, must be putting in all that effort.
Actually, if you fill this iron kettle with water, bring it to a boil, then open the lid, add two teaspoons or one measuring spoon of tea leaves, take it off the heat, and wait two minutes, you get seriously good tea.
(If it tastes bitter, try using one teaspoon or half the amount measured with a measuring spoon.)
The resulting tea has none of that bitterness and is remarkably similar to properly brewed gyokuro.
I use a different strainer, the one I mentioned for black tea, to pour it into a teacup.
There's absolutely no astringency.
And even after it sits and becomes stronger, no bitterness emerges.
This was the purpose of that iron kettle.
After drinking something unbelievable and being stunned, I was struck by the thought that busy people on the mainland and overseas Chinese, who work hard and use their time efficiently, couldn't help but devise a way to skip the formal tea-brewing ritual and easily enjoy truly bitter-free, properly brewed tea in their hectic daily lives.
It was a moment that truly left me speechless.
Seems like a sales pitch from Temu these days (lol).
Whether 4,000 yen is expensive or not, I'll leave that to your current lifestyle to decide. But this iron teapot is the tool that lets you drink that tea effortlessly.
Japan is now transitioning from autumn to winter.
Yet, the enormous amount of work everyone does every day doesn't decrease.
The item in the top photo appears to be a measuring spoon used by Chinese, Hong Kong, or overseas Chinese communities.
It's shaped like a ladle for easy pouring. Apparently, it's part of a set calibrated to British colonial or international recipe standards, designed for precise combinations or “just a little more” adjustments.
This handle reads “1TSP/5ml”.
Playing with Temu affordably every day is strangely delightful.
Well then, thinking of the finest taste of tea, have a wonderful Sunday.