Boiling Tea Water

Boiling Tea Water

Lost in thoughts Greybeard stands in his kitchen. He is about to start his regular evening meditation session soon but he wants to have a cup of tea before.

He opens tge cupboard with his 25-30 different blends of tea: what shall he take today? Indian Chai - noo, too strong, doesn’t go along with an evening meditation. Yunnan from China, not bad, but it can also get a little strong, similar to an Oolong. One of his Darjeeling Plantage teas? No, he wants to have a very special tea ceremony today, he decides for a green tea, but which one? Chinese Green teas are usually nothing special, similar to the common Japanese Sencha, ah, here it is, the small bag with his very special Japanese green tea “Gyokuro Kukicha”, grown in semi-shadow, hand-picked dark green leaves and blended with light green to yellowish small stipes. An excellent choice to prepare an exquisite and very special tea.

He carefully opens the white bag, inclines it and shakes the content slightly to check the quality. Yes, unmistakably with the light green spots, no doubt an rarity. He carefully takes a sniff of the aroma with his nose close to the bag’s opening - wonderful, that’s how a good green tea has to be. Not as ordinary as the thick leaves of a  Sencha or the rolled pellets of a Gunpowder, the Gyokuro Kukicha is a very light tea, an odour not strong at all. This tea requires to be treated with special care. 

He takes the bag and puts it close to his water cooker, along with the standardized tea spoon and the sieve. What does it read here? 6 standard spoonful for 1 liter. Ok, he carefully dips the spoon in the bag, fills it with tea to the top, but not more, and lifts it to the sieve, slowly he puts the green leaves in. This he repeats 6 times, then he takes the sieve with two fingers and places it in his green metal tea can. He likes the patina of his cast iron can, from inside it’s covered with a crust of dark tea sediment, giving a special flavor to the tea which can never be achieved with a new can. It requires years of permanent and intensive usage to build this black sediment crust. 

“Now the water” he thinks. For this special tea let’s have not the ordinary water from the tub. He takes a bottle of mineral water and pours the content in his water boiler, just a little more than the 1 liter mark. This is a green tea, so the water should not be boiled. He pushes the button with the tea leave icon which indicates heating of the water to 70° Celsius. 

While the water is heated slowly and a simmering tone fills the kitchen he tries to focus himself to the tea preparation process. What a privilege he can enjoy today this special tea. How many hands were needed to pick the leaves, collect them, bring them to the drying area, spread it on the floor, cover it with bast mats so that it will dry under their shadows. Then again collect the dry tea, put it in wooden boxes and transport it to the next bigger city with a port or an airport. Another set of hands will store the boxes in containers and finally ship them to Europe where it will be unpacked, refilled to metal boxes and shipped to a local tea store, where he bought his little bag. So many hands, so many people involved, such a long trip from Japan to Germany. He feels gratitude to all the people who have helped him to enjoy this special tea today.

The water is hot, some steam leakes from the top of the water boiler and the machine sounds a short alarm while the 70° button blinks yellow. 

He takes the handle of the boiler in his right hand, lifts it and moves it‘s muzzle close to his waiting tea can. Slowly with a circling movement of his hand he pours the hot water over the tea in the sieve. Once done he takes a small clock and sets the alarm to 2 minutes. Waiting again, while the light smell of the green tea fills the kitchen, a little earthy,  slightly remembering to fir needles. 

The alarm beeps, he switches it off and removes the sieve from the tea can before he places the lid on the can’s opening. Then he takes the handle of the can and carefully carries it to his living room, where he has already lit the candle of the tea warmer. 

Before he places the can on the top he fills his wide tea bowl with the exquisite yellow greenish liquid. Small steam clouds rise from the surface, the aroma fills the room. 

He places himself on top of his meditation pillow, the tea bowl in his reach. He slowly stretches his right, grabs the bowl, takes care not to burn his fingers and guides the bowl to his lips.

While he enjoys the first sip he thinks of one of his favorite poems, which best describes the joy and lust of relishing a cup of good tea:

The first cup moistens my lips and throat.
The second cup breaks my loneliness. 
The third cup searches my barren entrail,
          but to find therein some thousand volumes of odd ideographs. 
The fourth cup raises a slight perspiration;
          all the wrongs of life pass out through my pores. 
At the fifth cup I am purified. 
The sixth cup calls me to the Realms of the immortals. 

The seventh cup - ah, but I could take no more!
I only feel the breath of the cool wind that raises in my sleeves. 
Where is Paradise? Let me ride on this sweet breeze and waft away thither.

Song of Tea by Lu Tung