Further Adventures in the Tea Trade

English tea - a neo-colonialist celebration

Tea, apparently, is an evil and disgusting vestige of colonialism, a filthy brew of wickedness emblematic of oppression, racism and exploitation. Leftists and progressives who know imperialism when they see it never touch the stuff. Those that insist on drinking it are reprobates, fascists, villains, and probably homophobes as well.

This is the sort of thing that, as they say, you simply cannot make up. No. In all seriousness, it is a sentiment lifted from an article that appeared in the Guardian – where else? – by a supposed “journalist” Joel Golby written for all those pearl-clutching latte elitists desperately concerned to purge every last trace of colonialism from their miserable, guilt-ridden lives. “Liking tea,” he writes, “has its roots in colonialism…” and we wouldn’t want that, now, would we? The article – no kidding - was a follow up piece to how post-colonial social justice warriors should eliminate HP sauce from their diet! Both items – tea and HP sauce – are – horror of horrors! – British, and in these enlightened times only members of the Nazi Party or the Ku Klux Klan would even consider keeping such things in their kitchen.

The barking mad absurdity of this is unfortunately not isolated nor even a joke. Several posts ago (see here) these pages featured a restaurant in Portland named Saffron Colonial that had fallen foul of the lunatic self-righteousness of joyless cultural Marxists. In that case, the restaurant in question serves fine teas by local tea suppliers - and they may well serve HP sauce too - to accompany a British Empire themed menu. They have attracted protests and petitions, hatred and tantrums, because they dare to serve British food. This has become a favorite battle-field for contemporary Left-wing bullies. Not content with insisting that men sit down to urinate it seems these tedious busy bodies have decided that we must now eliminate all things British from our diet. 

The present author was therefore amused to be walking along in Muslim post-British Langkowi recently when he saw the following restaurant catering to tourists:

This classy and popular establishment is owned and operated by a young hard working Indian family. Not a social justice warrior in sight. The menu features cuisine from British India and celebrates the great diversity of India brought about by historical waves of invaders: Turkoman, Mughul, Portugese, French, British, etc., a heritage of which the Indian owners are proud. The menu also features a selection of excellent teas from the tea plantations of Malaysia, such as those in the Cameron Highlands, which were established, of course, by the British.

Inspired by Mr Golby's unhinged rant about the politically incorrectness of tea drinking, this page is duly dedicated to tea. 

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First, a note about coffee. In India - most notably Calcutta - tea (chai) is consumed with milk and sugar. It is more a confection than anything else. It is very milky and very sweet, and taken in small earthen cups. In Pe Nang, where the author has been resident for the last month or so, this mode of consumption is reserved for coffee - the renowned Penang White, a unique local speciality. It too is taken more as a confection than as a beverage. 

A 'Penang White', for those coffee connoisseurs who are unaware of it, is made from beans pan-fried in butter and sugar rather than roasted in the usual way. It is then served with condensed milk. It is enjoyed throughout the Prince of Wales Island and is a feature of many coffee establishments in the old quarters of George Town such as the ramshackle cafe on China Street pictured below: 

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The real joy of George Town, however, is the many Chinese tea houses and tea traders. It will no doubt come as a surprise to the Chinese that tea drinking is a vile colonialist habit to be eschewed and frowned upon by all right-thinking people: the Chinese tradition of tea drinking extends back thousands of years, and even in more recent times the Chinese of George Town (and the wider Malay peninsula) were supporters of the British and enthusiastically embraced British habits. This includes the British manner of preparing tea (the 'Western method'), although the more traditional methods ('Gong Fu') continue as well. 

TWG Tea Salon, Gurney Plaza, George Town.  An up-market store featuring the very finest (and most expensive) teas in the world. 

A traditional Chinese tea house, George Town

Residing in George Town allowed the present writer to explore a full range of fine Chinese teas. There are several categories listed below:

The Chinese character for tea

White Tea - very little processing. More or less fresh tea buds sun dried. Subtle and fresh. Extremely light in flavor. Sometimes with slightly nutty notes.

Yellow Tea - a rare grade of tea once preserved for the Imperial court. A flavor profile in between white and green tea with a lingering sweetness.

Green Tea - young buds and leaves, but unoxidised. Chinese green tea is pan-baked to stop oxyidization. Japanese green tea is steamed. The Japanese style has grassier flavours. The Chinese style is nuttier and more complex, less grassy. Fresh tasting with some astringency and a clean finish on the palette. 

Oolong Tea - semi-oxydized tea with a wide range of flavours depending on the extent of oxidization. Darker grades produce fruity notes. Suitable for serving with food. 

Black Tea - fully (or near fully) oxyidized tea. The Chinese refer to it as "hong cha" = red tea, because the liquor it produces is reddish. The most common grade of tea drunk in the West. Full flavoured. 

Pu Erh Tea - fermented dark teas. Often fermented for ten or more years. Very earthy flavours. These teas are a real joy - hearty with complex flavours - but can be quite expensive. 

Scented Teas - jasmine tea, rose tea, Earl Grey etc. 

The author's tea set with a collection of Chinese teas. Essential equipment when travelling. The small 'buttons' of tea shown are various grades of Pu Erh (fermented) tea. 

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PREPARING TEA

There are two main methods of preparing tea: the traditional oriental method – called Gong Fu (or 'Kung Fu', a term that merely indicates a subject of study that requires ritual and patience) – and the modern Western method. Everyone is familiar with the latter. You put some tea leaves in a tea pot, pour over boiling water, let it sit for a few minutes, then it is ready. This can be refined in several ways, such as by using high-quality loose leaf tea, and by using water at the optimum temperature and steeping for the optimum duration, but it is essentially a straight-forward method that requires little expertise. Gong Fu is rather more elaborate, an art, but it is not a difficult art to master. Below are some notes on preparing tea according to the traditional method:

GONG FU

1. Pour hot (not boiling*) water over the leaf tea to clean it. Dispense with the water immediately. This cleans and softens and activates the leaves.

2. Pour hot (not boiling) water over the leaves a second time. Let stand for about thirty seconds. 

3. Pour into a small cup. Drink. (You should "slurp" tea, taking plenty of air into the mouth when drinking. This maximizes flavour.) 

4. Repeat steps 2. and 3. for a second cup. 

Most good teas can be used for six or seven or more infusions. Each infusion will be slightly different. The idea is to taste the tea in small cups over many infusions to extract and experience the full flavour profile of the tea. 

In the 'Western method' the tea is left to infuse for two minutes or more and all of the flavours are extracted at once. In the 'Gong Fu Method' the flavours are extracted in a series of short infusions which are sampled from small tasting cups.

* = most grades of tea should be infused in water at about 80-90 deg.C., which is to say just under boiling point.  

Note: One of the surest ways to improve enjoyment of any tea is to purchase loose leaf tea from a single tea estate rather than a blend of teas from many estates. This will cost extra and only speciality stores will be able to oblige, but it makes a great difference. Tea from one location differs in flavour from tea from other locations. 'Blends' even out these differences are produce a uniform product. 

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The secret of tea is this: that while a stimulant, it is – quite unlike coffee – internalizing. It both stimulates and relaxes. This is the attribute of tea first discovered by the Chinese and adapted to the typical temperament of oriental spirituality. Coffee, by contrast, is an externalizing stimulant. It was, accordingly, adapted to the quite different spiritual temperament of the Saracens, namely an outward-looking and active mode of contemplation compared to the more quietist internalizing contemplation of the Far East. 

This is to generalize, certainly, but everything the present author has seen on his long journeys both recent and past confirm it. In the Sino-Asiatic world in which he is currently travelling, tea has historically been regarded as a spiritual adjunct, aside from its social roles. In the Near East and other parts of the Muhammadan world by extension, coffee tends to play this part; it has historically been used as a stimulant by the Soofis and the Irfans and assorted Islamic mystics. As a stimulant it is better adapted to the typical modes of Muhammadan spiritual life. These modes are externalist. The Muhammadans, for instance, do not have an institution of monasticism and world-renunciation, nor practices of internalizing meditation. As a stimulant – paradoxical though this seems – tea is better suited to the internalized modes of oriental spiritual life. It was for this reason that tea was revered as the fabled “celestial drink” of legend - a sacred drink - before it became a common beverage. The remarkable property of the drink is that it both stimulates and elevates.

We might compare the different modes of stimulation of coffee and tea, Islamic and oriental, with, say, the different narcotic properties of hashish on the one hand and opium on the other, where hashish is 'externalizing' (exciting the senses) and opium is 'internalizing' (dreamy, sleep-inducing). The differences are not absolute, but they are real enough. In general terms we can say that coffee is best adapted to Islamic modes of spiritual practice. Tea, on the other hand, goes naturally with the practices of Taoism, Boodhism and related oriental modes of spirituality. These are not merely historical accidents. The two stimulants, tea and coffee, have different effects upon the human sensorium and upon consciousness itself and so are each adapted to different temperaments. 

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Yours,

Harper Mc Alpine Black

Hashish: The Lost Legend

"Excuse me, sir, hashish?" asked the young Indian man on the corner near the small tumble-down Kali temple. The author had just been sitting in the famous Blue Lassi Cafe in the back alleys of the Benares old city, not far from the Burning Ghats, sipping on a pomegranate lassi and watching as no less than three funeral processions - groups of men carrying a body on a bamboo stretcher - hurried by down to the banks of the Ganges for the cremation. He looked over the young man. "Hashish?" he asked. "Yes sir," said the vendor. And at this the young man produced a large slab of dark brown aromatic hashish putty under which he waved a lit match so that a prospective buyer might smell the authenticity of the goods. He described it as "Afghani." He furthermore explained that the six or seven soldiers seated on the street corner two buildings back, armed with machine guns and other deadly weaponry, were only concerned with terrorists, not tourists.  "This is a holy city, sir," he said. "Bhang is sacred to Lord Shiva." The author was well aware of this fact, but also realised that it is not necessary to purchase the stuff from random Hindoos on the street when it can be procured from government approved bhang stores, of which there is one immediately across from the Blue Lassi Cafe. 

Nevertheless, the episode, and the scent of the hashish, did remind the author of a certain book that may be of interest to readers of this web log. There is, needless to relate, a small library of orientalist literature devoted to hashish, and the author has read the chief volumes. The sensuality of the drug was once synonymous with the sensuality of the east and it was celebrated in prose, poetry and the visual arts as a distinct orientalist theme. Beyond this sensuality, like opium it was renowned as a vehicle of the imagination. 

This, of course, was before prohibition, and before the advent of puritanical Mahometan nation states in the violent and chaotic catastrophe that has been the post-colonial age. Hindoo India has not been immune to this, but a city such as Benares - where the author now resides - resists change and the stupidities of modernity better than most. There has never been prohibition in Benares, although - as the street vendor said - "bhang" was and remains in a sacred rather than merely recreational context. It is a pity, it must be said, that Western hippys and ferals and the useless offspring of baby boomers frequent the city dressed as secular cheesecloth parodies of sadhoos abusing the sanctity of the herb and its celestial oils. 

The book that comes to mind, a classic of the genre, is the rare and intoxicating Hashish: the Lost Legend, by Fritz Lemmermayer, first published 1898. The present author has had the privilege of seeing a hard copy of this wonderful literary gem but was not able to purchase it at the time. Instead, he has had to read the text as an ebook, which is a travesty for such a work. One day, perhaps, when he is flush with cash, a hard copy will come his way. 

Hashish: the Lost Legend is a tale of star-crossed romance between a certain Ali and a voluptuous woman named Zuleyka. They fall in love even though they come from warring tribes. Of course. One day, however, Zuleyka bathes naked in an alleged fountain of youth and is seen by the villainous Rustan who determines to own her for himself. In a time honoured tradition, the evil Rustan raids their wedding, kills half the guests and makes off with the bride. So what is poor Ali to do? He is approached at this point by a certain "Yusuf" who introduces him to hashish, and fired by dreams, he is transformed into a passionate warrior. The story proceeds from there. It is a predictable tale of the oriental type - quasi-oriental, we might say, and an orientalist indulgence in that respect - and more like the plot of an opera than of a novel, but it is a famous book all the same and considered an orientalist treasure. In the genre of romantic hashish tales it deserves a prominent place. It celebrates the hashish dream as a mode of the romantic imagination. A very fine English edition - that rescued the text from Yiddish - was published by Process Books not long ago. 

(The other work that comes to mind here is Paul Verlaine's Hashish & Incense, but it is utterly impossible to find.)

The role of bhang in Shaivite spirituality is a matter for another post. Hashish, in fact, is a particular preparation of bhang and is preferred by the Mahometans rather than by the Hindoos. These things have a particular history and a particular affinity for certain spiritual modes, certain temperaments and certain ethnic propensities. The orientalists were struck by the powers of hashish upon the imagination, which, like all romantics, they regarded as the spiritual faculty par excellence. It does need to be said, though, that this was not a rootless and vapid imagination such as is known by the diminished rogues of our own time; it was axial and exact. Choofing on bhang - in whatever preparation - was not some idle indulgence but a method of transport to higher states. The ancient labyrinthine streets of Benares old city is perhaps the one place on earth today where this fact still seems a credible ideal.

Yours

Harper McAlpine Black