Once more this morning David and I made the dismal journey to our doctor’s office to “give blood” not as in a pint for some needy soul, but a sample for testing. What a bore. David has joined me in the quarterly blood-letting to determine whether or not we have deteriorated very much since our last encounter with “the vampire nurse,” as he calls her. This has been going on for 14 years for me and began with a heart attack in the late 1990s.
The mornings we do this blood-letting, we are devoid of food and COFFEE.
Somehow that pot of tea I made left us both feeling morose. So strange because we were once avid tea drinkers. Actually we were nutty coffee drinkers before that, and for a long while, consuming two pots per day, and buying whole beans (a mix of Mocha and Viennese Cinnamon) at a little coffee shop that went out of business because there were not enough coffee fanatics to support the business.
tea tasting (Photo credit: crunklygill)
Several trips to England, and spoiled by drinking really great tea, in the days before British Rail sold gnat’s urine in train stations, we switched to tea at home.
Alas, I have never been able to quite master the art of brewing the perfect cup of tea. Please don’t write to me and tell me your sure-fire method of doing so, it won’t work for me. We watch almost nothing but British programming these days, read British magazines, newspapers and books, and have oodles of British friends who have tried and failed to help us learn the fine art of tea making.
<–That’s me pouring tea somewhere in Britain a long time ago.
Mostly, I think we can’t make good tea because we aren’t British enough. David and I both have ancestors who dumped tea in a harbor at one time. Well, maybe not exactly, but it makes a good story, and they did shoot at Redcoats. That’s a fact. I think trying to kill Brits led to a retributive curse against tea-making for us.
David is half Russian and half something else, perhaps British as his last name is Foster. But given David’s Dad’s family has inhabited the US (British colonies) from the gitgo, and they have no idea what or who the family included in its long genealogy we don’t know if they are English or what. It doesn’t really matter except David doesn’t know how to make a good cup of tea either.
My first MIL Rachel, bless her pea-picking heart, taught me how to make sweet tea, a Southern staple. She also tried to teach me how to make Southern biscuits, coleslaw, fried chicken, “Salisbury” steak, and other heart-stopping dishes. When I divorced her son, I left all that good cooking behind.
No more falling out of bed at five AM to make SOS for a Marine who had to report on base for a 7 AM muster. Talk about an associative disorder. I was “permanently” pregnant, and frying fat back and vomiting were the order of the day back then..good old days I would like to forget. So much for Southern cooking.
Perfect caffe latte from Cafe Coffee Day (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
These days, I have learned how to make a superb Latte, and that’s what we were missing this morning.