Chai tea is a combination of two tastes I really dislike.
This is one of two (very different) pieces shared by Emily, a kind hearted soul I once lived with when we both worked in Northern Lebanon years back. From workplace confidants to nightlife buddies, our friendship continues to bloom in spite of distance and time.
Her story below is a reminder that not all food memories are happy ones, not all foods pleasing to the palette or the hearts.
This is a story of sorrow, tradition, and spice.
Just like two magnets repulse, I have an aversion to chai tea. As much as you remember that amazing chocolate cake you once had in Barcelona, or that horrible kebab that made you sick to the core that drunken evening, this story is one of a negative food memory. This is not an uplifting story but one people sadly have to experience. Grief. Though in my case, other people's grief.
A few years ago, when I was living in the UK, my then boyfriend and his family had gone through a tragic loss. His brother had passed away. The days preceding the funeral, meeting his parents for the first time and staying in his childhood house, were filled with awkwardness and empathy overload. In that situation you try to be servable and supportive, doing the day-to-day meaningless tasks, and providing a slight distraction. During those days, I distinctly remember a chai pot always simmering on the kitchen hob.
Chai tea is a combination of two tastes I really dislike. Cinnamon with that fake chemical overload, and the smell of hot milk, with the thin layer of skin forming as it warms on the stove.
His mom had told me the best chai tea is the one that brews on a low heat for hours. As family and friends came to pay their respect at their home, chai would be served and the pot refilled. There was lots of chai, lots of people and lots of grief. I've not experienced grief as brutal as that family has, but I observed it.
And just like a chai on the hob, the grief stays for a long time, brewing and simmering all day. There are times you might forget it’s there, but the faint sweet and distinctive smell lingers and pulls you right back. Aside from the cinnamon and the smell of hot milk (as mentioned, neither of my favourite things), it brings out an innate memory of those days. For me, chai will forever be associated with the pain of grief and loss.
Warming and comforting chai - for some*
Comfort Chai
For those who do enjoy a chai, this recipe is for one, but can be easily multiplied for any sized company. You can play around with the types and quantities of flavourings depending on your preferences – tailoring to your taste buds is encouraged.
Ingredients
Single mug of preferred milk
Half the same mug of water
1 black tea bag
1 or 2 cinnamon sticks
1 or 2 cloves
3 or 4 smooched cardamom pods
1 thumbprint sized ginger
Scant grating of nutmeg
Sweetener of some sorts – brown sugar, honey, agave
Method
Grab your favourite mug, saunter over to the fridge in your dressing gown and slippers, and get your milk. Cow, almond, soy – whatever you prefer and have at hand.
In a small sauce pan, measure out your milk, and half that amount of water. You could add more or less, depending on how milky you like your milky tea to be. Bring it to a simmer, but be mindful to strike that balance between not too hot and not too cold. Don’t worry, you’ll find it.
While the mixture warms, collect the spice flavourings from your cupboard (going easy on yourself if its in quite a state – no judgement here). Take a moment to breath in each of their soothing scents before dropping them ceremoniously into the warming pan. Remember, you are free to play around with the types and quantities of each, so make this cuppa in your style and as suits your mood for the day.
Break open the black tea bag, and let the leaves join the spices. Sweeten your mixture with the sweetener of your choice.
Take a moment (or, a few minutes, actually). Stir slowly. Let the individual components meld together, calmly. When the kitchen smells of sweet warmth, turn the stove down to the minimum and give it another few minutes. More stirring, slowly. There is nothing else you need to be doing in this moment.
When the mixture is ready, take a mini strainer and pour the spiced chai tea back into that favourite mug of yours (I love when a recipe comes full circle). Add more sweetener if you wish, otherwise leave as the perfect concoction that it is.
Sit at a kitchen table, a couch, or even take the cuppa back to bed. Take this time to digest whatever life has thrown at you, or turn on your favourite sitcom and forget about it all for a while.