The Ritual of Tea

Waxing poetic about my obsession with a daily tea ritual and the memories it holds ft. the glorious Raazi Tea.

Tea is no coffee.

It does not insist that you carve out time for it. Or strong-arm its way into your life, disguised in deliciously addictive sugary garbs. Tea offers a softer seduction in its quiet wisdom. A mere suggestion that you allow the time to savour it, to steep in the moment.

Recently, I tried out Raazi Tea, a small, Brooklyn-based brand selling hand-selected, whole leaf teas with the mantra slow the now (wish I’d come up with that). This morning, I write to you, pyjama-clad and with sleep-mussed hair, with a steaming mug of their Ginger Turmeric brew beside me. An earthy infusion made from crushed ginger and turmeric roots, it is light and grounding, calming and delicate. The kind of tea that feels like you’re doing something kind for yourself just by drinking it.

To drink a freshly brewed cup of tea is to inhale and exhale at once. Your mind, somehow clearer.

Tea, of course, has crossed continents and dynasties, centuries and kingdoms. First cultivated in ancient China and then adopted by Japanese monks for meditation, woven into British imperialism, and cherished in Indian households, its legacy is as complex as its varieties. Even today, a single cup carries a lineage of rituals, a litany of meanings. An aroma, a sip, is all it takes.

My memories have been stained by tea leaves since early, happy mornings spent in my parent’s bed, tucked into my father’s chest. The black tea scent of English Breakfast wafting from the mug cocooned in his hands. In my family, the weekend doesn’t start until the first cup of tea has been had, preferably in bed (ask me what luxury looks like and I shall say this).

I have another memory, of visiting one of my best friends at his home in the rolling Italian countryside outside of Venice (I know, I know, I pick ‘em well). Both of us are early risers, so we would head down to the kitchen first thing in the morning and sit there chatting quietly until his mother wandered in, effortless in a pure cotton robe, and put an antique cast iron tea pot on the hob for her daily ritual of loose green tea. With the delicate floral scent permeating the cool morning air and our hands warmed by clutched mugs, we would lounge shoulder-to-shoulder as we hatched plans for the day, strategising our way through all we hoped to explore and the adventures to be had.

Weekends excepting, my mother is wont to brew a mug of boiling water with fresh lemon and ginger slices for herself each morning, believing steadfastly in the healing powers of fresh, natural ingredients. I now do the same, waking an hour earlier than necessary to enjoy the calming ritual before work.

I remember my grandad’s funeral. The day tinged with a blueish hue but for a moment of comical Englishness that I fondly recall. I speak of the borderline-industrial tea brewing ceremony that occurred the second we all got back to my Granny’s cottage from the village church. The fundamentally British belief that there’s nothing that a cuppa won’t fix was in full force that day, an unspoken presence that sent my aunt straight to the kettle, me to the cupboards for all the mismatched mugs I could find (twelve), my brother to sugar duty, and my sister to the milk. Sometimes, making tea is less about drinking it and more about it keeping you company.

Hospitality, balance, connection, peacefulness, tea has been a faithful symbol since its origins thousands of years ago, bearing the weight of freight political dealings and intimate family moments alike. To adopt a ritual, especially one steeped in such a rich history, is to pay homage in one breath and to practice devotion in the next.

Now, my morning brew is the most vital, non-negotiable part of my day. I wake up at 6am during the week because I love having time to myself before the work day begins, and put my kettle to boil while doing my skincare. I emerge five minutes later and will make myself some variation of a herbal concoction; sometimes lemon and ginger, occasionally loose-leaf, and, more recently, the gorgeous Raazi tea. Then, I savour it; sat on my fire escape, watching lower Manhattan slowly start to rise, or slouched on my couch reading.

If you’re looking to bring more intentional moments into your day, Raazi Tea is a gentle place to start. You can find their teas online, in several stores across New York, or, if you’re in Brooklyn, stop by their stand at Fort Greene Farmers Market and have a chat. Tell them I sent you <3.

P.S. This is my first ever paid post, so please be kind!! It’s so exciting to start to explore the ways that brands can be woven into storytelling, and especially because it takes me one step closer to being able to do this thing full-time one day (a girl can dream). Lots of love xxx