A Tea Reader (15 page)

Withal, perhaps the English tea is best alone; when it comes in of its own accord and is set down silently by your great armchair near the fire. And you reach out to it vaguely from the engrossing book upon your knee, and you read and dream and sip your tea and relax beatifically, and the day seems smoothed out and you walk on air and a spell is over you, pointed only by the rhythm of a falling coal, and you are conscious of a great release.

1
[Certain British spellings and archaic terms have been amended. Ed.]

2
Blighty
was a humorous men's magazine printed in London for British servicemen.

3
This refers to Georges Clemenceau (French Prime Minister, 1906–1909 and 1917–1920) and Arthur James Balfour (UK Prime Minister turned British Foreign Minister).

4
“
Ushabtis
” are small statues placed in tombs in Ancient Egypt.

5
An “
assegai
” is a light spear from southern Africa.

6
A “
kakemono
” is a wall hanging, either a scroll or calligraphy, that can be rolled up for storage.

7
“
Kaffir
” is an old term, now considered derogatory, used by white South Africans to refer to black South Africans people.

8
“
Yoruba
” are people from West Africa.

9
“
Civis Romanus sum
” means “I am a Roman citizen” and implies certain rights.

10
A “bishopric” is a district that is overseen by a bishop.

11
The Duke of Wellington led the Anglo-Allied Army against Napoleon's Imperial French army at the Battle of Waterloo in 1815.

FOURTH STEEP

TEA CAREERS

Life Immersed in Tea

BY
K
ATRINA
Á
VILA
M
UNICHIELLO

As children we dream of being firefighters or ballerinas...or both. We are fixated on the idea of a job that is full of wonder and excitement and, often, costumes.

As we grow older, the priorities begin to shift. We realize that being a superhero will not pay a mortgage. We become unsettlingly practical. We keep our hobbies, but “get a day job.”

There are some people, however, who find the temerity to make their hobby their career. They take a leap of faith and create their own opportunities. Sometimes they are successful. Sometimes they are not. In either case, they tried.

It does not take long in the world of tea to discover that there are many ways to make a life of it. There are, of course, tea shops with the varied roles that make them run. There are those, like me, whose tea career involves putting pen to paper...or fingers to keyboard. There are growers, processors, importers, marketers, and academics. The field needs historians, business minds, culinary experts, and scientists.

For some, sipping tea is the ultimate goal. For others, true happiness will not be found unless their lives are immersed in tea.

The Tea Effect

BY
G
EORGE
C
ONSTANCE

A couple of weeks after Hurricane Katrina ripped through New Orleans, I sat alone in our café, staring through propped open doors at the burned remains of a row of buildings across the street, a victim of post-Katrina mayhem that gripped the city.

It was a difficult day indeed. Small business owners with proper identification were allowed past heavily-armed checkpoints to enter the city and salvage what they could. My wife Daya and I took full advantage to tour what we could of the city before heading to the shop. It was a devastating trip. Streets clogged with debris, fallen trees, swamp grass, mud—many feet thick in places, cars, boats, and pieces of buildings that were formerly homes, made many routes impassable. Those roads that were open were eerily quiet; no traffic, no people, not even a bird could be heard. Both Daya and I experienced severe headaches, possibly from the smell of raw sewerage, mold, and swamp gas or simply from the unexpected intensity of so much devastation. This scene stretched far beyond what we could see that day, covering an area nearly the size of the state of Connecticut.

Our café was situated on the small strip of high ground along the Mississippi River that was spared heavy flooding and is now affectionately known as the “Sliver on the River.” The main route along the sliver is Magazine Street, six miles of small businesses like my own, that contributed to the city's unique flavor and international appeal. Our shop was located about two miles from the checkpoint. Again, we saw no pedestrians and no cars, save for the occasional emergency vehicle or military transport. A helicopter was landing in front of the Audubon zoo. Surreal.

We arrived at mid-morning, just as the dress shop owner across the street was pulling up to her shop. We talked for a few minutes standing in the middle of what was once one of the busiest streets in New Orleans. Not a soul passed by. Two blocks to the south was the levee and two blocks to the north was flooding. It's tough enough in the best of times to operate a small business. We knew this was the end of what we had. Plan B was already in our minds, until, hopefully, the city could allow a return to plan A. We parted to our respective shops and took inventory. The shops smelled much like the city: of raw sewerage and of cinders from the fire across the street. The roof had been damaged and the large stores of tea we had stocked up on for the fall were moldy and smoke damaged. The awnings were in tatters and signs were missing. We later discovered some of the equipment had been fried by electrical surges.

Ironically, I sat in the only tea café in the city of New Orleans desperately wanting a cup of tea. My daily ritual was a cup of chai or black tea in the morning and then I worked my way through the day with lighter teas,
oolong
in the afternoons, green tea for evenings and red-bush at closing twelve hours later. I know that even if I did have a stash of tea, the water was either completely unavailable or hazardous.

As I stared at the door my mind raced back to my first cup in the shop. The café was in a small front addition made to an old Victorian residence that had previously held an optometrist office, an antique shop before that with the owner living in the attached residence, and a pharmacy before that. It was a mess when we found it, but had potential and a good location, near three universities and in one of the busiest and coolest neighborhoods in the city. I had scraped away years of neglect and carpet glue from the entire cement floor with a 4-inch scraper, then painted it with Indo-Victorian designs. I repaired and painted walls, built all the furniture by hand. It was my shop.

I vividly remember that first cup. The shelving was finished and tea in place, the electrical service had been upgraded and fixtures plugged in. All that was necessary was an inspection and we were in business. It was a gorgeous day and I propped open the old heavy wooden doors to let the fresh air in. The hot water dispenser hissed and, after an eternity, clicked loudly announcing it was time for tea. I immediately steeped a Darjeeling Makaibari Estate black tea and sat to admire my work. After my second sip of one of the best cups of tea I'd ever had, and without a sign or any indication of what was to come, our first customer walked in.

She was tall or gave the illusion of tall with six-inch black heels. The extremely short black shorts and fishnet stockings, likewise, lengthened her legs. The rest of her ensemble consisted of a tight leather vest and a Betty Page-like hairdo and makeup. I was really enjoying that Darjeeling! I quickly learned that she was a Bourbon Street dancer and that she loved the mango tea; I was quick to provide it at no charge, as we were still not officially open. She and her boyfriend, whom I barely noticed, were extremely friendly and welcomed us to their neighborhood, where, we learned, we were very anxiously anticipated. The rest of the afternoon was quiet, with our second customer, a Catholic priest, arriving just before we shut down for the day.

That first day was indicative of what we had started in New Orleans and a reflection of what New Orleans was and may become again. I'm a fan of history and loved the concept of a tea shop because of its historical attachment. I especially enjoyed reading about the first seventeenth-century tea shops, called coffee houses as coffee began to make its appearance in England, and their posted rules of behavior. In these first truly democratic businesses, no man was compelled to surrender his seat to a nobleman. Freedom of speech was the rule of the day, so much so that the newly restored monarch King Charles II attempted to outlaw them as houses of sedition. And so, the tradition lived on in my own Indonique Tea & Chai Café.

It bears repeating that our first customer was a Bourbon Street stripper and our second a Catholic priest. Our customers were from every walk of life, and represented every race and mindset. So many events highlighted this free egalitarian draw that only a cup of tea could have. The vast diversity of tea available, the range of flavors, and its ancient roots attracted the most diverse group of people that I've ever encountered. My customers included Jude Law, Congressman William Jefferson, local jazz and funk musicians, and even an authentic British Knight, Sir Eldon Griffith. It also included the folks at the tattoo parlor down the block, a beautiful young girl who wore fairy wings everywhere she went, and university students. I once witnessed a woman exit a chauffeur-driven limo and take a table opposite a young man who had just received his tenth tattoo from the parlor on our block. She asked to see the latest and they talked and laughed for half an hour before parting. The priest, my second customer, came regularly to counsel parishioners in dire need, as the café offered a relaxed and comfortable environment. Yoga groups poured into our shop after classes; sitar players offered intimate concerts. One group, including an Emergency Room surgeon, a realtor, and others, met informally to discuss Eastern philosophy. Small business venture capitalists met on other occasions. There was a sense of freedom and camaraderie that existed nowhere else, and tea—by its nature—was the draw and the binding particle.

It's funny how things work out. I had originally attempted to sell tea wholesale, but couldn't sell a bag of tea to save my life. The café was in fact a desperation move. If I couldn't sell tea to existing cafés, then I was determined to go directly to the customer. It was an expensive proposition, but it worked. We made ends meet and posted a profit within 16 months.

What surprised us was how infectious our desperation move was. Infectious not only because it spread from customer to new customer, but because it spread through those customers to other cafés. Reminiscent of those early tea shops, our tea appealed to a very diverse group of business owners who asked us to sell them our tea as their customers demanded it. The first was an edgy café on trendy Oak Street. The owners, one with a bone through his nose—as can only happen in New Orleans, ran a very successful coffee shop. They told us their customers wanted our chai and they wanted to support a local business. They didn't see us as competition. If they were buying chai, why not from us? In turn, I sent coffee lovers to them. Another trendy coffee shop in the Faubourg area—next to the jazz club Snug Harbor, where Charmaine Neville sings—likewise asked to buy our tea for their customers, again seeking quality products from a local business. A third business owner asked us to open a kiosk in his newly renovated retail complex that housed a nationwide kitchen store franchise.

We hadn't seen this coming, what we termed the “Tea Effect” in the community. I expressed surprise to one of the owners who freely offered his primary reason for buying: Indonique had tapped into a very broad market with tea. He wanted to broaden his market share in his neighborhood by association. Offering his customers our tea made his shop part of the new tea community. We all benefited from the highly infectious Tea Effect.

My thoughts were jolted back to the present in the wreckage of the shop when a well-armed National Guardsman peered through the same door my first customer entered to ask if everything was all right, if we needed water, or had injuries. A group of five more soldiers waited outside. It was a stark contrast to that first day, a very different emotion. I thanked them for coming down to help and apologized for not having tea to offer them. They laughed a bit and continued their rounds. We salvaged what we could over the next few days, sold what equipment we could, and concentrated on repairing our home. Daya took our children to Connecticut while I attempted to rebuild in New Orleans. In the end, rebuilding the café was hopeless. I joined my family in Connecticut.

Post-Katrina, we consider ourselves fortunate—fortunate that we live in a wealthy nation that offered a place to which we could evacuate, and the help of friends and family to rebuild our lives. So many around the world don't have these resources. Tea-producing regions in particular are vulnerable. The tea industry does little to alleviate this. Indonique was rebuilt with this in mind. We pledged to return 10% of every sale we make to the communities that pick our tea through Non-Governmental Organizations like Mercy Corps that can most effectively make change and provide oversight. Our accounting records are open and our website is dedicating percentages to organizations that fight the trafficking of children. We believe that if all industries did the same, we could alleviate poverty, disenfranchisement, extremism and the need for large military expenditures. We're rebuilding Indo-nique as a cause. The trick for us is to recreate that Tea Effect, so easily obtained in our shop, and duplicate it in cafés and retailers around the nation, to make the cause as infectious as the Tea Effect. We're in discussions now with brokers and venture capitalists to do just this. Perhaps the storm that caused so much misery will lead to something that will alleviate misery everywhere.

Fingers crossed.