It takes time for water to boil, but the wait is part of something larger that is, in itself, nourishing. I remember the cold winters spent chatting with colleagues, casually staring at a kettle atop a kerosene heater around which we were all gathered. In no time, or after a really long while (depending on the conversation) a plume of steam would shoot out of the spout and then the piping-hot water would be carefully poured in a slow, deliberate interval, using a circular pattern to ensure proper saturation of the loose-leaf tea sitting inside of a tea pot and nested inside of a filter. Rice crackers or sweets would be distributed–the gifts some staff member had brought back from a recent holiday or homemade pickles or snacks. <\/p>\n
The smell and humidity of the steam take me back in an instant that lasts only as long as a flavor is able to tug a memory from the shelf of my memory–an instant. In that moment, I find a contentment and nostalgia that is difficult to describe.<\/p>\n
So now I look around my kitchen for a suitable pairing to my genmaicha to no avail. Even if I had the right senbei or manju or sukemono, the company and the conversation hold just as much a place in the mood as the food and beverage. But that’s OK too. It’s nice sometimes to remember those pleasant times and good experiences and to just reflect.<\/p>\n
And anyways, they probably wouldn’t want potato chips with their tea.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
It takes time for water to boil, but the wait is part of something larger that is, in itself, nourishing. I remember the cold winters spent chatting with colleagues, casually staring at a kettle atop a kerosene heater around which we were all gathered. In no time, or after a really long while (depending on … Continue reading