good citizenship

My tea water rolls, not just boils. I was finally convinced after this summer’s trip to the Holy Land of the benefits of a kettle. I had thus far been using a pot on the stove to do the trick, which really hadn’t. I never drank tea much, and when I did, tepid water always made the steep seem a bit callow. Not worth the effort, really. Grandpa’s kettle was a pleasure in Regina. A luxury. Coughing up the $11.67 at Loblaw’s for my own version was money well spent. All I have to do is fill it to the 1L mark (and just a bit over, if I’m feeling wolfish, and lazy), flick up the little switch, and wait for the roll. Premium. Steeping. Capacity.

I use the time between pouring the water in and pouring the water out to prepare my pot. It’s stainless steel; one of my mother’s garage sale conquests, I’m sure. It was part of the generational transfer of wealth that happened as part of my parents' cull before moving to Dartmouth. Its fee simple is now my responsibility.

I put two Tetley’s Decaffeinated Orange Pekoe at the bottom, and two packets of sweetener (usually Splenda, but in these tight, pre-Yuletide times every penny counts, and so the bounty from the most recent excursion l’épicerie was less than luxe - No Name all the way). And then, as soon as little switch I flicked switches back, I pour. I pour slowly. I pour very slowly, so that the first drops spit at the sides of the pot, so that the metal pings. Ping! I pour so slowly that I can watch my tea bleed into itself. So slowly that by the time I've finished pouring the water, my tea is perfection.

That’s so steeped.