Flaneur

The Art of Tea

There’s an art to tea making. It’s really involved, you know. And if I’d been paying proper attention, I’d probably be able to talk you through it all. But to be honest, both times I’ve encountered it I’ve been so mesmerised by the beauty of the various receptacles, tools and gestures, so captivated and transported by the aromas and subtle flavours, that I can’t remember a thing about what order things happened in or why.

If you’re interested to find out, I daresay there are plentiful resources online and in dusty bookshops that will explain it all in authoritative tones that completely contradict one another.

But if, like me, you’d first like to experience the pleasure of the receiving end of it, courtesy of an expert’s hands, then hie thee hence to that paragon of gustatory ambience the London Review of Books Cakeshop. I took these photos there whilst imbibing.

I could probably write a whole piece just on the choice of teas (don’t think I won’t!) without the elaborate process itself, but first I just wanted to draw you in with the sense of it. Details later. Besides, I think I’ll need to get one of the masters to talk me through it all again while I take notes lest I get it all wrong.

But look at it! How beautiful. Hand bound by virgins in spicily fragrant exotic lands, I’m sure. Well, that’s what I’m allowing to infuse me while I breathe those heady vapours. Wouldn’t you?

There are other sacred spaces for tea, of course. I found one just up the road from my place in Prague while living there, and more recently was introduced to the most extraordinary place of all, in the high street of Falmouth. I know! Who’d have thought it?

It’s a beautiful space, though. Entirely devoted to rare teas, and with a long table taking up half the space where the teas are served all day from antique pots. Even the teas are antique; or perhaps vintage is the word. I bought some 1996 vintage Mughai 8582 Puerh from a centuries old tree, to enjoy back here in London, but the truth is, without the pots and a clear recollection of how to make it correctly I’m loathe to spoil it. Besides, the packaging is chic on its own.

I’ll go back and take a camera next time, and interview the owners. Theirs is a fascinating tale of obsession and personal renaissance. In the meantime my own personal obsessions will be limited to warming the pot and sourcing unbleached teabags.

But seriously, take some time one afternoon soon, and enjoy the leisurely tea ritual at the LRB Cakeshop in Bury Place, just opposite the British Museum, where I pressed my nose to a window to observe my first genuine tea ceremony almost a quarter century ago. I’ll be searching out a wider variety of tea possibilities and hideaways over the next couple of months, and I’ll share the wider wares of said cakeshop, too. It’s all happening in Bloomsbury, I tell you. At a dignified pace, of course…

 

    London Review Cake Shop, 14 Bury Place, London, WC1A 2JL     020 7269 9030

 

Out of office reply

Inspiration. Where is it when you want it? I’ve checked down the back of the sofa, drained the coffee pot in case it’s at the bottom and come to the conclusion that it’s nowhere in the flat. Must be out there, then. Grab my shoes and jacket, and maybe have a shave: it’ll be nice to be presentable for once when I meet her.

Yes, the sun’s out, and parks and cafes are beckoning. I’m sure she’s around here somewhere. We’ll rendezvous, order refreshments and I’ll lay my tools upon the table.

They’re on my mind at the moment, as I’m hoping to get my office back to delightfully portable dimensions again. It’s all got a bit slow and clunky, a bit heavy on the shoulder. Time for a review, I think.

When I rebelled against default lifestyles, you see, I dreamt of being responsive, not idle. Ok, I did factor a certain idleness index into the schedule, but essentially I wanted to be open to life, company and new ideas, and to share or keep hold of them. I wanted to have the right tools on me to do that wherever I felt I should be.

I did rather well to start with, and felt quite pleased with myself. However, technology has seriously advanced in the last decade, so while the ways and means have advanced and widened a little, the possibilities for sharing have expanded exponentially, as has the speed of doing so.

So I might have a little look at the equipment possibilities open to the modern flaneur as we amble around the next little lot of haunts and cafes. Feel free to share ideas or quality tool suggestions as we go! It’s all about the experience, isn’t it? Ask Hendrix.

The Art of Coffee

Beyond the art of making a good cup of coffee, there’s actually the art of making a good cup to put it in. I was exploring (ok, strolling around) the Brunswick Centre collecting some photos and impressions for a little series I’d like to share with you about this part of town, and I chanced upon this amazing construction.

Yes, it’s an installation of designer espresso cups. Really.

It was quite lovely, even if it did take up half the restaurant it was in. I’d be happy to share the name of the restaurant so you could go and see it for yourself – it’s well worth it – but when I returned a couple of days later to shoot it with a different lens, I found it gone, so it was clearly a temporary installation. Carpe diem, hodie adsit cras, and all that.

I think it was to celebrate Illy’s 75th birthday. Their main celebrations will be in Trieste, where their Hungarian founder made his home, but there are clearly bits and pieces going on here in London (and in Venice and Berlin, I now learn). My moles tell me that while Lavazza, Segafredo and other Italian coffee companies keep the best stuff for the home market and sell us the rest, Illy’s coffee is the same wherever you drink it. True? Hard to judge with all the other variables such as regional water, choice of milk, capability of barristas, but it does seem to be fairly consistent.

Anyway, back to the cups. They’ve had various artists over the years design cups for them, and this installation is testament to that. Some of these editions can be pretty pricey – I was put off buying a recent release by the heat – but if you can indulge, they do actually rise in value as soon as each edition is discontinued. In fact, the first set, designed by Matteo Thun back in ’91 now sell for over $4000… Yeah, I know; but come on, what could be better than art that wakes you up every day?

PS - I'll buy you an Illy coffee in Bloomsbury if you can guess who designed the 'Alien' cup!