Kiwi Food of the Week

This week’s food of the week is a beverage, an artform, a ritual which reveals the unspoken social divisions within the societies that use it. It is a fascinating subject for social scientists of all backgrounds because of the discussions it engenders about the nature of race, class, gender, and ethnicity. This post discusses none of that. It was knocked up on a coke-high at one am in a pikered attempt to fulfil both food of the week and Carolyn’s request before studying for finals. (Hence the lack of research or pictures.) I’d apologize, but this blog has seen enough “sorry!” to fill…lots of mugs.

Tea

Oh Kiwis, they love their tea. You know, 'cause they're British. Or Asian. Or Indian. Point is, they like a good cuppa. (good intro, right?) When I asked you guys what I should write about in a cheap bid for inspiration a few weeks ago, Carolyn said I should write about tea since I refered to myself as a "tea drinker." Well, that's not strictly true...

That was true, once . But that was a long time ago. Back when I woke up stiff and shivering to a frost-coated winterscape. Back when I felt a strange sort of kinship with the makers of jumpin jammerz. Oh, those were dark days indeed. I’d do anything for a bit of heat. Taking a shower made me feel like some sort of crazed heroine addict. Just thirty seconds more. A minute longer. Five more minutes. Can this go hotter? Oh, my skin is burning! Anything for a fix.

It was in this desperate state that tea entered my life. I’d see Lisa and Sanna happily sipping their steaming mugs and think, “Why not me? Why can’t I have tea too? Isn’t it Rachel’s turn for fulfilment?” I don’t like tea, I know this, but it only seemed right that’d I’d have something hot and steamy to wake up to. So I went to the store. Carolyn, you wanted to know what kinds of tea there are here. So many! It’s a glorious sight really- a whole aisle full! Teas made of and for everything. Herbal, medicinal, ones with fruits and flowers I'd never heard of. I felt intimidated and very American. I picked golden kiwi and vanilla-flavoured since the novelty of kiwi-flavoured food hadn’t worn off yet.

I managed to make myself excited when I got home and opened the box. (Surprise!) It smelled so wonderful I thought maybe, just maybe it would taste good. It didn’t. It tasted like tea. I don’t like tea. I don’t know how many times I have to prove it to myself but I just don’t like it. I suppose part of the problem is that I think I ought to, given my love of British culture and bizarre food combinations. Tea goes with my self image. But not my actual tastes. So, I drank it, indifferently, for twenty straight mornings until there were no more bags. When the box ran out my tryst with tea ended. Sure, I could try another flavour, another brand, but what’s the point? I think the problem is me. Sanna did tell me I make my tea the wrong way, “like the English” (Dumping hot water from the tap over the tea bag) Apparently the water doesn’t get hot enough this way. The burn on my forearm disagrees with her. It probably doesn’t help that I used to eat bags of tea during all-nighters back in high school. I cannot think of an adverb that describes how strongly I don’t advise this. I hysterically advise against this. I mean, I doubt too many other people would willingly try this, but, seriously, don’t.

There, I'm done. And I'm not even going to think about my blog until finals are over so I hope you've had your fill. Don't be greedy for the verse.