Steeped in Tradition

The essence of the enjoyment of tea lies in the appreciation of its color, fragrance and flavor.

Ts’ai Hsiang

Chinese philosopher

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Whether it’s Moroccan green mint tea in a brass cup at a bazaar or strong black tea from a samovar in Russia or Turkey, tea is a universal drink with its own legends, rituals and accouterments.

Centuries-old tea ceremonies create a need for specific pots, cups and utensils, all arranged in ways decreed by long-held traditions.

Tea master Soyu Koizumi of Villa Park has many different kinds of tea sets she uses depending on the season or occasion.

She prefers to set an informal Japanese tea, or uscha (thin tea). The preparation and serving of an informal tea takes about 15 minutes, compared with as much as two hours for a formal (or thick) tea.

“Most of the time when I have friends, I bring a little tray, the tea bowl and the whisk and then whip the tea up and serve it,” says Koizumi, who has a teahouse attached to her home. “If it is going to be special, friends bring things that they need for the tea, like paper napkins.”

In Newport Beach, Ninetta Herbert holds informal American teas in her home using colorful ceramic utensils instead of displaying silver, which suggests a formal setting.

Contrast that with what’s offered at the Ritz Hotel in London, where afternoon tea is presented in the sumptuous Edwardian turn-of-the-century style. “It’s like having tea at a fabulous private home,” says Ritz manager Michael Bentley.

Despite the variations, there are some constants among all cultures: Guests take the time to admire the cup, the tea and the whole experience.

Some of the rules that Japanese priests set up 400 years ago could apply to any tea serving--that participants have clean hands, faces and hearts, and that worldly topics such as politics not be raised.

What better way to relax during these hectic days than with a cuppa, as the British say.

But the British are come-latelies to the world of tea. The Chinese began drinking tea about 4,000 years ago. Called T’se (pronounced tay) in some areas and Ch’a (pronounced chah) in others, the Chinese exported it to Java and then Dutch traders took it to Europe and North America.

While in Europe, tay became “tea.” Chah became the term for the tea leaves, compressed with oxblood into bricks, that were transported via the caravan routes to Russia, India and Persia.

With a beverage steeped in this kind of history, it’s no wonder there are also legends to go with it.

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The Chinese say that Emperor Shen Nung knelt before a fire and was boiling water when leaves from a tree branch blew into the pot. He sipped it, liked the taste, and tea was made.

The Japanese dispute this story.

For them, 1,900 years ago a Buddhist priest named Darma wanted to prove his faith by fasting day and night for seven years. One day he found himself falling asleep, so he grabbed leaves from a nearby bush, ate them and felt instantly refreshed. It was a tea bush.

Regardless of how tea was discovered, tea drinking was widespread by the end of the third century, thanks to the holy men who traveling between China and other places where tea grows wild--India, Myanmar and Tibet.

When Herbert had her American tea informally in her living room, she was part of a tradition that began about 1650 in New Amsterdam.

It became fashionable even though tea was scarce and expensive ($30 to $50 a pound). The hostess served saffron or peach leaves for flavoring (milk came later), using rare tea accouterments.

The first record of a tea table being made was in 1705, and teacups were not made in quantities until the middle of the 18th century.

The Chinese and the Japanese see tea drinking as a symbolic bond between them and the elements of nature. The boiling water in China symbolizes mountain mists, moving waters and wafting clouds.

But even though the Chinese ritualized tea, it was the Japanese who turned tea drinking into an art.

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Tea was introduced to Japan by Buddhist priests. The tea form of the Sung Dynasty (930-1280) was the one used in Japan.

Sen-no Rikyu is said to have set down the rules for the tea ceremony in 1584 by making changes in methods of serving tea and decreeing which utensils should be used. These were set up in accordance with Zen Buddhist tradition so the ritual heightened an awareness of beauty in the simple and imperfect objects of daily life.

Fast forward to the present day, where author Barbara Ohrbach uses the simple objects of daily life in her tea ceremonies. In her book, “Tabletops” (Clarkson Potter, $24), Ohrbach offers ideas for setting a tea table using fresh flowers, using old teapots without lids for vases.

“I was just at the Ritz Hotel in London having tea after the Chelsea Flower Show, and that was quite a revelation,” says Ohrbach, who was a recent guest in Herbert’s Newport Beach home. “I do a more informal tea for my friends since it’s a good time to chat. And I don’t wait to have people over. Sometimes, I just do the whole ritual by myself as a way to relax and collect my thoughts.”