Tea types and traditions have me acting unwise, y’all. I’m in my tiny Denver apartment, rain hammering the window, sipping lukewarm Earl Grey from a chipped mug ‘cause I forgot to drink it sooner. Tea used to be, like, what I drank when I ran out of coffee and felt lazy. But last Tuesday, I knocked over a tin of loose-leaf jasmine tea trying to “organize” my shelf, and I just stared at the mess, giggling like an idiot. This is my sloppy, kinda embarrassing take on tea types and traditions, from my frazzled American brain.
How I Tripped Into Tea Types
I didn’t mean to get hooked on tea varieties. It all started at this hipster cafe in Boulder—y’know, the kind with mismatched chairs and baristas who look like they brew their own kombucha. They handed me a sample of green tea with jasmine, and it smelled like flowers and my childhood or something. I bought a bag, even though I had no clue what I was doing. First try at home, I used boiling water and it tasted like burnt weeds. Total rookie move. Tea types are like people—green tea’s all fresh and chill, black tea’s loud and bossy, oolong’s this artsy weirdo, and herbal teas are just vibing, no caffeine, no drama.
I tried pu-erh once, that funky fermented tea that smells like a damp forest. Steeped it too long ‘cause I was distracted by my phone. Tasted like mud. I drank it anyway ‘cause I’m stubborn and it was, like, $10. Live and learn, I guess.
Tea Traditions: I’m a Disaster
Tea traditions are wild, and I’m out here fumbling. I thought brewing tea was just, like, tossing a bag in a mug and hoping for the best. Nope. I tried this Chinese gongfu tea thing after watching a blurry YouTube video, using a teapot I found at a thrift store. Big oof. I overfilled the little cup-bowl thing (gaiwan, I think?) and spilled hot oolong all over my counter. My cat, Muffin, gave me this look like, “You’re a mess.” But it’s kinda cool, all that careful pouring and stuff. Check out Tea Drunk for a way better explanation than my hot mess.
Then there’s British tea culture. I was at a friend’s place in Seattle, and she did this whole afternoon tea deal—scones, little sandwiches, the works. I poured milk in before the tea, and she looked at me like I’d kicked her dog. Apparently, there’s this big milk-first-or-tea-first fight. I’m team milk-first, but I’m not admitting it to her face. If you wanna geek out on British tea stuff, Fortnum & Mason has a dope guide.
Brewing Tea: My Tips (and Total Screw-Ups)
Brewing tea sounds easy, but I’ve made it a trainwreck. Here’s what I’ve figured out, mostly by screwing it up:
- Water temp matters. Green tea hates boiling water. I torched some sencha and it tasted like sadness. 175°F for green, 190 for oolong, 212 for black. Got a kettle with temp settings from Walmart, and it’s saving my life.
- Don’t steep too long. I left chamomile in for, like, 20 minutes ‘cause I was scrolling X. It was like drinking a wet lawn. 2-5 minutes, max, okay?
- Loose leaf > tea bags. I know I sound like a snob, but loose-leaf tea types are so much better. Got a strainer from Harney & Sons, and it’s idiot-proof, even for me.
Worst fail? Tried making matcha with a fork. A fork. It was clumpy and gross, like my attempt at adulting. Get a bamboo whisk and check Ippodo Tea for matcha tips. I’m still learning, and it’s still a disaster.
Tea Types I’m Kinda Obsessed With
I’m no tea guru, but these tea varieties are living in my head rent-free:
- Earl Grey: That citrusy bergamot vibe makes me feel fancy, even in my ratty sweatpants.
- Matcha: Tastes like a forest, but in a good way. My first try was a mess, but I’m hooked. Sift it first, trust me.
- Rooibos: No caffeine, tastes like a cozy blanket. Perfect for 2 a.m. when I’m spiraling.
I also dig Moroccan mint tea (sweet, but I added too much honey once and nearly gagged) and chai (spicy, reminds me of a food truck in Denver). Every tea type’s got a story, and I’m eating it up.
Wrapping Up My Tea Chaos
So, tea types and traditions are my new thing, and I’m stumbling through like a toddler in a tea shop. I still spill tea leaves everywhere, forget to check the water temp, and my apartment smells like peppermint and bad choices. But there’s something about this whole deal—steeping, sipping, screwing up—that feels like me. If you’re new to tea culture, just jump in. Make a mess. Giggle about it.
