Adagio Custom Blends, Sami Kelsh

Seven’s a bit peculiar, all right. The aroma is subtle, a little roasty, and a little sweet. The yerba mate lends a little richness, with sweet top notes from the honeybush, and a bright hazelnut finish. It’s still a rather light-bodied blend, though, and you can totally forget it’s there and accidentally steep for like 8 minutes and it won’t get bitter – not even mildly resentful.

OH MY GOD WHY AM I SO TIRED

Ok, I mean, I know why I’m tired: we spent the whole weekend walking to town and back for friends’ anniversary doodah, for which loads of friends were coming to visit from out of town, some of whom were sleeping over. Plus I made pancakes. And spent a lot of time in the fresh air. Tuckers me right out, I tell you.

So, sleepytime comforting buttery spice is in order, especially since I sort of had pancakes for breakfast, a sandwich for lunch, and a burrito for dinner. Bloat city. The spices ought to go some way to sorting that out, and it’s SUCH a blanket of comforting warmth at the same time. I’m still always pleasantly surprised at how much this tea manages to taste like fragrant, buttery basmati rice to me. So good.

What a sexy beast. The fragrance is redolent of nuts and spice, with a curious afterscent reminiscent of basmati rice. When brewed – with plenty of hot soymilk and a bit of sugar – the chai spice comes through nicely, tempered by the round softness and almost buttery richness of the hazelnut. I wasn’t sure how this combination would work, but somehow it really does, like Six’s blustery cuddleness, really. It’s hard to describe why this is such a magical combination, but it’s impossible not to love. As if Six could be anything but perfect, a sentiment with which I have no doubt he would agree wholeheartedly. Whoops, my fandork is showing.

Heavens to betsy!

So tumultuous and crazy have the last few days of my life been that I went a bit weewoo brewing this and left it on the kitchen counter for 20 minutes. How is it still drinkable?

And drinkable it still is! With a light application of milk and sugar, it tastes like a lightly malty treacle toffee – kind of like my favourite Halloween candy you totally don’t get here in the UK. If I could convince my mum that it would be in the interest of my overall health to send a bag of those beauties across the ocean to me, I’d be in heaven. But knowing that just forgetting a cup of Five on the counter and then sugaring and milking it until it’s really strong and sweet is a liquid version of the same flavour is certainly a consolation.

Come to think of it, I’ve been so busy between moving house, previewing/reviewing the new series of Wizards vs Aliens for Cultbox, and trying to be employed again (say hello to the newest member of the Humanities Divisional Office!) that I still don’t know what I’m wearing for Halloween. Suggest me things!

I need a comfort tea again.

The stupid rent saga continues: so I submitted the request to have my deposit returned from my old flat a few days ago, and the building’s new landlords still haven’t approved it. Like, they just haven’t done anything. And it takes up to 5 days to process returns and I kind of needed parts of that to pay the rent on my new place at the end of the month? Yeah, AERGH DAMMIT STOP BEING BUTTHOLES AND LET ME HAVE MY MONEY BACK.

I miss when I wasn’t always so stressed and upset over money! But having 6 quid in my bank account apparently until the end of the month is, well, stressful. Grumpy times.

In other news, my super secret story project thing is progressing well, and I taught myself a new knitting technique while at the office. And this tea always makes me happy. It’s warm and creamy and almondy and strong and sweet. My favourite flavour is beige. Though as I was saying to Gentleman last night, Petey Davison is totally better looking now than he was in the 80s. What is it with me and, I dunno, cuddly middle-aged gents?

Imagine what you think the most delicious beige could taste like: that’s Five tea.

(Beige is a flavour now, shh)

I should confess that most of my favourite flavours are in the beige spectrum, and as such, I knew instantly that I was going to fall in love with this one. The first thing that hits you out of the bag is almond, which slowly gives way to the sweet aroma of creamy caramel. The tea itself is bright, sweet, and comforting, with a silky caramel finish. Not surprisingly, I take mine with milk and sugar, and it’s heavenly: sweet, but not cloying, subtle, but decidedly present, with underlying strength. Tastes just like running your hands through Five’s soft blonde duckfluff feels.

Oh AND ANOTHER THING:

I’ve decided to do a knit project that’s based on the Fourth Doctor’s scarf but takes the idea someplace a little more interesting than just doing another replica of The Scarf itself, which I’ve done a few times anyway. (And man, does it take forever, and doing that many feet of garter stitch DOES get a little monotonous after a few colours!) I’m VERY excited about this project. You’ll totally be bombarded with pictures when it’s done.

Also also, I’m about to venture into (nearly) legit actual published prose fiction based on a television show I admire and have always wanted to write for someplace a little better attended than Teaspoon. EFF YEAH, SOMEBODY HAS CONFIDENCE IN MY STORYTELLING SKILLZ. No pressure, right? Nuuuuuuupe, none at all.

Also, this tea’s still good. I like all the flavours in it, but I quite like them all together than any of them separately. Ah! insert terrifying crazy-eyes Bob Dylan smile here

Four is a grown-up tea that’s not afraid to be a little childish. I was met with the sweet, curranty scent of the fruits when I opened the bag first, definitely fruity but a touch more mature than an actual packet of jelly babies would have been. If anything, when brewed it’s reminiscent of that cozy, brown console room that Four was fond of hanging out in for a time. Not overly sweet on its own in spite of the presence of three kinds of fruit (which blend seamlessly and harmoniously together with the bright black tea, and, given the fruit’s respective colours, may best be reflected in the Doctor’s giant burgundy scarf) but eminently drinkable without sugar for those so inclined. For the sugarly inclined, such as I, two spoonfuls elevates it to absolute perfection. Goes down as smooth as Tom Baker’s voice, with a lightly tannic finish.

Frooty frooty frooty, frooty frooty frooty frooty frooty froot!

I keep sleeping through thunderstorms at night, apparently. Strangely enough, working in a tiny office sat on my bum all day all week absolutely tuckers me out! At least the 30 minute walk to and from the department keeps me from never getting any exercise ever. I’ve also been breaking in my work thermos, and already the blasted plastic lid bit has absorbed the smell of the first thing I made in it and I CAN’T GET IT OUT curls up and weeps

But today, I make tea in a nice ceramic mug in my own kitchen, and all’s well. There’s something very different about combining fruity herbal teas with a black tea, as opposed to fruit-flavoured black tea. It’s got a juicy fruitiness from the sweet cherry and tart orange that sits over the black tea, and it’s proving really nice for quiet summer weekend drinking.

Hot jam, Three is jam hot! Starts with a fierce karate-chop of almost jammy citrus and fruit aromas, and asserts itself smoothly in the cup, like warm velvet, with a slightly tannic finish. Tart orange and hibiscus balance the sweetness of the cherry. A sharp tongue, and a warm heart. Splendid, my dear fellow.

Something gingery was in order, as ginger’s good for the tummy, and Patrick Troughton is good for the soul. Though I do tend to wait until I’ve got soymilk about for chai teas – I don’t know why, but I just like chai with soy – since I’m not really paying for most of my own groceries at the moment, dairy will do. And it’s still delicious, though the sweetness of the milk shines through more than soy tends to, so I refrained from adding my usual spoonful of sugar so that the tea retained its measure of bite. It was good.

I also appreciate the way that apparently the water bottle of cold-brewed tea I tend to keep with me at my desk at work looks kind of like something composting to my poor coworkers, apparently. Heck, if it makes them curious and they ask and I get to tell people about tea, then YAY.

In the bag, the ginger fragrance is super-punchy, but is rounded out beautifully in the cup by the other spices, and a bit of vanilla. It’s just on the spicy side of the chai spectrum, not too sweet on its own, which is just the way I like my chai. I made it by adding a couple spoonfuls of sugar to a mixture of about 4 ounces boiling water and 8 ounces very hot soymilk. The milkiness takes the edge off the gingeriness of it, and makes it into a super cozy, warming cling. It feels clever and comforting and sexy, just like Two.

Well, I made us nectarine buttermilk pancakes with maple syrup, so it stands to reason I’d pair a tea with maple-y chestnutty goodness in it, right? Oh yeah.

This is one of my ultimate comfort teas. I’ve fed this to quite a fair few people now, and every time I do, they get that dreamy look on their face, like, recalling the feeling of a really cozy hug. It’s also the face I make when I watch pretty much any Hartnell episode of Doctor Who. It’s quite a plain tea as flavoured blends go, but that lets the lovely assam shine through the gentle flavours rather than being hidden beneath it, lending a serious backbone to the warmth and sweetness of chestnut and cream. I keep an extra bag of this on hand because I’d be lost if I ever ran out. Oh, lovely One. Quite so, quite so, hmm!

Doctor Who tea has sort of taken over my life. As soon as I opened the bag, I was met with a smell that reminded me of those lovely hard candies you always find in a bowl in your grandparents’ living room. In the cup, the flavour of black tea asserts itself beautifully, accented with subtle but definitely present top notes almost reminiscent of butterscotch. With a bit of milk and sugar, this is every bit as comforting as a boop on the nose from One himself.