I need a few pots of this, made extra-strong, this morning to balance all the wine, turkey, roast spuds, gravy, and christmas-pudding-with-brandy-sauce from yesterday.
Brewed very strong, this pours a deep, burnished-copper colour that goes to midnight-red in the mug, with a dark, sweetly metal-edged taste to match.
The argument had raged for months and years; he would say something hurtful and cruel, and then I would shoot back a likewise response. The good cups and a beautiful clay teapot were in shards all over the kitchen floor; tomato ketchup dripped from the balustrades, and the cat, named in honour of the great Richard ‘Kinky’ Friedman, was making a mew of distaste. And so, after wrestling with the mathematics of it for many, many sleepless nights, I realised that no-one would, in fact, be able to qualify or quantify the difference between an 87-rated tea and an 86, so I stopped rating tea.
UK
