I mean, there it is, casually on the menu, pretending its not mysterious and interesting sounding. But it is. And it knows that it is. And that's probably why we never get it. Intimidated by tea.
On the East Side you can find pockets of another world. The luxury of a hushed intersection, lacy shadows of old trees, song birds. This is where we come, afternoon vacationers in quiet, clean Neighborhoods. Neighborhoods full of pauses. Strolling, we pick out our house, color, trim, garden style, porch. We talk about turning the garage into a studio and building a tree house. We met stargazers growing right out of the ground, reaching their long necks over a wrought iron fence to the sun. The Mister bent in too near and came away with polka dots of yellow pollen across his face. I teased him about making out with flowers. The bright yellow color would stain his skin, evidencing joy for the rest of the day.
Then we got a cup of tea.
Frugally, most times we'll share a drink (then buy a bag of chips with those three dollars our frugality briefly won us).
Today, we splurged, ordering two drinks at The Tao of Tea, a dimly lit tea house deep in Portland's east side that still somehow manages to be brightly lit. Its shelves are covered in Pothos vines and items of interest - neat tea pots and Matcha whisks. I wanted to take our tea to go, to walk some more past old and big houses I might never be able to afford. But by the time The Mister made his way to the counter to ask, our server just cast her eyes slowly down to the carefully arranged tray with a hesitation and a sort of disappointment I couldn't bear. Backtracking quickly we waved her over and over compensated with our smiles. "Never mind! This is perfect!"
And it was. I ordered the White Peony, the young buds and one leaf plucked in the Fujian province nestled on China's southeastern coast. One of my favorites, White Peony is the only tea to regularly lure me away from the the Tea Forest Green; green tea harvested from an old growth tea forest who's trees are several hundred years old, towering at 50 feet. The Mister asked for a cup of the Monkey King, probably in no small part to the swaths of mist that shroud the mountains in the description box on the menu. Money King is a pan fired green tea from Anhui, China. It was good, but mine was better (winky face finger guns).
After a while the indoor chatter became a subtle background noise, ambient and pleasing. At the Tao of Tea you're given two cups, one Terracotta "gaiwan" in which you steep your tea and a palm sized tea cup from which you drink your tea. Its an efficient processes; while you enjoy one cup, another cup is steeping, on its way. Its also a slow process. It requires that you pause and just wait a minute.
Finishing off the last that the leaves had to offer, we traded cups and read each other's future. I have a up and coming bridge that I must cross, it wont be easy but goodness waits on the other side. Marcos has a stroke of luck at his feet, but he has to entice it with his wit and cunning. Strokes of Luck really respect wit and cunning, I said.
-A.H.
