When I say "As-sam!" you say "Love-ly!" AS-SAM! LOVE-LY!
When I say "her-bal" you say "No thanks!" HER-BAL! NO THANKS!
Thanks to The Linguaphile for the link.
Showing posts with label tea. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tea. Show all posts
18 January 2010
15 September 2008
Where to find me
The Cameron Highlands Resort.
Caroline Grayburn of Tim Best Travel.
My schedule:
Morning - get up, drink local tea. Look at pretty scenery.
Noon-ish (flexible) - have lunch and tea.
Early afternoon - nap.
Afternoon - Afternoon Tea amid the pretty scenery.
Evening - Cocktails and dinner.
Night - tea and a book.
I think I can be packed in about 10 minutes.
An interest in tea can take you to the exceptionally beautiful Darjeeling in the northeast of India or Kerala in the south or even to Uganda and Malawi in Africa... And of course, being served afternoon tea in ravishingly lovely hill country -- well, what could be more glorius?
Caroline Grayburn of Tim Best Travel.
My schedule:
Morning - get up, drink local tea. Look at pretty scenery.
Noon-ish (flexible) - have lunch and tea.
Early afternoon - nap.
Afternoon - Afternoon Tea amid the pretty scenery.
Evening - Cocktails and dinner.
Night - tea and a book.
I think I can be packed in about 10 minutes.
21 February 2008
How to find a nice hot cuppa
I love the internet. Especially when it's useful.*
TeaGuide
Every single fiber in my weird-old-lady-with-seventeen-cats being is all a quiver.
*And especially when a few of the postings were put there by my pal, Lori.
TeaGuide
Every single fiber in my weird-old-lady-with-seventeen-cats being is all a quiver.
*And especially when a few of the postings were put there by my pal, Lori.
15 February 2008
Probably the kick off to the end times
And throughout the land there was a strange stillness. The time of no Starbucks.
07 February 2008
Sick
I don't feel so good.* I can only be grateful that I don't feel so good today rather than any time before this past weekend, but it still sucks that I don't feel so good because I was going to see a play tonight. Now I'm going to pick up my new vacuum cleaner** and go home, eat chicken soup, drink a lot of tea, and go to bed. Not necessarily in that order. Well, collecting the vacuum will definitely happen first.
From the bed my cat and I will watch sit-coms and I will read and I will go to sleep, possibly before the sit-coms are over.
Alas.
I don't suppose that anyone wants to come over, pat my (kinda germy, whatever) hand, bring me things, take my temperature, and say "you poor baby," do they? Because I would love that.
Especially if they could be combined, like "You poor baby. Here, have more tea." or "You poor baby, that fever is just spiking, isn't it? You must feel awful." The best thing about the latter option is that it allows me to be all brave and say, rather wanly, "Oh, it's okay, it's not that bad," when I really know that I am possibly sicker than any human should have to stand and that I'm missing a play because I'm this sick.
Good thing that I have a practically full bottle of zinc tablets.
*Symptoms: A cough that comes from my lungs*** rather than my throat and a low-grade fever. So all of my skin feels hot and I feel draggy which means that the assault-level of friendliness that is my dominant characteristic is in abeyance.
** More on that tomorrow, but sufficeth to say, it wasn't a minute too soon.
***Please, please, please don't let this be bronchitis. Please no. I hate bronchitis.
From the bed my cat and I will watch sit-coms and I will read and I will go to sleep, possibly before the sit-coms are over.
Alas.
I don't suppose that anyone wants to come over, pat my (kinda germy, whatever) hand, bring me things, take my temperature, and say "you poor baby," do they? Because I would love that.
Especially if they could be combined, like "You poor baby. Here, have more tea." or "You poor baby, that fever is just spiking, isn't it? You must feel awful." The best thing about the latter option is that it allows me to be all brave and say, rather wanly, "Oh, it's okay, it's not that bad," when I really know that I am possibly sicker than any human should have to stand and that I'm missing a play because I'm this sick.
Good thing that I have a practically full bottle of zinc tablets.
*Symptoms: A cough that comes from my lungs*** rather than my throat and a low-grade fever. So all of my skin feels hot and I feel draggy which means that the assault-level of friendliness that is my dominant characteristic is in abeyance.
** More on that tomorrow, but sufficeth to say, it wasn't a minute too soon.
***Please, please, please don't let this be bronchitis. Please no. I hate bronchitis.
20 December 2007
An amazing scientific observation
Why is it that although I spend most of the day trekking to the kitchen for another cup of tea, every time I pick up my tea cup, it's empty? And why is that this is only true at work?
Why is it that David has spent the last seven years busing two-thirds full cups of cold tea that I have left scattered all over his house when, in fact, a nice hot cup of tea is my primary fuel? Especially as when he made me those cups of tea I was seconds away from total prostration from lack of tea?
Clearly, tea molecules move through space and time, shifting themselves from my desk here at work to David's house. They lose heat, of course, as they do this, but - as we learn in Arcadia - the universe's major occupation is heat dissipation.
Why is it that David has spent the last seven years busing two-thirds full cups of cold tea that I have left scattered all over his house when, in fact, a nice hot cup of tea is my primary fuel? Especially as when he made me those cups of tea I was seconds away from total prostration from lack of tea?
Clearly, tea molecules move through space and time, shifting themselves from my desk here at work to David's house. They lose heat, of course, as they do this, but - as we learn in Arcadia - the universe's major occupation is heat dissipation.
09 October 2007
Stored Value
NSTIW,* at a Starbucks on the Jersey turnpike. I was just about to hand over my $2.09 (Grande Awake tea - may I put the bag in myself, please? Thanks!) to the nice barista when the young gentleman behind me said, more frantically that would seem necessary under the circumstances, "I'd like to pay for her drink!" And as he looked more like Ralph Rakestraw or Florian than Dick Deadeye or Gama, it was charming, not unnerving.
But.....Okaaaaaaay. I mean, I'm cute and all, but I'd been traveling since morning and looked like it and I'm, um, a little older than this guy. And it's a Starbucks on the turnpike, not a hotel bar, so I'm pretty much gonna pay and leave. As a potential pick up it seemed somewhat...unlikely.
As it turned out he wanted to use his Starbucks stored value card to pay for my drink so that I could give him the $2.09 in cash and he would have enough money to get off of the damned turnpike. His rental car was the first one he had gotten in a while that had no E-Z Pass and he was a tiny bit short of the exit fare.
And he was friendly and charming and seemed perfectly happy to engage me in conversation while we prepped our beverages and he pocketed my former money. I think he chose me because I am universally regarded as approachable and because I bought something reasonably cheap with cash. I think the frantic part came from his sudden realization that I was going to pay in cash, so - ding! - he could possibly turn his stored money into, shall we say, a more liquid asset*** and thus avoid having to resort to being the cutest panhandler in New Jersey that day, and that once it hit Starbucks' till he have no shot at it.
But guess which Kingston Trio song has been stuck in my head ever since?
Well, let me tell you of the story of a man named Charley
on a tragic and fateful day.
He put ten cents in his pocket, kissed his wife and family,
went to ride on the M.T.A.
Chorus:
Well, did he ever return? No, he never returned and
his fate is still unknown.
He may ride forever 'neath the streets of Boston.
He's the man who never returned.
Charlie handed in his dime at the Kendall Square Station
and he changed for Jamaica Plain.
When he got there the conductor told him, "One more nickel."
Charlie couldn't get off of that train.
(Chorus)
Now, all night long Charlie rides through the station,
crying, "What will become of me?!!
How can I afford to see my sister in Chelsea
or my cousin in Roxbury?"
(Chorus)
Charlie's wife goes down to the Sculley Square Station
every day at quarter past two,
And through the open window she hands Charlie a crabcake
as the train comes rumblin' through.
(Chorus)
Now, you citizens of Boston, don't you think it's a scandal
how the people have to pay and pay?
Fight the fare increase! Vote for George O'Brien!
Get poor Charlie off the M. T. A.
(Chorus)
*Oh, come now, you don't really need me to tell you that NSTIW stands for "No shit, there I was" do you? And, shirley**, you remember that NSTWW would be the plural.
**Oh, for pity's sake. Yes, I know that it's spelled "surely," but as everything is going to think that dumb joke, I might as well just spell that way. See? This is why my stories seem so long. Because you people keep interrupting me.
***Liquid asset. Get it? Liquid asset! I crack me up, I swear.
But.....Okaaaaaaay. I mean, I'm cute and all, but I'd been traveling since morning and looked like it and I'm, um, a little older than this guy. And it's a Starbucks on the turnpike, not a hotel bar, so I'm pretty much gonna pay and leave. As a potential pick up it seemed somewhat...unlikely.
As it turned out he wanted to use his Starbucks stored value card to pay for my drink so that I could give him the $2.09 in cash and he would have enough money to get off of the damned turnpike. His rental car was the first one he had gotten in a while that had no E-Z Pass and he was a tiny bit short of the exit fare.
And he was friendly and charming and seemed perfectly happy to engage me in conversation while we prepped our beverages and he pocketed my former money. I think he chose me because I am universally regarded as approachable and because I bought something reasonably cheap with cash. I think the frantic part came from his sudden realization that I was going to pay in cash, so - ding! - he could possibly turn his stored money into, shall we say, a more liquid asset*** and thus avoid having to resort to being the cutest panhandler in New Jersey that day, and that once it hit Starbucks' till he have no shot at it.
But guess which Kingston Trio song has been stuck in my head ever since?
Well, let me tell you of the story of a man named Charley
on a tragic and fateful day.
He put ten cents in his pocket, kissed his wife and family,
went to ride on the M.T.A.
Chorus:
Well, did he ever return? No, he never returned and
his fate is still unknown.
He may ride forever 'neath the streets of Boston.
He's the man who never returned.
Charlie handed in his dime at the Kendall Square Station
and he changed for Jamaica Plain.
When he got there the conductor told him, "One more nickel."
Charlie couldn't get off of that train.
(Chorus)
Now, all night long Charlie rides through the station,
crying, "What will become of me?!!
How can I afford to see my sister in Chelsea
or my cousin in Roxbury?"
(Chorus)
Charlie's wife goes down to the Sculley Square Station
every day at quarter past two,
And through the open window she hands Charlie a crabcake
as the train comes rumblin' through.
(Chorus)
Now, you citizens of Boston, don't you think it's a scandal
how the people have to pay and pay?
Fight the fare increase! Vote for George O'Brien!
Get poor Charlie off the M. T. A.
(Chorus)
*Oh, come now, you don't really need me to tell you that NSTIW stands for "No shit, there I was" do you? And, shirley**, you remember that NSTWW would be the plural.
**Oh, for pity's sake. Yes, I know that it's spelled "surely," but as everything is going to think that dumb joke, I might as well just spell that way. See? This is why my stories seem so long. Because you people keep interrupting me.
***Liquid asset. Get it? Liquid asset! I crack me up, I swear.
18 October 2005
My consuming passion
Carol and I had a tea party a couple of weeks ago. Theoretically, it was a "tea tasting," which is to a tea party as a wine tasting is a to pub crawl, maybe. Anyway, we used lots of little tea pots (Carol has some truly amazing tea pots, I just have quite a few) and tried mostly green or white teas with names like "Drunken Concubine." It was a very successful day outside of the learning curve for using the little spoutless pots, which involved pouring nearly-boiling water around in the place in a rather profligate manner, and much tea was enjoyed.
It turns out, by the way, that the way to use the spoutless teapot is one of those important life lessons - you pick up the pot in one hand, pull the lid back slightly with the other, and pour with an outward appearance of confidence. No hesitation! No half-measures! Commit! This is your choice and your have chosen it! She who hesitates wears hot water.
The most amazing part of the tea-tasting (for me, anyway) was that Carol brought this tea that unused looks like a large hazelnut, but once it is droped into a (preferably clear glass) tea pot it opens into what looks like a lotus flower.
We're going to have another tea tasting sometime soon and we're going to invite Chris. Chris is a Jasmine tea kind of guy, so I'll get to try some teas I don't usually drink. It is good to step off the usual path.
* * * * *
Someone asked me once what teas I like. The short answer is that in general I prefer teas that are named for people or places & meals (King Richard, Irish Breakfast).
Earl Grey is an exception because usually teas named for people don't have orange oil in them and I'm not big on citrus in my tea. Then again, for years I wouldn't drink Constant Compost and now I like it, so, you know, things change. I still call it Constant Compost, of course, because let's face it, "rind of oranges" is compost.
I like black teas, green teas, and white teas. I don't like flavored teas, especially fruit flavored tea which, if it were colder and thicker, would be appropriate to spread on toast. I don't drink tisanes, which are herbal infusions that contain no tea, (Or as I like to call them: boiled weed water. Heck, "tisane" is from an Old French term for barley water - what does that tell you?) so most of the Celestial Seasons catalogue is absent from my tea cabinet. Rooibos, or "red tea" is not tea. Tea is Camellia sinensis, Rooibos is aspalathus linearis - see how they aren't the same thing?
* * * * *
But the best tea news of the day is that thanks to some unflinching scientists who were willing to go the distance in pursuit of hard knowledge over casual cliché , Carol, Chris, and I will be spared the mistake of using the Chocolate Teapot.
It turns out, by the way, that the way to use the spoutless teapot is one of those important life lessons - you pick up the pot in one hand, pull the lid back slightly with the other, and pour with an outward appearance of confidence. No hesitation! No half-measures! Commit! This is your choice and your have chosen it! She who hesitates wears hot water.
The most amazing part of the tea-tasting (for me, anyway) was that Carol brought this tea that unused looks like a large hazelnut, but once it is droped into a (preferably clear glass) tea pot it opens into what looks like a lotus flower.
We're going to have another tea tasting sometime soon and we're going to invite Chris. Chris is a Jasmine tea kind of guy, so I'll get to try some teas I don't usually drink. It is good to step off the usual path.
* * * * *
Someone asked me once what teas I like. The short answer is that in general I prefer teas that are named for people or places & meals (King Richard, Irish Breakfast).
Earl Grey is an exception because usually teas named for people don't have orange oil in them and I'm not big on citrus in my tea. Then again, for years I wouldn't drink Constant Compost and now I like it, so, you know, things change. I still call it Constant Compost, of course, because let's face it, "rind of oranges" is compost.
I like black teas, green teas, and white teas. I don't like flavored teas, especially fruit flavored tea which, if it were colder and thicker, would be appropriate to spread on toast. I don't drink tisanes, which are herbal infusions that contain no tea, (Or as I like to call them: boiled weed water. Heck, "tisane" is from an Old French term for barley water - what does that tell you?) so most of the Celestial Seasons catalogue is absent from my tea cabinet. Rooibos, or "red tea" is not tea. Tea is Camellia sinensis, Rooibos is aspalathus linearis - see how they aren't the same thing?
* * * * *
But the best tea news of the day is that thanks to some unflinching scientists who were willing to go the distance in pursuit of hard knowledge over casual cliché , Carol, Chris, and I will be spared the mistake of using the Chocolate Teapot.
13 September 2004
Constant Comment
For years I hated Constant Comment tea. I started calling it (and I still do) Constant Compost. I mean, really, aren't orange scrapings compost? Then, one day, I tried it again and discovered that I now like it. Happens to me all the time. Pizza and Chinese food were two things I hated as a kid that I like very much now.
It's one of the reasons why I try to keep an open mind about things I don't like. The more vehemently I object to them when I dislike them, the sillier I look when I decide that I like them.
Of course, I've been trying to like seafood for years now and haven't made much progress. This saves David (and every other boyfriend I've ever had) mucho dollars on lobster, but it's still inconvenient. And I'm not sure I want to like modern art, so let's just play that one by ear. Ditto opera.
It's one of the reasons why I try to keep an open mind about things I don't like. The more vehemently I object to them when I dislike them, the sillier I look when I decide that I like them.
Of course, I've been trying to like seafood for years now and haven't made much progress. This saves David (and every other boyfriend I've ever had) mucho dollars on lobster, but it's still inconvenient. And I'm not sure I want to like modern art, so let's just play that one by ear. Ditto opera.
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