A Nice Cup of Tea 

by George Orwell

If you look up 'tea' in the first cookery book that comes to hand 
you will probably find that it is unmentioned; or at most you will
find a few lines of sketchy instructions which give no ruling on
several of the most important points.

This is curious, not only because tea is one of the mainstays of
civilization in this country, as well as in Eire, Australia and
New Zealand, but because the best manner of making it is the subject
of violent disputes.

When I look through my own recipe for the perfect cup of tea, I find
no fewer than eleven outstanding points.  On perhaps two of them
there would be pretty general agreement, but at least four others
are acutely controversial.  Here are my own eleven rules, every one
of which I regard as golden:

First of all, one should use Indian or Ceylonese tea.  China tea 
has virtues which are not to be despised nowadays - it is
economical, and one can drink it without milk - but there is not
much stimulation in it.  One does not feel wiser, braver or more
optimistic after drinking it.  Anyone who has used that comforting
phrase 'a nice cup of tea' invariably means Indian tea.  Secondly,
tea should be made in small quantities - that is, in a teapot.
Tea out of an urn is always tasteless, while army tea, made in a
cauldron, tastes of grease and whitewash.  The teapot should be
made of china or earthenware.  Silver or Britanniaware teapots
produce inferior tea and enamel pots are worse; though curiously
enough a pewter teapot (a rarity nowadays) is not so bad.  Thirdly,
the pot should be warmed beforehand.  This is better done by placing
it on the hob than by the usual method of swilling it out with hot
water.  Fourthly, the tea should be strong.  For a pot holding a
quart, if you are going to fill it nearly to the brim, six heaped
teaspoons would be about right.  In a time of rationing, this is
not an idea that can be realized on every day of the week, but I
maintain that one strong cup of tea is better than twenty weak ones.
All true tea lovers not only like their tea strong, but like it a
little stronger with each year that passes - a fact which is 
recognized in the extra ration issued to old-age pensioners.
Fifthly, the tea should be put straight into the pot.  No strainers,
muslin bags or other devices to imprison the tea.  In some countries
teapots are fitted with little dangling baskets under the spout to
catch the stray leaves, which are supposed to be harmful.  Actually
one can swallow tea-leaves in considerable quantities without ill
effect, and if the tea is not loose in the pot it never infuses
properly.  Sixthly, one should take the teapot to the kettle and
not the other way about.  The water should be actually boiling
at the moment of impact, which means that one should keep it on
the flame while one pours.  Some people add that one should only
use water that has been freshly brought to the boil, but I have
never noticed that it makes any difference.  Seventhly, after
making the tea, one should stir it, or better, give the pot a
good shake, afterwards allowing the leaves to settle.  Eighthly,
one should drink out of a good breakfast cup - that is, the
cylindrical type of cup, not the flat, shallow type.  The breakfast
cup holds more, and with the other kind one's tea is always half
cold before one has well started on it.  Ninthly, one should pour
the cream off the milk before using it for tea.  Milk that is too
creamy always gives tea a sickly taste.  Tenthly, one should pour
tea into the cup first.  This is one of the most controversial
points of all; indeed in every family in Britain there are probably
two schools of thought on the subject.  The milk-first school can
bring forward some fairly strong arguments, but I maintain that
my own argument is unanswerable.  This is that, by putting the tea
in first and stirring as one pours, one can exactly regulate the
amount of milk whereas one is liable to put in too much milk if
one does it the other way round.

Lastly, tea - unless one is drinking it in the Russian style -
should be drunk _without sugar_.  I know very well that I am
in a minority here.  But still, how can you call yourself a true
tealover if you destroy the flavour of your tea by putting sugar 
in it?  It would be equally reasonable to put in pepper or salt.
Tea is meant to be bitter, just as beer is meant to be bitter.  If
you sweeten it, you are no longer tasting the tea, you are merely
tasting the sugar; you could make a very similar drink by dissolving
sugar in plain hot water.

Some people would answer that they don't like tea in itself, that
they only drink it in order to be warmed and stimulated, and they
need sugar to take the taste away.  To those misguided people  I
would say: Try drinking tea without sugar for, say, a fortnight
and it is very unlikely that you will ever want to ruin your tea
by sweetening it again.

These are not the only controversial points to arise in connexion
with tea drinking, but they are sufficient to show how subtilized
the whole business has become.  There is also the mysterious social
etiquette surrounding the teapot (why is it considered vulgar to
drink out of your saucer, for instance?) and much might be written
about the subsidiary uses of tealeaves, such as telling fortunes,
predicting the arrival of visitors, feeding rabbits, healing burns
and sweeping the carpet.  It is worth paying attention to such
details as warming the pot and using water that is really boiling,
so as to make quite sure of wringing out of one's ration the twenty
good, strong cups of that two ounces, properly handled, ought to
represent.

Evening Standard, 12 January 1946.

(taken from 'The Collected Essays, Journalism and Letters of George
Orwell, Volume 3, 1943-45, Penguin ISBN, 0-14-00-3153-7)

