George Orwell's Recipe for the Perfect Cup of Tea

I'd like to talk about tea. (Yes, I did just see Alice in Wonderland.)

Tea is totally misunderstood in this country. We've finally learned to appreciate the finer points of coffee (and I'd say Starbuck's has had a big role in that) but tea is still definitely the black sheep of the hot drink world. Think of those nasty mugs of tea you've been served when you get it only because you have a cold -- warm water with a pallidly floating Lipton tea bag. Or the ridiculous fruity flavored tea -- Lemon Ginger, Raspberry Almond, Apple Cider -- cheap tea leaves flavored with some laboratory-concocted essence. These are not teas. They are merely hot deception.

Below is George Orwell's essay on the perfect cup of tea and I agree with his method wholeheartedly. Think of the time and effort and expensive machines we buy (or stores we go to) to obtain that perfect latte or espresso. Tea deserves the same respect. Try it and I think you'll find that the perfect cup of tea can be just as satisfying as that Starbuck's latte. Invest in a tea pot, tea strainer and some loose tea -- it's cheaper than that that Giaggia 90500 titanium super espresso machine they're selling on Amazon!

A Nice Cup of Tea

By George Orwell

(Evening Standard, 12 January 1946)

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 main stays 
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 tea-lover 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.