Pot O' Gold in a Pot O' Tea!

Happy St. Patrick's Day!  You may think whiskey is the national drink of Ireland, yet, 'tis tea that's drunk on all four coasts of the Emerald Isle.  There's a pot o' gold in a pot o' tea:  golden moments, and golden memories.

My old Grandpa would travel miles every month to pick up brown paper packages of his favourite teas from his favourite Vancouver tea merchant.  There was a deep smokey Lapsang Oolong, a sweet floral Jasmine, and a third everyday tea which could be combined with either of them.

We never saw teabags.  Tea was made by hand, one teaspoon full at a time, in a large family teapot. The water was boiled to the sound of the second wave of bubbles in the kettle.  The tea would then steep for three, four or five minutes, the leaves swelling and releasing their flavour.

The tea leaves were gently stirred before pouring.  My Quebecois Mum would, "brasse le the" with a long handled spoon (it was an ice cream spoon the local gas station gave away with each tank of gas - we collected all four!).  One of my sisters misunderstood, and thought Mum was saying, "race the tea", and she would eagerly ask for her turn to race the tea leaves around the teapot.  

We had beautiful tea strainers, yet, rarely used them, preferring to see the occasional leaf, or flower in our teacups.  One time, Grandma's sister, Ordella was visiting.  As Grandma poured her a lovely cup of Jasmine, Aunt Dell leapt up from the table, and dumped the tea down the sink.  She thought the delicate, white jasmine blossom was a dead moth!

Tea.  It's in our blood - on both sides of the Irish divide.  My grandparents were both Irish, and that's where the similarities ended.  Grandma was a free spirited, Irish Catholic from rural Ontario, who often said she was born too soon, and would have been a Hippy flower child.  She was happiest working in the garden, in her farmer jeans.  Grandpa was born in Protestant Northern Ireland, the son of a ship's pilot and historian.  He was fourteen years her senior, and always perfectly groomed.  Yet, they'd sit down to a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs, toast with Grandma's homemade marmalade, a big pot of tea; they'd listen to the news, and solve the world's problems one sip at a time.

That an O'Leary and an Adams had tea together, never mind lived together, must have been unheard of back in Antrim.  Years after my Grandpa died, Grandma moved into her basement suite ("my hippy pad", she called it), and rented her upstairs to a family.  When a young cousin from Northern Ireland came to visit, she was sleeping on the couch, and called out to Grandma who was sleeping in her bed, "the people back home will never believe that I'm sleeping here, with Catholics upstairs!" To which Grandma replied, "Wait 'til they find out there's one in the bed next to ya!"

The lovely thing about St. Patrick's Day in Canada, is that it is universally celebrated.  So, whether you're Catholic, or Protestant, Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, or Atheist - have a happy St. Patrick's Day, and enjoy a pot o' tea!


Photo credit:  Ruth Adams, Widow's Endorphins Photographic Images Inc.