A Nice Cup of Tea...?

A Nice Cup of Tea?
By Tony-Dan Rumpelstiltskin


A Nice Cup of Tea (1946) is a widely admired essay, and somehow George
Orwell is considered to be an expert on tea preparation. Why? How many
meals or drinks did he make for Eileen? For Sonia? Or more
unanswerable, for himself? Yet he is somehow elevated to the status of
the Escoffier of the teapot. He does not even show the least awareness
that tea is often prepared by different methods in different
countries. A nice cup of jingoism for Saint George of Camellia
sinensis. It will be seen that he is full of the most simpleminded
sentiments.

Near the beginning of the essay he states:

"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"

No mention of China, India or countless other countries which drink
just as much (if not more) tea than in the UK. Certainly no mention of
the exploitation of cheap labour which brings us our "nice cup of
tea". Then he goes on to say:

"but because the best manner of making it is the subject of violent
disputes."

Is it really? How many stabbings per year result from this sort of
argument? Does anyone actually get a gun and shoot their wife if she
does not make a "perfect cup of tea"? Where are the bruises, the
blood, the broken bones?

This next passage makes me wonder if "dictator" was one of Orwell's
secret ambitions:

"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*"

Emphasis mine. In other words, he is pushing his method as the only
correct one. But perhaps there is a hidden agenda in his cup and not
just perfect tea. A careful objective examination of his 11 steps will
show that there is madness in his method.

In his first point Orwell goes straight to his dogma:

"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."

So we find that "China tea" is unworthy of consideration. (What ever
happened to the word "Chinese", by the way?). And it is cheap, he
implies. So cheap in fact that "one can drink it without milk". And -
get this - "one does not feel wiser, braver or more optimistic after
drinking it." One is not put into a drug induced stupor! As if all
tea drinkers are equivalent to the average junkie, or crack addict.

Now he throws dust in our eyes by stating the obvious:

"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 Britannia-ware teapots produce
inferior tea and enamel pots are worse"

Why not also inform us that bathtub tea is no good? Or tap water tea
made in an old shoe is inferior?

And as someone concerned about the poor, is is odd that he wanted
people to waste their precious rations:

"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."

He admits this is a bad idea and then tries to lamely justify it:

"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."

As if this is not enough he singles out seniors as being more greedy -
apparently a vice that grows yearly:

"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."

In the fifth point, Orwell's reactionary proclivity prohibits even the
use of a simple strainer:

"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."

Come now, no doctor ever recommends eating tea:

"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. "

Is Orwell in the least bit concerned about safety in the kitchen? I
think not:

"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."

He has never had to treat senior citizens in the burn unit. Well I
have, and it is not something that one soon forgets. All in the quest
for "the perfect cup of tea". It turns my stomach - and just in case
this isn't dangerous enough:

"Seventhly, after making the tea, one should stir it, or better, give
the pot a good shake, afterwards allowing the leaves to settle."

Am I to believe that he wants us to shake BOILING WATER?

In the eighth point, he acts as if there were immense moral
superiority in the type of cup one uses, in fact ridicules the person
who chooses wrongly:

"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."

His next point seems innocent enough, until you realize that the type
of milk he is describing is only available to the rich:

"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."

Even a "nice cup of tea" is elitist in Orwell's world.

In number ten, Orwell tries to bring in controversy where none
exists:

"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."

Is everything in the world to divided into two schools of thought,
even how we pour our tea? Perhaps he is suggesting that milk-first is
"right" and tea-first is "left":

"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."

You cannot figure out this simple procedure, in spite of having done
it a thousand times?

Orwell's last point is a reference to Stalin, who obviously drank his
tea with plenty of sugar:

"Lastly, tea - unless one is drinking it in the Russian style - should
be drunk without sugar"

If you choose sugar, you are guilty for the death of the 20 million
who died under the Bolshevik regime. At least you are in Orwell's
eyes. But listen: "Tea is meant to be bitter, just as beer is meant to
be bitter." And let's add, just as life is meant to be bitter.

In his conclusion Orwell suddenly sides with the lower classes:

"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 tea
leaves, such as telling fortunes, predicting the arrival of visitors,
feeding rabbits, healing burns and sweeping the carpet."

Perhaps poor people are too poor to even afford basic manners, George?
And it requires a kind of dimwittedness to not see how condescending
it is to suggest the poor re-use their rubbish. How about some more
subsidiary uses for old tea leaves? You can brush your teeth with old
wet teabags, or dry out the leaves and use them in place of toilet
paper. And don't stop at just old tea. Properly cooked, eggshells are
nutritious. Wash your old dental floss and never run out of it again.
Indeed, don't bury your dearly departed: make them into soap.

Don't get me wrong I admire Orwell to the highest degree: I think he
was well-brought-up, but let's face the facts. He was blinded and
bewildered by his own self-hatred and sexual confusion.

B.

On Mar 17, 10:47 pm, georgeorw... DeleteThis @email.com wrote:
> A Nice Cup of Tea?
> By Tony-Dan Rumpelstiltskin
>
> A Nice Cup of Tea (1946) is a widely admired essay, and somehow George
> Orwell is considered to be an expert on tea preparation. Why? How many
> meals or drinks did he make for Eileen? For Sonia? Or more
> unanswerable, for himself? Yet he is somehow elevated to the status of
> the Escoffier of the teapot. He does not even show the least awareness
> that tea is often prepared by different methods in different
> countries. A nice cup of jingoism for Saint George of Camellia
> sinensis. It will be seen that he is full of the most simpleminded
> sentiments.
>
> Near the beginning of the essay he states:
>
> "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"
>
> No mention of China, India or countless other countries which drink
> just as much (if not more) tea than in the UK. Certainly no mention of
> the exploitation of cheap labour which brings us our "nice cup of
> tea". Then he goes on to say:
>
> "but because the best manner of making it is the subject of violent
> disputes."
>
> Is it really? How many stabbings per year result from this sort of
> argument? Does anyone actually get a gun and shoot their wife if she
> does not make a "perfect cup of tea"? Where are the bruises, the
> blood, the broken bones?
>
> This next passage makes me wonder if "dictator" was one of Orwell's
> secret ambitions:
>
> "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*"
>
> Emphasis mine. In other words, he is pushing his method as the only
> correct one. But perhaps there is a hidden agenda in his cup and not
> just perfect tea. A careful objective examination of his 11 steps will
> show that there is madness in his method.
>
> In his first point Orwell goes straight to his dogma:
>
> "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."
>
> So we find that "China tea" is unworthy of consideration. (What ever
> happened to the word "Chinese", by the way?). And it is cheap, he
> implies. So cheap in fact that "one can drink it without milk". And -
> get this - "one does not feel wiser, braver or more optimistic after
> drinking it." One is not put into a drug induced stupor! As if all
> tea drinkers are equivalent to the average junkie, or crack addict.
>
> Now he throws dust in our eyes by stating the obvious:
>
> "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 Britannia-ware teapots produce
> inferior tea and enamel pots are worse"
>
> Why not also inform us that bathtub tea is no good? Or tap water tea
> made in an old shoe is inferior?
>
> And as someone concerned about the poor, is is odd that he wanted
> people to waste their precious rations:
>
> "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."
>
> He admits this is a bad idea and then tries to lamely justify it:
>
> "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."
>
> As if this is not enough he singles out seniors as being more greedy -
> apparently a vice that grows yearly:
>
> "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."
>
> In the fifth point, Orwell's reactionary proclivity prohibits even the
> use of a simple strainer:
>
> "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."
>
> Come now, no doctor ever recommends eating tea:
>
> "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. "
>
> Is Orwell in the least bit concerned about safety in the kitchen? I
> think not:
>
> "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."
>
> He has never had to treat senior citizens in the burn unit. Well I
> have, and it is not something that one soon forgets. All in the quest
> for "the perfect cup of tea". It turns my stomach - and just in case
> this isn't dangerous enough:
>
> "Seventhly, after making the tea, one should stir it, or better, give
> the pot a good shake, afterwards allowing the leaves to settle."
>
> Am I to believe that he wants us to shake BOILING WATER?
>
> In the eighth point, he acts as if there were immense moral
> superiority in the type of cup one uses, in fact ridicules the person
> who chooses wrongly:
>
> "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."
>
> His next point seems innocent enough, until you realize that the type
> of milk he is describing is only available to the rich:
>
> "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."
>
> Even a "nice cup of tea" is elitist in Orwell's world.
>
> In number ten, Orwell tries to bring in controversy where none
> exists:
>
> "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."
>
> Is everything in the world to divided into two schools of thought,
> even how we pour our tea? Perhaps he is suggesting that milk-first is
> "right" and tea-first is "left":
>
> "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."
>
> You cannot figure out this simple procedure, in spite of having done
> it a thousand times?
>
> Orwell's last point is a reference to Stalin, who obviously drank his
> tea with plenty of sugar:
>
> "Lastly, tea - unless one is drinking it in the Russian style - should
> be drunk without sugar"
>
> If you choose sugar, you are guilty for the death of the 20 million
> who died under the Bolshevik regime. At least you are in Orwell's
> eyes. But listen: "Tea is meant to be bitter, just as beer is meant to
> be bitter." And let's add, just as life is meant to be bitter.
>
> In his conclusion Orwell suddenly sides with the lower classes:
>
> "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 tea
> leaves, such as telling fortunes, predicting the arrival of visitors,
> feeding rabbits, healing burns and sweeping the carpet."
>
> Perhaps poor people are too poor to even afford basic manners, George?
> And it requires a kind of dimwittedness to not see how condescending
> it is to suggest the poor re-use their rubbish. How about some more
> subsidiary uses for old tea leaves? You can brush your teeth with old
> wet teabags, or dry out the leaves and use them in place of toilet
> paper. And don't stop at just old tea. Properly cooked, eggshells are
> nutritious. Wash your old dental floss and never run out of it again.
> Indeed, don't bury your dearly departed: make them into soap.
>
> Don't get me wrong I admire Orwell to the highest degree: I think he
> was well-brought-up, but let's face the facts. He was blinded and
> bewildered by his own self-hatred and sexual confusion.
>
> B.

Amusing at first, but this is a bit like those video replies you see
on YouTube, where the response veers rapidly from being being witty to
being juvenile. (Or is this intended to be a kind of parody of a
deconstructionist essay, and I am missing the subtle humor?)

This effort is like stale tea because:

1) Orwell's original essay was written rather tongue-in-cheek and
actually highlights the absurdity of idiosyncratic rituals surrounding
the tea ceremony. As this was written in 1946 around the time that
Orwell was instructing housekeeper Susan Watson in how he like things
done around the house (after the death of his wife), probably this is
how the idea of the essay came to him. As he also insisted on cocoa
being stirred with a WOODEN spoon, one assumes that he was trying to
perpetuate some comforting family rituals.

2) The author is probably too young to remember that terms like 'China
tea' and 'Ceylon tea' were standard usage at the time, or that milk
used to be delivered in bottles that had gold, silver, or red tops,
depending on the amount of cream they contained, but that regardless
of what type of milk was bought, there would always be a certain
amount of cream on the top, which was better used for something other
than making tea, as it did alter the flavor and mouth feel of the tea.

3) The concluding paragraphs are ugly and not in the least bit
amusing.