Dear Prudence;
Christmas draws ever so near, and not without notice during these bitter cold nights. Here in this dark land of tea and seclusion, we who came to study and learn gather each evening with the mysterious Masters of Tea, to warm our hands beside the fire and thaw the ice from deep within. Steam rises from the pots to fill the pub with a sort of heated fog that lingers near the entrance, to envelope each new arrival. As the doors open to the frigid cold, the hot mist dances like a wilderness sprite, calling forth many a complaint against the evening chill.
It was during one of these dark evenings after a day of ardent study, as I sought comfort in the pub against the bitter snow and biting wind, I was introduced to a mysterious delight of a brew, the name of which is but whispered upon the waves of room-filling mist . . . Tea of Good Tidings.
They say this particular tea is a recipe so secret, so complex in nature, it can take a lifetime of study to master. Indeed, my dear Prudence, it is a full blend, and a complicated one, but I have avowed to learn this recipe before the end of my studies.
Just last evening, as I sat huddled near the fire in the pub, taking such warmth and comfort from the frigid night as could be found, I noticed one of the hooded brewmasters kneeling in a corner, opening several ebony jars. In front of him lay a clay pot of steaming water, and as I watched, it became clear he was mixing up a batch of that very wintery brew of which I speak.
Trust me, my dearest Prudence, whilst I could not — in a public such as this — bring forth my leather notepad and quill, I thus staunchly memorized the contents of each stone jar, and did commit them to memory.
And what a recipe it was! You shall delight, Prudence, in this list of ingredients which combines to form the magical Tea of Good Tidings.
First, the Dark Master placed excellent quality black tea leaves into the pot, stuffing them down into the heated water whereupon they could steep. And then, to my surprise, into that same pot was added Berries of the Juniper! Few tea masters have the skill to apply the Berries of a Juniper bush, but add them, this Dark Master did. The next black pot contained the fragrant peelings of a ripe orange, which were followed by lush seasonal cranberries, and a healthy dosing of cloves. As the tea continued to steep darkly in the pot, the master then added fragrant petals of a winter rose and a helping of almonds to balance the palette. He then increased the odors wafting on the steam by crushing a vanilla bean and adding the sweet meat to the brew. But it was then, as he opened yet another pot, a hush fell over the crowd, for within this eighth container of winter wonders rested none other than dried, black currants. The ninth jar was filled with blackberry leaves, which were ground and added to the steaming brew, the stringencies of which were sure to cut the sweetness of the heady fragrances. And with the final jar’s contents were revealed to be seeds of the cardamom, they, too, were added to the tea before the lid was then placed back upon the clay pot.
Those few of us fortunate enough to be huddled in Fatalitea that bitter, cold night, were treated each to a cup of this otherworldly tea, which smelled deeply of Juniper and Currant. Indeed, the strength of this tea is not for the weak of mind, or light of tongue! For a richness and depth was found therein that lingered sharply on the palette and curled with great fervor up into the nose. When brewed, a rich, blood-red liquid results, and a bouquet as subtle yet overpowering as black-red winter wine.
Gone is the quiet revere brought by Comfort and Joy, replaced now by the boldness only a lust for life can achieve. Truly I tell you, dear Prudence, that Tea of Good Tidings is the drink of Vigor and Might. This is not a brew for the Ladies of Glouchester Drive and their Sunday Social, but a tea for those who take hold of the bull, and take from life all that it may offer, and then to demand even more.
And now, my darling Prudence, I must make haste, as the sun closes in on the horizon and the cold is creeping ever further into my bones, as surely it must be also doing unto yours this hour. I look forward to another evening in the pub, where I shall beg to stand nearer the Master as he brews this evening’s pot, so that I may one day soon master the complexities and intense winter armor that the mist hath named Tea of Good Tidings.
Yours always,
George Lord Saint John, Esq.