Chai

I was giddy with spring fever. Or at least, a feeling that was akin to it as I knew that this was premature. Spring does not come to Wisconsin in early February but this respite of wintry weather was lulling me into a pleasant delusional state. The thawing of snow was present everywhere: blinding whiteness was replaced by the piebald earth, with twigs and stones haphazardly revealed.



I wanted a tea that would adequately match my mood and thought of masala chai. Its riot of spices - cardamon, cinnamon, and pepper amongst them- bespeaks a festive spirit. As I sipped the chai, between bites of a fluffy mozarella, tomato, and basil omelette and in the wonderful company of a friend, I was reminded of the tea's provenance in India. Nowadays, street tea vendors called chai wallahs, hawk chai on Indian streets and this tea is very much an everyday drink. I was struck by the contrast between the inherent luxuriance of the tea imparted by its spices and its more prosaic mode of consumption.

Later during the weekend, I had more steamy cups of chai, this time in an Indian restaurant with more good company. This incarnation of the tea was milkier and less sweet. I seemed to taste its Darjeeling base more readily. The chai's silky sweetness went well with the dosai, paper-thin rice crepes, mine flecked with bits of spinach. The crepes' crispiness held up to the aromatic tomato onion sauce in which they were dipped.

A spirited discussion on religion ensued as I relished the ending to our meal. The wonderful kheer, dreamily milky with cardamon, that now familiar spice echoed in my chai as well.


A fitting paean to friendship, indeed.

Taken from http://teamusings.blogspot.com/