Ever notice that when many of us are ranting and raving, few of us say, “Man, I gotta get me some good Darjeeling?” Not at my house, anyway, and I can’t figure out why. This poor, neglected packet is still half full of light and brisk, juicy, grape-rind goodness that was a much-needed sensory break from the morning builders’ tea rut.

I oversteeped this cup a little and it’s leaning a little toward bitter. My fault, not Margaret’s; and the error is providing just the wake-up kick I need.
Sil

hahaha

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Sil

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Somebody asked me once when I became a tea junkie; I think it dates back to college when I needed caffeine for a 7 a.m. class but chose not to do coffee. My favorite teapot is a medium-sized Brown Betty given to me by my Mema; the painted flowers are chipping off, but the size and feel is perfect. I rejoice when I get a morning to brew a pot of loose tea starting with a kettle; not a bag and a hot pot.

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Southwest Missouri

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