Snarled in schedules, tangled in traffic,
we needed to keep our spirits elastic,
we needed relief in a day such as ours
and dinner was not for another four hours.
Let’s make the time, I shouted into the cell,
to sit down, relax, and catch up as well,
away from our projects, committees and boards,
away from our bosses, away from the hordes
at South Coast. Let’s meet someplace not all the rage,
someplace unpretentious, someplace, well, like Sage.
One Thursday a month there’s an afternoon tea.
It’s right off the freeway—we’ll all meet at three.
Dee had her clients. Bea had her shop.
Lee had the kids and was ready to drop.
Jan had her lesion, Dan his eviction,
Stanley his not-unexpected conviction.
But all of us met round a bright sunny waiter,
who chirruped and cooed and ten seconds later
brought sandwiches (crustless)—cucumber, smoked salmon—
macaroons, tartlets, fresh scones with jam and
lemon curd, from their very own tree,
and oatmeal streusel tea bread for our tea.
Tea! Sixteen kinds, all loose-leaf and hot,
brewed up in little pistachio pots.
How the aromas unfurrowed our brows!
We nodded approval, mummered our wows.
Jill found her strawberry-hibiscus appealing.
Billy blissed-out on organic Darjeeling.
Sal savored sencha with Sage’s sage-honey.
Perry’s was peachy and Mary’s was nutty.
Chuck had the chocolate, rooibos and mint,
deepened the flavor with cream, just a hint
of sugar and just when he smiled a smile obscene
somebody shouted Sweet China Green!
It was Carol, who suddenly stood on her chair.
Come down! whispered Carl, or people will stare!
She wobbled a little--she hadn’t been well.
Her face was askew; her hair was pell-mell.
She gazed at the group, her eyes puffy and red-rimmed.
Laptops were shuttered, Blackberries dimmed.
That’s not a tea, said she, to all our confusion.
That’s a tisane—just a fruity infusion,
all blossom and peel and chocolate pieces
but nary a leaf of camellia sinensis.
I know my tea, my pu-erh and pouchong,
my gunpowder, chai and lapsang souchong.
I sipped Keemun at Claridge’s, rooibos in Djibouti,
I know my chesty from chunky, my flaky from fruity,
the brassy, the bitter, the earthy, the coarse,
the brisk and the muddy, metallic and harsh,
the curly, the crepey, the tarry and tippy,
the powdery, pungent, woody and weedy.
I know the story of tea, if you please.
I’ve read the whole history in Wikipedese.
Who knew Lu Yu before the Ch’a Ching?
Who traded tea with the Sung and the Ming?
Which tea, she queried, give me an answer,
landed at Portsmouth with Kate de Braganza?
I knew Lipton and Twining, or their capable heirs.
I’ve tasted them both, and this isn’t theirs.
Who? she said, sinking back to her seat.
Who? she said, falling promptly asleep.
SerendipiTea smiled our server sublime—
chamomile-lavender knocks them out every time!

Afternoon tea, Sage in Eastbluff, Thursday, April 27, 2pm

Visit the SerendipiTea website and order online
www.serendipitea.com