Is there trouble...
Issue 13 | Winter 2017 | codehospitality.co.uk
Many restaurants neglect the part of the meal that lingers in the diner’s mind. Henrietta Lovell examines why not taking tea seriously is a mistake...
“We don’t sell tea.” When I started Rare Tea Co. in 2004 restaurant managers in some of the best UK restaurants would laugh at me, or at best look confused. Way back then you might find a dusty box of teabags desiccated on top of the coffee machine. No one ordered tea because the tea was terrible. I often felt like I was banging my head against a brick wall. I tried to explain, if they served instant coffee granules they probably wouldn’t serve much coffee either. Some nods, more shrugs. Since then a revolution has happened. Good tea can be found across the country and the world. But not universally. “Ooh, la, la, Enriette, at the end of the service my waiters will be tired. I can’t ask them to take care of tea. Pfff.” This from the restaurant manager of a three-Michelin-star place in Paris, where the amuse-bouche was a masterpiece of tweezers and finesse. But when it comes to the last thing people taste before the bill- who gives a shit? Just bung some tea in a pot and fill it up with water. It’s okay. It’s what they’re used to. Most people will drink fresh mint anyway. There is a reason for that. Fresh mint is safer. Less fuck-up-able. It’s no rare excitement – but it is OK. And bad tea isn’t ever OK. Let’s not pretend. I was sitting at restaurant with a pretention to perfection in Heathrow the other day, waiting for a flight, drinking coffee. I order coffee when I can’t be sure of the tea. It’s just less painful. The lady beside me was braver. She got a huge pot with one English Breakfast teabag dangling inside. There was enough water for three or four cups. Her tea was thin and weak. I watched her pour milk in it and the cup turned a sickening grey. She winced as she drank it. She waited and waited for colour. It came at last, but by then the tea was bitter and cold. I asked her if it was as horrible as it looked. She said it was worse. The waiter came to give her the bill,
- Was everything alright? - Yes, thank you. When he was gone she turned to me, - It’s how it is. I thought it might be better here, but it wasn’t. The whole point of going to a restaurant is to have delicious things cooked and prepared for us by people with a skill that exceeds our own. We want to try new things, new realms of deliciousness. And we want to be looked after by people who care. When it comes to a coffee we expect freshly ground beans and an expertly made cup. When it comes to tea we need beautiful crafted leaves prepared with that same level of expertise. It doesn’t need expensive equipment, just control of three elements: leaf to water ratio/ temperature/infusion time. With good leaf and a little precision those realms of deliciousness are easily achievable. As in baking, we can’t just add some eggs, bake for some time at some temperature and expect to get a decent cake or any degree of consistency. Ingredients matter too, of course – butter over margarine. There are simple and ergonomic tricks I can, and do, teach large, busy restaurants, little cafés and Michelinstarred places to get it right for their set-ups. I’ve never found a restaurant where it wasn’t possible to make tea beautifully. No more effort has to be put in than is already shown to the coffee, but crucially, as much. It can be done. It is done by many, many places now, with fierce pride. Places from the excellent Kaffeine coffee shops in London to Noma in Copenhagen. Before I first started working with Noma they were only serving about three cups a week. We put in some truly beautiful tea, including a bespoke blend of herbs, and things changed dramatically. They committed to infusing it perfectly, with just the same dedication they take over everything. People get the whole Noma experience from (continued on page 22)
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