Civili-tea

If you've watched as many PBS murder mysteries and British crime dramas as I have, you know that when the going gets tough, the tough make tea.

Yes, if Detective Chief Inspector, Vera Stanhope knocks on your door, well, you should just march right into the kitchen and put the kettle on to boil. Brace yourself for bad news. You're going to need a strong cup of brew.

And it isn't just Vera who will order up tea when delivering unsettling announcements. Tea will be administered to anyone suffering a shock, whether they get the grim report from DC Janet Scott and DC Rachel Bailey, Sergeant Catherine Cawood, Inspector Endeavour Morse, Detective Inspector Robbie Lewis, or DI Jimmy Perez, way up there in the Shetlands, or even amateur sleuths, like Miss Marple or Hercule Poirot. "Best sit down. You've had a nasty blow. Here's some tea."

This wouldn't work on American television. I can't see Matthew McConaughey's character in "True Detective," saying things like, "Here ya go, Luv! A nice cuppa will soon put you right." Can you? 

"Best add lots of sugar, Pet. Come on. Drink up. It will do you good." That's what Vera would say. But I can't see American TV cops offering tea. If they did, it would be more like some hardened, gruff Andy Sipowitz-type shoving a mug toward someone in the interrogation room. It would have the words, "World's Best Dad" written on it, a soggy tea bag afloat in tepid water extracted from the coffee maker, and one of those strings attached for bobbing the bag up and down to extract a tiny hint of flavor. Not the same is it? 

You see, in the British crime genre, tea possesses soothing qualities. It involves ritual that socializes and calms. You can't be interviewed by crackerjack detectives until you're feeling a bit steadier.

My own love affair with tea dates as far back as the 1970s when I started watching PBS. I was enthralled with the civility of it all. The maid has discovered the body of His Lordship upstairs in the study. Slumped over an oak desk. Stabbed. A letter opener lodged in his back. Everyone downstairs in the library is keeping a stiff upper lip, but clearly need to compose themselves. "Ring for tea, won't you, darling?" Her Ladyship will say. The gathered suspects will emit a collective sigh. "Oh, yes, we can bear anything if we have tea."

It seemed only natural to me that I would adopt tea drinking as part of my British telly-viewing. "Ooo! The butler just brought in the tea tray. Must go make myself a cup. And butter a scone as well!" Tea and a murder just go hand in hand, don't they?

Soon, tea became our morning beverage. And when 3:00 rolls around, it is time to put the kettle on. I love the ritual of preparing it and pouring it from my favorite red tea pot. Holding that hot cup between two hands. Settling into a comfy chair. Sighing. Ah! That first, piping hot sip. Nothing like it. I can see why it is the British TV cop's go-to beverage for un-jangling rattled nerves. It certainly works for me. It's like putting on UGG slippers and a beat-up bathrobe. Comforting. Warm. Caring. Sympathetic. "Yes, Chief Inspector, I'm ready to answer questions now."

If you, too, wish to add tea drinking to your PBS viewing, my recommendation is to make it properly. Bring cold water to a rolling boil, at which time, and only as it is boiling, pour it over tea leaves (or bags of the very best quality) in a tea pot that has been rinsed, and thus warmed, with hot water. The pot can be your best porcelain or serviceable crockery, but it is best if it is seasoned with years of tea stains that have never been washed away. Next, clap the pot's lid on, and let your brew steep for 3-5 minutes before you pour it into your favorite cup or mug. Add lemon, milk, cream, honey or sugar per your taste. I drink it clear. But I suggest, if you've had a nasty shock and the police are at you door, add a heaping amount of sugar. This is what they do on British police dramas. It seems to help.