About "Wadden people"
About the teapot, candy and the silence
We East Frisians are not only record holders when it comes to drinking tea, we also enjoy preparing it in our own way. For most of us it is not only part of our everyday life but also our way of life.
Every morning my first course leads to the kitchen. I fill the kettle and while it slowly heats up, I open the windows in the meantime to let the fresh morning air into the house. I take a deep breath and miss the cool fresh sea air and the gentle wind which sneak around the house like an old friend.Here, far from home, it is the calm that greets me. Not a single leaf moves at the tree and everything looks as if a painter has immortalized this scene on a canvas. I detach my gaze from this still life and return to the kitchen. I seldom deviate from this morning ritual and while the steaming hot tea is pouring into my cup, I wonder why all this is so important to me.Why do we East Frisians like to drink tea so much? Why are we doing this and why is it more than "just" making a cup of black tea for me?
While I was still pondering these questions, I poured the last of my tea.I blew out the small flame of the candle that was burning in the middle of the warmer and put the empty teapot back on it. Fine black smoke rose and the smell of the extinguished candle distributed in the room for a brief moment. I took the cup and put it in my hands. I felt the warmth of the porcelain on my skin because my hands had enclose it like a chalice. While I was enjoying the last sips of the sweet tea, my eyes fell on the small plastic butterfly that had found its place between the spout and the lid.
While I was looking at him he reminded me of a very special afternoon. I was maybe 10 or 11 years old and I was alone at home with my grandma.
The heritage in me
I had just finished my homework when she came to my living room and asked me to join her for tea. I put my books and copybooks back in the school bag and went to her in the kitchen. When I entered I was amazed because the tea was not yet ready. There were not even cups on the table and the kettle was still in its usual place. Only my grandmother was sitting on the old, wooden kitchen chair."I think it's time that you make us the tea!" I had often watched the tea being made, but doing it myself under her watchful eyes was something special.
So I filled the silver-colored kettle with water and placed it on the stove. In the meantime, I took two cups from the kitchen cupboard; placed them on the table in front of us and I lie down a little silver teaspoon next to each cup on the saucer.Little by little the cream jug, the bowl with rock candy, the cream spoon and the warmer found their place on the table. The tea pot I put on the clean polished kitchen sink and sat down in the chair where my mother always to sit. A pleasant silence now lay between my grandmother and me and slowly shooed away the nervousness that had arisen in me.
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| Then the rest was interrupted because the water had reached its boiling point. It started to boil and shortly afterwards the shrill tone of the teakettle pipe sounded. For a moment it not only filled the kitchen, but its loud signal seemed to reach every corner of the house. A strong surge of hot water found its way into the teapot provided. Then it came to rest again at the bottom.
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I sat down on my mothers chair and waited patiently, knowing that the water would now warm up the bottom of the teapot. Moments later, I gently took the porcelainpot with my hands. While my right hand firmly clasped the handle, the spout lay gently on my index finger of the other hand. The thumb gave an additional hold. Then I started to move the water in this. The slow, circling swing movements ensured that it was spread all over the belly of the jug. I felt the warmth that the earthenware was now radiating as my wrists continued to create an even rhythm. After the tea pot was filled with the warm the water had given up, I poured this away through the sink. Here it disappeared forever in the darkness of the drain pipe and I put the teapot again down.
| Now I opened the old black tin can that my father had brought from China on one of his trips. The pictures on it still testified to his origins and now it contained the loose eastfrisian tea. On the top layed the measuring spoon, which now through the dried leaves. This found back again on the bottom of the teapot. The hot water joined them, but only two fingers' breadth, because the leaves should slowly combine with the water. The tea had now to brew without a lid for a few minutes. Fine steam rose from the teapot's belly and it looked as if it wanted to escape the heat inside. I waited patiently, then filled it up and closed the teapot.
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| So that there was no spillage when pouring out, all that was missing was the special rubber band.
The sponge that caught the drops came under the spout, I stretched the rubber to attach it to the handle. Suddenly the metal hook slipped off the smooth porcelain and whizzed past me. I instinctively bent down and brought my head out of the line of fire.It flew through the kitchen like a arrow and I heard my grandma laugh. "Your guests need a helmet when drinking tea with you!" commented she this flight maneuver while I lifted it off the floor. We both laughed at the mishap and on the second try there was no chance for it of escaping again. The small plastic butterfly that was part of the rubber band was placed correctly and the jug found its place on the tea warmer.
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While the tea had to rest for a few more minutes, I used the "Kluntjeknieper" to gave one of these thick chunks of sugar into each cup. That was not so easy, because the white rock candy always had the habit of slipping out of the pliers. The tea was now ready. I took the heavy pot in my left hand and in the other I held the tea strainer, which was supposed to prevent the black leaves from being immersed in the cup. The black liquid now flowed through the fine-meshed sieve that hovered over the cup. It immediately enveloped the "sweet rock" that lay in the middle of the cup. When they touched, there was a short, crackling song. He seemed to break, but the small mountain continued to enthroned in the middle of the porcelain bowl. The tip looked out and reminded me of an iceberg. This revealed only a small part of itself too, while the rest hid deep in the sea. The teapot found its place on the warmer in which the small candle burned to keep the contents hot. Now the small cream spoon was used. It layed still untouched next to the creamer. I had often observed that the spoon was held in a cup of hot tea for a moment, but the meaning of it remained me hidden until then.
“This is very important,” said my grandmother, “before the silver spoon touches the cream for the first time, it has to be warmed up in hot tea to connect with it. ”So he dipped into my cup, where he stayed for a moment before filling up with the white sweetness. Now that I was the host, my grandmother received her "cloud"first.
I drove clockwise along the inside of the porcelain with the filled spoon. In a sweeping hand movement, the cream then dipped into the hot tea and then rose again as a cloud. Slowly she pushed over the black liquid. I hoped I done everything right because the cloud was given special attention."This is an art in itself!" Noted my grandmother, while she watched the little miracle in the making.
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Now I filled the little spoon with cream again and my hand went with it towards my cup. Before I could put in the "good white" in my cup, my grandmother raised her right hand und said "Please wait!"
“If you ever have sorrows and worries or need time to reflect on yourself and the essentials in life, then let the calm return to your heart. Then stop the time for a moment! Take the spoon and then add the cream against the clock. "
Many years later, when I was a young woman and had my own family, I remembered my grandmother's words. Suffering and sadness flowed through all my thoughts. Then, sitting alone in front of my cup of tea and holding the cream spoon in my hand, I remembered that afternoon and filled in the cream counterclockwise. Now I understood what my grandma wanted to convey to me at the time.
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Today my granddaughter works in her own way to preserve our East Frisian tea culture. It touches me and makes me proud to see that she also has this inheritance inside.
