My Amma started every day with a hot cup of tea. It didn't matter if it were the dead of winter or the hottest day of summer, she would be in the kitchen drinking her piping hot cup out of the same mug. She had a favorite recipe: hot black tea, a little sugar, and a splash of milk. Papa called it Sullivan and Son tea, which as a small child I thought was the actual name for her tea recipe, but later realized it was just the company featured on the mug.
Amma wouldn’t drink just any tea, it had to be Salada black tea. She wasn't a tea connoisseur, she just liked simplicity. It was a tea you'd never see in a commercial. You couldn't order one at a restaurant like a cup of Lipton, but it was always there for you. It was a comfort, and a really tasty tea.
When we had our sleepovers, we’d drink Sullivan and Son tea with my Amma at breakfast, while she and my Papa made us a feast of scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, and pastries. Papa would serve us our tea in our own special mugs and we’d mix our milk and sugar in with the tea, banging the spoon around the cup, clanking loudly. We’d drink our tea with our spoons like soup. Life was easy, happy, and carefree.
A good cup of tea can be simple, familiar; with no frills and no fancy herbs or flowers. It brings you home with one sip. Sometimes when I'm feeling nostalgic, I'll make myself a cup of Sullivan and Son tea. It brings back childhood memories and better times.
On the twentieth anniversary of my Amma’s passing, I made a cup of tea and it brought me peace. As I inhaled the aroma of the soft tea leaves, I relaxed. I felt as though she was with me, sipping her simple tea. And when I closed my eyes, we were at the kitchen table, laughing and slurping our tea with spoons without a care in the world, knowing we'd always be together to share a good cup of tea.
©Danielle Amerena, 2024
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