keemun

a black tea with a thread of smoke laid carefully through it, not unkind. the colour in the cup is the colour of an old wooden banister where many hands have rested. the smell, before drinking, reminds you of a fire that went out an hour ago in another room.

one drinks it in the late morning, sitting at the kitchen table. the custodian takes it without milk and with both hands around the cup. it is the tea for the hour just after the post arrives and before any decisions have to be made.

it keeps well for a second steep, though the smoke has gone then. by the third, you are drinking only the memory of it, which is also acceptable — see the third infusion.