A Perfect Pu'erh

“I haven’t had coffee for an entire year. I’ve been drinking matcha and pu’erh tea almost exclusively. Pu’erh tea is fermented black tea, so it’s richer and earthier in flavour. Is earthier a word? I don’t know, but if it isn’t, it is now. Anyway, Coffee Pu’erh has unroasted coffee beans in it, so you get the flavour of coffee without the actual caffeine.

“In the mornings, I always start with a matcha latte. Usually vanilla flavour, but sometimes I’ll have blueberry or maple, which tastes like pancakes. Or, if I want it cold, I’ll do an iced peach matcha with lemonade. After that, I’ll make myself a Coffee Pu’erh latte, and we’re only allowed one latte a day, but two teas with milk is the same amount of milk as a latte so I just pretend I’m having two teas.

“Matcha, which is green tea in a processed powder form, is also much better for you than coffee. Coffee is like a roller coaster; you quickly ascend and have a brief high before you crash back down. Matcha, however, is more like a lazy river. The caffeine is more of a slow burn up, with a longer and more consistent, unnoticeable plateau, followed by a slow burn down. No crash, no spikes, no jitters.

“People who say they don’t like matcha just haven’t had good matcha. Whenever someone tells me they’ve had it and won’t drink it again, I ask them if they had it from Starbucks, and the answer is always yes. Matcha should be from Japan. Someone who works at Starbucks once told me that their matcha is secretly grown in Iowa. Fucking Iowa! Excuse my French. But can you believe that? Not to mention, they burn the shit out of it with their latte machines, because they mix the matcha powder directly into the milk when they steam it, which will make the already shitty American matcha taste bitter and burnt.”

“Can I just pay for my drink?”

“Oh,” I say to the customer. “Yes, sorry. One large iced Peachy Please with lemonade. That’ll be $3.85, peachy please.”

He hands me a five-dollar bill with a straight face.

“There’s a tip jar there if you feel so inclined,” I sheepishly point at it. It’s covered in cat stickers. “I’m trying to save up enough to get my cat’s hernia removed.”

He takes the loonie, nickel, and dime I give him in return, and looks me dead in the eye as he places them in his pocket and turns to walk out the door.

“Have a tea-riffic day!” I say. “Asshole.”

Nobody appreciates my tea knowledge. If one more person comes in here asking for just another tea of the day, I’m gonna lose my mind. We brew two big carafes of two chosen teas of the day, usually one hot and one iced. I always have the best time coming up with punny names for them, writing them on the chalkboard, and listening to people have to say the names when they order them. Peachy Please is our Just Peachy tea, and the other option today is simply called Bob Marley, which is a tea actually called Caribbean Crush.

The store is empty, so I take the opportunity to sanitize the tables and chairs, and the white countertop speckled with black dots, which everyone thinks are tea remnants, but it’s actually just a terrible design choice. I make another valiant attempt removing the layers of crayon drawings that some kids did directly onto the surface of a plastic table, but it’s a lost cause and now a permanent installation. I carefully weave the duster through all the glass teapots, metal tumblers, steepers and other accessories in the merchandise units along the wall on the sales floor, then I start wiping down all the large canisters of tea stacked on the shelves behind the counter one-by-one.

The bell on the door jingles, interrupting me from wiping canister number thirty or forty, and thank God for that.

“Hi there, welcome in,” I greet the young gentleman who enters the store, his hair bouncing with each step. “Would you like a tea sample? Today I have iced Green Passionfruit, or I have a hot Cream of Earl Grey tea latte sample.”

“I’ll take the hot one,” he says, brushing his long black curls away from his eyes.

“Sorry, I wasn’t one of the options,” I wink.

“Ha! Good one,” he says.

“Finally, someone in this neighborhood who appreciates my humour,” I say, pouring him a sample in a shot-glass sized paper cup.

“Did you come up with the tea of the day names, too?” he asks.

“All me.”

“Nice work.”

“But please, if you’re going to order a drink, let me make you a fresh tea or latte instead of just pulling the valve on the carafe of pre-made crap. I mean, it’s not crap, it’s good, it’s just I want to make something more interesting and fun. Let me steam some milk for you or get something going in the matcha shaker.”

“Actually,” he says, “I just came for some loose leaf.”

“Well, that I can help you with. What do you have in mind?”

“I’m not too sure, actually. I’ve never been here before. There’s like a hundred options on that wall behind you.”

“And I know what’s in every single one.”

“Every single one?”

“Try me.”

“Okay, what is Cinnamon Rooibos Chai?”

“So, Rooibos is a type of tea.” I say while grabbing the tin off the wall and cracking the sniffer lid open. “Have a sniff. It’s the only type of tea we carry that isn’t made from camellia sinensis, which is the plant most teas are made from. Rooibos is it’s own plant, and it’s got super hydrating properties. Plus, cinnamon is said to be great for concentration. And the apple adds a bit of sweetness to the spice. So it’s a great caffeine-free option for studying or focus. And my secret tip? It’s the perfect hangover tea.”

“Cold 911?”

“That’s your best friend when you’re sick. Peppermint, citrus, juniper berries, eucalyptus.”

“Any caffeine?”

“No, it’s a herbal tea. So, if you look at the wall here, it’s colour coded. The yellow and orange ones are herbal and rooibos—no caffeine. Everything else has levels of it, and on the back of the tins, you can see how much. Or you can just ask me.”

“What has the most caffeine?”

“Black tea, which are the blue labels, or if you want a richer flavour, pu’erh tea, which is fermented black tea, and those are the brown labels.”

“What’s Read My Lips? A black tea, right?”

“Correct!” I say, grabbing it from the wall. “This one is like a desert tea. Have a smell and tell me if you can identify what’s in it.”

He sticks his button nose into the sniffer lid.

There’s a compartment in the lid where we put a small scoop of tea so customers can smell it. We replace all the tea once a week to keep it smelling pungent and fresh. It’s a bitch of a process, because as he pointed out, there’s about one hundred teas, and we have to weigh and log all the tea we use for the sniffers to remove it from inventory.

“Chocolate?” he says, sniffing. “Peppermint?”

“Yes, and yes.”

“I’m not sure what the little red things are.”

“Those are pink peppercorns. And did you notice the lips?”

“Your lips? I mean, uh—”

“No! Look.” I pick one of the little lips out of the lid. “They’re candy.”

“Oh,” he says.

“I mean my lips are nice too, I suppose, but we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Let’s step back,” I say. “Are you looking for something caffeinated or non-caffeinated?”

“Caffeinated.”

“Okay, now are you looking for something sweet or savoury, or perhaps you’re a subtle taste kind of guy?”

“Do I look like I have subtle taste?” He steps back from the counter.

He’s wearing a button-up polo shirt that has red and blue stripes on the left short sleeve, yellow and red stripes on the right, with three large red, blue and yellow cats across a black strip in the centre of his sternum. Layered underneath is a long sleeve green shirt, with probably seven or eight beaded colourful bracelets on his left wrist, and a rainbow Apple Watch on his right. Baggy, acid-wash jeans drape over his legs, so much so that I can’t tell if he even has knees. Peeking out from the bottom of his pant legs are his bare toes in Birkenstock sandals. I’m a professional, but even a professional can admit when a customer is cute.

“No,” I respond. “I think you’ll like my favourite, then. Coffee Pu’erh.”

“Oh,” he says, his nose in the lid, curls falling over the canister. “That smells great.”

“Smells and tastes like coffee, but without the extra caffeine.”

“Are those coffee beans?”

“Yeah, but they’re unroasted, which is why there’s no caffeine from them.”

“Fascinating,” he says. “I didn’t know you could mix coffee and tea, or that you could steep unroasted coffee beans. In fact, I didn’t even know you could get unroasted coffee beans. This might actually help with my mom’s coffee addiction.”

I’m a rambler, so I appreciate when someone else is too. And he’s a mama’s boy? I’m a professional.

“Do you have anywhere to be?” I ask. “Can I make you a latte? On the house.”

“I’m in no rush,” he says. “I’m Lennox, by the way. Scottish name. Edison is English, right?”

“How did you—”

He pokes the name tag on my chest, the metal pin cold against my skin.

“Right.”

“Are you sure about the free latte, Edison? I don’t want to get you in trouble with your boss.”

“First of all, I am the boss,” I wink. “Second of all, a latte is the same amount of milk as two teas with milk, so I’ll just log two more hot teas under my drink log for myself. It’s not unbelievable that I’ve had six teas today.”

“A modern-day hero,” Lennox says.

“So we’ve gotta let it steep in here for five minutes. Sometimes I’ll do seven for a little extra flavour, but no more or it’ll start tasting bitter. Do you prefer oat, almond, or two percent milk?”

“Oat, please,” he says. “Do you ever get tired of the smells in here?”

“Not really. Maybe if I worked at Lush, it would be a different story, but I like it.”

“You must come home to your partner smelling sweet every night.”

“I do, but the only one sniffing on me at home is my cat,” I shout over the sound of the milk steamer.

“I see,” Lennox shouts back. “So why do you use that weird device to steep the tea?”

“Steeping it loose-leaf brings out more of the flavour. Plus, once it’s done, all you have to do is place it on top of the cup, and it will automatically drain out.”

“Oh, wow. You really do know it all.”

“Well, don’t ask me about sports,” I say, which makes him laugh. “Do you want to do the honours?”

Lennox takes the steeper by the handle and gently places it over the top of the to-go cup. It’s not quite aligned perfectly, and it’s not coming out, so I adjust it, brushing against the hair on the back of his hand. It starts flowing freely.

“There you go!” I say as I pour the milk in and add a bit of agave syrup for sweetness. “Tell me what you think.”

He takes a sip, the beige-white foam leaving a layer on his top lip, which he licks off with his abnormally long tongue. His dark pink lips part to reveal his satisfied white teeth. “It’s perfect,” he says. “It actually tastes like coffee.”

“Would I lie to you, Lennox?”

“I don’t believe you would, Edison,” he smiles. “Okay, so how do I buy some of this?”

“Well, we have a few options, but the one-hundred gram tin cans are the best bang for your buck. And they’re normally five dollars, but free with a hundred grams.”

“Well, I like a good bang for my buck.”

I laugh nervously and get back to business. “Plus, they’re the best storage option, too. The airtight lid will keep your tea good for up to two years. And you get to pick your tin!”

“Well, you’ve sold me. I’ll take the purple tin. Do I need one of those steepers, too?”

“You could, but honestly, if you’re just starting out, you can just use the sachets,” I say, scooping the loose tea into the tin.

“As in sachet away, like RuPaul says?”

“Same word, different meaning. They’re organic and biodegradable tea bags. No microplastics. Also, no spoilers about last night’s episode. I haven’t watched yet.”

“Me neither, so you’re safe.”

“I usually watch it when I’m working alone. I’ll probably watch it on my phone when you leave, actually. Do you want a Perfect Spoon?”

“Well, I think I’m the perfect spoon, but I mean you could give me a run for my money. Not sure there’s anywhere to lie down in here, though?”

“Oh,” I say, wide-eyed. “I meant this.” I hold up the tea serving spoon. “It’s called the Perfect Spoon because you get the perfect scoop of tea every time. One or two scoops for a regular tea, depending on your preference. But you should do two, since you have strong taste.”

“Why, thank you,” he says, giving a twirl to show off his outfit again.

“For a latte, it’s four scoops and half the amount of water. This tea is great iced, as well. Four scoops for iced tea, six scoops for an iced latte.”

“Well, pull my leg, why don’t you.”

“What?”

“It’s a figure of speech, Ed,” he says. “Can I call you Ed? I’m gonna to call you Ed.”

I finish packaging his tea, grab a Perfect Spoon and throw in a few sample packets of our new summer teas.

“You can tap your card there,” I say. “So, this will make you about twenty or thirty cups of tea, or eight to ten lattes. If you come back, bring your tin, and you’ll get a discount on a refill.”

“I’ll be back,” Lennox says. “Actually, can I stay?”

“Oh, sure. We’ve got a few tables and chairs over there.”

“No,” he says, jumping up to sit on the counter. “Can I stay and watch Drag Race with you?”

“Oh,” I say. “We close in an hour, actually, and I’ll have to do all the closing prep before then.”

“Episodes are forty-four minutes without commercials, and if I help you, we can get it done twice as fast.”

“Well, pull my leg, why don’t you.” I say. “Did I use that right?”

“You did,” he says, touching the tips of his fingers to mine on the counter.

“Is this for your cat?” he says, pointing at the photo taped onto the stickered tip jar.

“It is,” I say, lacing my fingers further into his.

“Well, let me return your generosity,” he says, pulling a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet and stuffing it into the still nearly-empty jar.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“And you didn’t have to do this,” he says, taking another sip of his Coffee Pu’erh latte.

This job can be shit sometimes. At the end of the day, I’m a theatre major working at a tea store as my first job post-graduation. But it does feel good to have absorbed the wealth of knowledge and be able to help people with it, even it is just tea. Sometimes I have lame, boring, and short interactions like earlier. Other times I help someone’s mom get a good night’s sleep for the first time in years, relieve someone’s headaches, or help them find their new favourite summer drink. All of that really does bring joy to me. But this? This is a new experience. I mean, I guess one time I did write my number on a guy’s receipt, but I must have misunderstood the interaction because he never texted or called me. But Lennox here has made my day. Possibly my week.

“Now, make a tea for yourself for our watch party and teach me how to do it,” he says. “And have you eaten?”

“Not since my lunch break at 1 PM.”

“That was four hours ago, Eddy! Can I call you Eddy? I’m gonna to call you Eddy. Okay, tea, Drag Race, cleaning up, and then let’s get some dinner.”

I hope he can sweep the floors as well as he’s swept me off my feet.