Green. Chai. Jasmine. Mint. Chamomile. English breakfast. Earl grey. Lemon.
So many choices in the tea box at Maria’s Italian Kitchen. The waiter, Steve, introduced them as hot water steamed in a black mug on the table, accompanied by a chubby little piece of lemon on a crisp white plate.
Hmm, mint…Hmm no decaf blacks, lemon sounds good but I have a lemon…
“English breakfast! You see that? I had my hand on the bag! Pegged you for an English breakfast!” Steve exclaimed with all the excitement of having been so right on the money.
Something about me has always had people saying they can see right through me. Sometimes it seems that my face has apparently told them things it hasn’t told me, but, eh, life goes on even if they’re wrong. I try not to be too creeped out when someone really gets it right though; let’s stamp it as a jumpstarted mutual understanding of being known, and move along.
Others often look at me and say my cards are showing. (Hmm kind of like Forooz on Tuesday…) Guess all I really need to do is hope that they’re good ones and will do the legwork of attracting the right friends and acquaintances.
So I mean, what’s wrong with being classic, deep and relaxing?
Can’t knock a good English breakfast.
Truly a Shangri La among teas.
“Steep your soul” indeed, hmm? Semi-irrelevant: here’s a picture of Maria’s classic rosemary bread. If you haven’t tasted it, try it sometime. Or all the time.