Snow Drop Chai is a beautiful herbal blend that has quickly become a favorite for when I need tea (and that is very often) , but it's too late at night to drink my absolute favorite, Ritual Black Chai.
Orange, lemongrass, and star anise shine through in this blend, with lovely notes of jasmine, ginger, and cinnamon, while fennel and peppercorn dance within. It's somehow gentle, yet bold. I love it with a splash of milk and of course, honey. My favorite way to brew tea is to simmer it on the stove for at least 15 minutes. Doing this, intensifies all of the flavors and creates somewhat of a concentrate, which is perfect for mixing with milk.
Here is my go to recipe for simmering any tea. Don't forget to make a note if you would prefer less or more strong for your next brew. I am in the 'strong tea club' . For this particular tea, I'd recommend you taste before you sweeten it since the star anise is naturally sweet.
This recipe makes 1 quart of tea
1/3 heaping cup loose tea
1 quart water
3/4 cup milk
In a saucepan on high heat, add the tea and water. Reduce heat to simmer for at least 15 minutes.
Strain tea into blender pitcher, add milk and blend until nice and frothy. Grab your favorite mug, pour yourself a cup, take a sip to see if you'd like it sweetened. This is where you're going to want to spoon that yummy froth onto the top of your tea! Now, find a nice place to sit, sip & enjoy the poem below. Refrigerate any remaining tea for an iced Snowdrop Chai tea latte later ( just add ice & shake)!
Recipe & photos by Holly Giauque
A pale and pining girl, head bowed, heart gnawed,
whose figure nods and shivers in a shawl
of fine white wool, has suddenly appeared
in the damp woods, as mild and mute as snowfall.
She may not last, She has no strength at all,
but stoops and shakes as if she’d stood all night
on one bare foot, confiding with the moonlight.
One morning among several hundred clear-eyed ghosts
who get up in the cold and blink and turn
into those trembling emblems of night frosts,
she brings her burnt heart with her in an urn
of ashes, which she opens to re-mourn,
having no other outlet to express
her wild-flower sense of wounded gentleness.
Yes, she’s no more now than a drop of snow
on a green stem – her name is now her calling.
Her mind is just a frozen melting of glow
of water swollen to the point of falling
which maybe has no meaning. There’s no telling.
But what’s a beauty, what a mighty power
of patience kept intact is now in flower.
By Alice Oswald