Norman Miller
The Times, 11 April 2009

It's good to know in times of uncertainty that some things never change, chief among them our unquenchable thirst for tea. Perhaps because the first thing we do in a crisis is to put the kettle on, tea drinking always goes up in a recession. Sales have risen 5 per cent in the past year - equivalent to eight million extra cups a day.

But for a nation that adores a cuppa, it's surprising that more British chefs don't cook with tea. In Asia tea has a centuries-old culinary pedigree, while even American chefs seem to use it far more than we Brits. Whether we've been too long wedded to the idea of just drinking the stuff, or to the weight of European cooking traditions, British menus have tended only to dabble with a bit of tea-smoked fish here or the odd flavoured pudding there.

Yet tea cries out to be set free from the pot. The leaves of Camellia sinensis, the tea plant, offer a versatility that truly sets them apart. How many herbs are there that you can smoke food over, rub in, brew into fragrant infusions or simply grind up for novel condiments?

"Tea is such an underrated aromatic in flavouring both sweet and savoury food," says Tonia George, whose Tea Cookbook was published last year (Ryland Peters & Small, £8.99). "Hardly anyone thinks to use it in the kitchen, yet everyone has an array of tea in their cupboards. The tannins in tea add a really special quality to the infusions they make. Earl Grey scents rice beautifully. Teas such as a spiced chai black tea or lapsang souchong are feisty with flavour and hold their own against savoury dishes. Sweet dishes are suited to the delicate nuances of jasmine, green and oolong. Or think of tea as a stock for poaching chicken or fish."

Georgina Payne, the master tea blender at Jacksons of Piccadilly, thinks that brewed tea adds an extra dimension to a recipe. "It's important to match the right tea to a particular recipe," she says. "The robust, smoky flavour in a lapsang souchong gives further depth to a savoury duck or game dish, whereas the delicate, crisp notes of green tea work well in a summer pudding."

To see tea-cooking in action I visited Pei Wang, whose love of tea has led him to set up regular tea-cookery workshops as well as tea-appreciation classes at a beautiful Victorian coach-house in Notting Hill, West London (www.teanamu.com). A samovar bubbles away quietly, providing the flow of hot water we need as Wang takes me through an array of dishes showcasing tea's adaptability. Crushing green leaves in a mortar, Wang adds them to a light batter for tempura vegetables, which he augments with a delicious green tea salt made by grinding leaves and salt in a mill. A humble dish of boiled eggs, meanwhile, is transformed. The eggs are cooked in rich keemun tea, which is almost sticky, and pu-erh black tea liquor until hard-boiled, then Wang gently cracks their shells to allow the tea to seep beneath. Peeled, they sit like edible jewels, dark marbling skeining across their previously pale surface.

Three teas go into a delicious salmon dish - lapsang souchong ground to dust and rubbed into the pink flesh, fine pu-erh leaves scattered in to flavour an accompanying dark sauce, and maccha (powdered green tea) whisked into flour for home-made noodles. Iron Goddess of Mercy - a Chinese oolong tea - bolsters the cooking liquid for a dessert of poached pear. The best-known tea dish on any restaurant menu is Heston Blumenthal's lime, green tea and vodka palate cleanser, but other chefs who have embraced tea in their cooking include Nic Watt, head chef at the fashionable Asian restaurant Roka, in Central London. A New Zealander who spent many years training in Japan, he enjoys the tannic counternotes that tea can lend to sweet dishes. His menu includes a chocolate pudding with a runny green-tea centre.

Simon Hulstone is a rising chef who features tea regularly at The Elephant, his Michelin-starred restaurant in Torquay. Hulstone's menu offers breast of pigeon with Earl Grey jelly and tea-smoked guinea fowl. "Tea offers another natural spice," he says. "It adds a point of interest." Asked if there is a tea that stands at the pinnacle, Wang points me towards pu-erh, traditionally harvested from wild tea plants in the mountains of Yunnan, southwest China. This tea is the only one that breaks the general rule "fresh is best". It benefits from ageing just as fine wine does, with different years offering different tastes. It can be hugely expensive, with older and more precious vintages often kept in specialist vaults in China, the precious dark leaves compressed into easy-to-store "cakes", weighing about 500g each - a throwback to the days of horseback caravans wending their way along the ancient Chinese tea routes.

One of the world's most sought-after pu-erh "cakes" is, however, in England rather than China - in Harrods. Made from the finest 1950s pu-erh, a single cake costs £15,000, a bit much for a cup of tea in these credit-crunch times, even for those who might have the money.

As for me, I'm happy with the oolong that Wang graciously offers at the end of our afternoon.



PDF Page 14 of the Weekend supplement in The Times on 11 April 2009. (file is 7Mb in size)