Now Is the Time For a Meditative Tea Routine

I'm trying out a new evening routine. After I've had dinner and banished my phone to a far off charger, I set about brewing a pot of herbal tea in the slowest, most methodical way possible.

See, under normal circumstances, I would never consider myself "chill." I don't lounge. My idea of relaxing is an hour-long run or an afternoon spent cooking a week's worth of food, after visiting the farmers market and two grocery stores. I love lists, busyness, and being outside.

But, of course, I'm inside now. And while I'm grateful that I can be inside with job security and my health, compared to the many very real alternatives, I'm still human, and imperfect, so that means that no amount of gratitude is going to completely do away with my nerves at this time of forced stillness and constant uncertainty.

So I'm practicing slowing down—way down—and trying to find some calm in it. In the kitchen, that means forgoing recipes that need searing, broiling, or other high-heat, high-attention methods. I'm already jumpy and my attention isn't quite there. Instead, I'm luxuriating in the chop, chop, massage of making sauerkraut, in kneading a bag of fresh almond meal for nut milk, in slowly stirring risotto. And since making that shift all of four days ago, something funny has happened. I am, actually, a bit more chill.

The herbal tea bit is the final step in my new daily 'calm' ritual. It beats rapidly working my way through all the quarantine snacks. And it feels especially good to surprise my partner with a fresh, steaming mug—my partner, who used to relish his late morning hours writing in our quiet home, who now cannot get further than 20 feet away from me at any time.

The other beautiful thing about the tea routine is that my anxiety, like a lot of people's, kicks in late in the evening. Making tea is a way to get out of my head and into the task at hand, even if it's nine, ten, eleven at night. I choose a blend, pull down the box, scoop the loose leaf into a little steeper, boil the water, brew, watch, stir in a spoon of honey, maybe add a dash of milk.

The whole thing takes about seven minutes. It's a tiny task. A speck in the slow span of isolation time. Somehow, though, at the end, I always feel better.

If you'd like to join me, or you just love a good cup of chamomile, here's everything you could possibly need to create a new tea routine of your own.

The Gear

The Teas