There are things I might perhaps do differently if I were starting the Strainer column for the first time in 2021.
I’m not saying I would be right to do them differently; I’m not saying the results would be better. But let’s scratch that counter-factual itch anyway.
For one, I might be tempted to use the “Tea Opinion Leader” moniker. The whole KOL thing hadn’t kicked off in 2016. If starting this gig afresh, the pun might just be irresistible.
Another asset I might feature prominently would be the image of Chinese-tea-in-a-wine-glass.
I’ve never written down that combination of words until today, certainly not here. And I had never drunk tea that way back in 2016. But if I am “famous” for anything in the company where I work, it is this tea glass of mine.
People see me in the elevator with it. People see it at my desk. I’ve even had it with me outside on summer days. It’s a kind of metonymy for Matthew, like a sheriff moustache would be, if only I could grow a sheriff moustache.
My wine glass presents me as a tea drinker, a tea addict, a foreign enthusiast of Chinese tea. I’m fine with that. It starts conversations which often end up with drinking more tea.
I tell people the truth, which is that when I started here, the only glasses in our office kitchen were wine glasses, ready for our Swiss boss to lay on an impromptu drinks reception. I used wine glasses for tea in the absence of an alternative. Then, after breaking one in public, I was given (a nice) wine glass as a gift. I use that one (and I look after it) as a tribute to that kind friend and that friendship.
Most people here love to see a foreigner drinking Chinese tea. And most treat this as a compliment. But, to me, it does slightly feel a bit like an affectation, a cultivated eccentricity. It feels uncomfortably close to “personal branding”.
And, actually, the elevator companions least impressed by this wine glass are the people I’m most eager to impress; the true tea fans. They look down on the glass in my hand, not just as a cultural mashup or cupboard malfunction; for them, it’s an inferior way of extracting the best from good tea.
They have a point. Drinking thus, I don’t drink reverently. The tea I gulp while checking my emails is probably tea too good for that context. Back in the UK, I would be keeping such tea in a special box and photographing every tiny teacupful.
Yes, like a brandy glass, this glass does encourage a fragrant magnificence to build above the liquor of a Fujian red. But I still drink that liquor too fast. And I don’t stop reading the emails.
Anyway, last Friday was a quiet office day. I decided to invite a colleague who was introducing two great teas. Instead of giving everyone wine glasses, I aired my office gongfu tea set for the first time in months. This, I hoped, would establish my seriousness-credentials. I didn’t pour very professionally, but the tea really sang from the correct brewing vessel. A happy occasion.
Drinking tea and writing Strainer, I’ve had so many such encounters these 5 years. I’m grateful I can indulge myself this way. I hope my lovely wine glass long remains part of my drinking kit. But this subject is much bigger than one cool prop.
