Mouthpiece

Eat, Drink And Be indie: Tasty Recipes, Inspiring Maker Stories & Exclusives

Time For a Cuppa: Dona Chai

If you are British or know someone who is, you know that “a cuppa” is the answer to everything. Splashed by a car speeding through a puddle on your way to work? Bless your cotton socks, let me make you a proper cuppa. Had an amazing blind date last night? Time for a nice cuppa and a chin-wag.

Of course, across the pond, a cuppa is usually filled with PG Tips and milk, but it’s less about the contents, more about the ritual. The whistle of the kettle, the stained porcelain of your favorite teacup, the bobbing of the tea bag as it steeps, the tinkle-tinkle of the spoon as you stir… 

Our version? Standing in a long line of people all fidgeting with the need to get back to work and waiting for an afternoon pick-me-up they’ll drink in a rush and on-the-go, without a moment to savor or a thought to the ceremony of the thing. Having to scream your name over the hiss and clank of the barista’s machinations, trying to guess if the cup that reads “Tan” instead of “Dan” is yours, all capped off with burning the same lid hole-sized portion of your tongue that you scalded yesterday.

Teatime ought to be more civilized!

Enter Dona Chai. Everything about this concentrate – from its amber-colored bottle to its bewitching blend of ground cardamom, cinnamon bark, black pepper, clove and fresh-pressed ginger – beckons you to slow down and sip a while. Each 16-ounce bottle hangs happily in the comfort of your own fridge (or your office’s) for three weeks, but once you treat yourself to a warm cuppa, mixed with your choice of milk, in Grandma’s china or your (equally cherished) Lionel Richie mug, you’ll want to recreate it every afternoon. And maybe for elevenses too. After all, the average Brit drinks 3.5 cups of tea a day.

And let it be known that the inclusion of a biscuit (a.k.a., a dippable cookie) with a cuppa is assumed. N.B. For really bad days (or really good ones!), upgrade biscuit to a slice of cake.

Oh, and go ahead and relax those pinkies. Teatime is no time for pretense. It’s threadbare socks and pilled cardigans all the way.   

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