Hot Spiced Tea — The Small Comfort at the End of a Long Week

Thanksgiving prep underway. The lumpia line forming. Pete and I worked the night shift Friday. We talked between codes about the kids — his daughter's wedding planning, my sister's pregnancy. The talking was the keeping.

Lourdes is 74. She is in the kitchen. She is luminous.

I made beef adobo Sunday. The richer cousin. The slow simmer.

I wrote the blog post Friday night at the kitchen table while Reyna napped on the couch. The post was short. The post was honest.

I called Lourdes Sunday night. The call was the call. The call was always the call.

I drove the Glenn Highway out to Eklutna on Saturday. The mountains were the mountains. The lake was the lake. The body needed the open road. The open road did its work.

Auntie Norma called Sunday to ask if I had a recipe for a particular merienda from Iloilo. I did not. I said I would ask Lourdes. I asked Lourdes. Lourdes had it. The chain.

A blog reader sent me a photograph of her grandmother's wooden mortar and pestle, used since 1962. The photograph was holy. I wrote her back. The writing back is the work.

I cleaned the kitchen Sunday afternoon. I wiped the stove. I scrubbed the sink. I reorganized the spice cabinet. The cleaning was the small reset. The reset was the marker. The marker said: the week is over, the next week begins, the kitchen is ready.

The Filipino Community newsletter announced the Saturday gathering. I will be on lumpia duty. I am always on lumpia duty.

I taught a Saturday morning Kain Na class on basic adobo proportions for new cooks. Eleven people in the kitchen. Half of them had never cooked Filipino food before. By eleven AM the kitchen smelled the way it should smell. By noon they were all eating. The eating was the lesson landing.

I read three chapters of the novel Saturday night before sleep. The novel was about a Filipina nurse in California. The nurse was being undone by her work. I knew the unraveling. I had lived the unraveling. I read on. The reading was the witnessing.

I read a chapter of a novel before bed each night this week. The novel was about a Filipina nurse in California. The novel was good. The novel was, in some way, my own life adjacent.

The break room had cake Tuesday. Someone's birthday. We ate the cake. We did not ask whose birthday. The cake was the cake.

I made tea late at night. The tea was the small comfort. The comfort was the marker.

I made coffee at six AM. The coffee was the start. The start was always the same.

I took a walk on the coastal trail Saturday. The light was good. The body was tired but moving.

Pete and I had a long phone conversation Tuesday. We talked about the family — his and mine. The talking was the keeping.

A reader from New Jersey wrote in about her grandmother's adobo, which used pineapple. I had never heard of pineapple in adobo. I tried it. It was strange. It was also good. The strange and the good are not opposites.

Auntie Norma called Sunday afternoon. She is now seventy-nine. She wanted a recipe. I gave it to her. She wanted to know how my week was. I told her, briefly. She told me about her week. The exchange took eighteen minutes. The eighteen minutes was the keeping.

The neighbors invited us over for a small dinner Thursday. They are an Iñupiaq family — Aana and her grandson Joe. We ate caribou stew and rice. I brought lumpia. The kitchens of Anchorage have always been the small UN. The food is the proof.

The tea kept coming up this week — late at night after the kitchen was cleaned, after the novel was set down, after the calls were over. It was never fancy. It was never the point. But somewhere between the lumpia duty and the drive out to Eklutna and the eighteen minutes with Auntie Norma, I kept coming back to the kettle. Hot spiced tea is what I reach for when the week has been full and the body needs something small and honest — something that smells like warmth and asks nothing of you in return.

Hot Spiced Tea

Prep Time: 5 minutes | Cook Time: 10 minutes | Total Time: 15 minutes | Servings: 6

Ingredients

• 6 cups water
• 4 black tea bags
• 1/2 cup orange juice, freshly squeezed or bottled
• 1/4 cup lemon juice
• 1/2 cup granulated sugar (adjust to taste)
• 4 whole cloves
• 2 cinnamon sticks
• 1/4 teaspoon ground allspice
• Orange or lemon slices, for garnish (optional)

Instructions

1. Steep the tea. Bring 6 cups of water to a boil in a medium saucepan. Remove from heat, add the tea bags, and steep for 5 minutes. Remove and discard the tea bags.
2. Add the spices. Return the saucepan to low heat. Add the cinnamon sticks, whole cloves, and ground allspice. Simmer gently for 5 minutes to let the spices infuse.
3. Sweeten and add citrus. Stir in the sugar until fully dissolved, then add the orange juice and lemon juice. Taste and adjust sweetness as needed.
4. Strain and serve. Remove the cinnamon sticks and cloves by straining through a fine mesh strainer or slotted spoon. Ladle into mugs and garnish with an orange or lemon slice if desired.
5. Store leftovers. Any remaining tea can be refrigerated and gently reheated on the stovetop or in the microwave. It keeps well for up to 3 days.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 75 | Protein: 0g | Fat: 0g | Carbs: 19g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 5mg