Lavender Mint Tea

The first hard frost. The garden gone. A Code Blue Wednesday morning that we did not save. I stood in the parking lot for fifteen minutes before I got in my car.

Lourdes is 74. She is in the kitchen. She is luminous. Joseph called from Kodiak Sunday. The fishing is good. The boats are running. He is fine.

I made caldereta Sunday. The celebration stew. The beef and tomato and olives. The dish you make when something good has happened.

A reader wrote me a long email this week about her grandmother's adobo, which differed from mine in every measurement. The differences were the conversation. I wrote her back. The writing back is the work.

Angela came over Saturday with the kids. We cooked. We argued about pancit proportions — she uses more soy, I use more calamansi. We are both wrong, according to Lourdes.

I sat at the kitchen table Sunday night with the bowl in front of me. The bowl was warm. The bowl was the prayer.

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

The salmon in the freezer is from August. Joseph's catch. The bag is labeled in his handwriting — "for Grace." I will use it next week.

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.

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.

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

The therapy session this month was about pacing. Dr. Reeves said, "Grace. The pacing is the love for the future self." I am working on the pacing. The pacing is harder than the loving.

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.

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 drove home Tuesday evening and the sun set at three forty-five and the highway was already iced at the bridges and the radio was on a station I did not recognize and I did not change it.

The grocery store had no calamansi. I substituted lime. The substitution was acceptable. The acceptable is the working version of perfect.

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.

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

I checked email at the kitchen table while the rice cooked. There were one hundred and twenty unread messages. I closed the laptop. The unread can wait.

I wrote about the caldereta — the celebration stew, the beef and tomato and olives — but the week did not end there. It ended late, at the kitchen table, with tea. After I had wiped the stove and scrubbed the sink and reorganized the spice cabinet, after the reset was complete, I put the kettle on and I made this: lavender mint tea, the small comfort Dr. Reeves would probably call “pacing.” It is not a dramatic recipe. That is the point. The bowl of caldereta was the prayer; the tea was the amen.

Prep Time: 5 min | Cook Time: 5 min | Total Time: 10 min | Servings: 2

Ingredients

2 cups filtered water
1 tablespoon dried culinary lavender buds
1 tablespoon dried peppermint leaves (or 4–5 fresh mint sprigs)
1 teaspoon honey, or to taste (optional)
1 thin slice fresh lemon (optional, for serving)

Instructions

Heat the water. Bring 2 cups of filtered water to just below a boil — around 200°F. Avoid a full rolling boil, which can make lavender turn bitter.
Combine the herbs. Place the dried lavender and dried (or fresh) mint into a tea infuser, small muslin bag, or directly into a heatproof pitcher or teapot.
Steep. Pour the hot water over the herbs and steep for 4–5 minutes. Taste at 4 minutes — lavender intensifies quickly, so do not over-steep.
Strain and sweeten. Remove the infuser or strain the tea through a fine-mesh sieve into two mugs. Stir in honey if using.
Serve. Add a thin lemon slice to each cup if desired. Drink warm, slowly, at the kitchen table.

Nutrition (per serving)

Lavender Mint Tea — The Small Comfort That Marks the End of the Week