Tag: Peppermint tea

Costa Coffee, Balham

Traffic grinds along; clattering busses and groaning motorbikes. The first schoolkids have started to walk past, some neat in new uniforms and some with saggy blazers and untucked shirts. There’s a general increase in pedestrian traffic, all wandering past the tables not quite lined up outside the coffee shop. It’s in a big street in a relatively wealthy area, yet has the transitory feel of a mainline station on a Sunday evening, when the trains are sparse or cancelled. The raggedy outside of the café, with its tumbleweed litter and scrolling loners, contrasts to the bright and neat interior with its chatty staff.

A lady with neon pink hair and double denim wanders up to me. ‘Have you got another pound?’ she asks.

‘Sorry,’ I say.

‘I’ll have to have some water before I go,’ she continues, patting her stomach. ‘I might go to the bank tomorrow. I’ve seen some leggings that I like.’

I smile, I have no idea what to say. Eventually, I settle on ‘I hope that goes okay’. She turns round and heads into the café.

A couple sit next to me, plonking down one espresso between them, then quickly evaporate. Children congregate in huddles at the bus stop and smaller knots outside the supermarket, emerging with plastic-wrapped snacks. The mint tea I ordered is now thoroughly steeped, and is destined to be more so since our conversationalist has now been replaced by an over-friendly wasp, whose attentions continue for some considerable

(wasp)

The tea is served as a bag in a tall glass mug with a fiddly handle accompanied by a pot of hot water that looks small, but makes a few cups. If this were at home, a co-habitee might make remarks about creating unnecessary washing up or

(wasp)

It’s particularly interested in my handbag, though there’s no sugar and it’s

(wasp)

The tea is kind of indeterminate. It has a mint flavour, but it’s like the mint flavour that comes with toothpaste or chewing gum, a sort of breath freshener and cooler rather than something that involves food or drink. There’s a lot of it, which is fine by me, but eventually the air starts to get chilly. The kids have long gone home, the fellow scrollers have moved on and even the wasp has packed up for the day, so I’m off too.

Breakfast tea(s) on Wimbledon Common

The early morning outside Wimbledon Tearooms is like the early morning on a campsite: general drowsiness, carping birds and a sharp retort of fresh air. ‘It’s nice,’ says the lady at the next table, contemplating a brownie, ‘But not Richmond Park nice’. Two teenagers slouch at the table next to her and the three discuss the virtues of cakes like red velvet, carrot and lemon drizzle.

Like me, most of the people here look as if they’re still waking up, but the dogs are straining on their leads, enthusiastic about everything. A border collie watches, tongue out, as food and drink is distributed to a toddler, and a spaniel makes a break for freedom, nearly towing its owner under a table.

There are lots of paper cups with various fillings, and the odd frankly magnificent-looking white bread sandwich with glorious, artery-hardening contents. The muted morning conversation is interrupted every so often by staff announcing the production of the next order to a pacing herd of people eager for caffeine.

Having already jolted myself semi-awake with a bucket of neat black coffee, mine today is a peppermint tea. The bag is having a thorough soak. I’m feeling dreadful after my second covid jab and, on no medical evidence, have a blind faith in peppermint tea’s ability to calm things down. The tea is both warm and menthol-cool, but it lacks caffeine kick a person needs at this time of day.

Runners slouch past. A man is patiently explaining to two little people that we start the day with Shreddies, not chips. There are protests, then a little voice starts repeating ‘Here comes the train’ and down each spoonful goes.

Having finished the peppermint tea, I order an English Breakfast tea. Waiting for it with the pacers, I admire the dogs. One large brown and white specimen gazes adoringly at a distracted-looking owner – or maybe at the extra sausage the owner has just collected. A Labrador patiently fiddles with its lead while its ears are fondled during a particularly gripping conversation. Something bashful hides between two table occupants, shaking slightly and looking out at other dogs. Something curly haired and defiant stands on a table still as a statue, ignored by guzzling owners.

My tea has ‘soya’ written on the lid in neat blue biro. The brand on the tag is ‘Birchall’, which I’ve never heard of, but there’s one of those ‘Great Taste’ badges. It makes a nice, thick, malty brew, but sits in the mid range, lacking discernible bass or treble. The soya’s good, not breaking up or too rich. It’s a decent sized cup, not insanely tall, though large enough to thoroughly recharge the batteries. But I think the complete experience requires one of those white bread artery hardeners. And maybe a dog.