Tea on the Balcony

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Location: Prati – Rome, Italy

I drink coffee in Italy. It’s the only place that I drink it. But in the morning, tea is always my beverage of choice.

When I was in my late teens, I briefly experimented with coffee. It was the fall of twelfth grade. I had a few early mornings where everyone else around me was drinking coffee and I was finally old enough to be offered a cup myself. Bleary-eyed, I accepted it without thinking. I don’t actually remember my first cup of coffee, although I think I can vaguely recall when it found its way into my hands. It would have been the instant variety, likely with two spoonfuls of sugar and a healthy dose of milk. Basically, I don’t remember it because it wasn’t very memorable.

For the next few months, I continued to accept coffee when it was offered to me. But I never sought it myself, never fell in love with the taste or got addicted to the caffeine. Around Christmas that same year, I started drinking tea in the evenings. After that, I simply never stopped.

These days, tea is always the first drink that I reach for – it really doesn’t matter the time of day. And while I am undeniably addicted to the caffeine in it, my love of tea is more about comfort. I can always rely on a good cup of earl grey. No matter where I am, tea is the same… except when it comes to price. In France, tea is a luxury, and usually costs far more than coffee. (French tea is also incredibly luxurious and, if you love it, absolutely worth the steep price – particularly if it’s from Mariage Freres.) Not sure what to expect in Rome, I packed tea bags in my suitcase… just in case. The prospect of going without was a risk I just couldn’t bring myself to take.

In Italy, I learned when we arrived, tea is a curiosity more than anything else. Waiters raised their eyebrows when I ordered it, but dutifully brought me wrapped bags from Lipton or Tetley set on a plate next to a pot of hot water. The cost varied from place to place, but most cups were unmemorable, no different from what I would have brewed for myself at home. Italy is a coffee country. And although I probably shouldn’t admit this as an almost Parisian, Italian coffee is the best you’ll find as far as I’m concerned. Always lovingly prepared, never bitter or burnt. Best mixed with hot milk in a cappuccino, but lovely in other forms, too. After the first two days in Rome, I gave up on ordering tea in restaurants entirely. The coffee was just so much better.

But in the mornings, at our apartment in Prati, I always put the kettle on for tea. The best days were the ones where it was warm enough to take a cup up to the balcony and enjoy the early morning sun. I think of those mornings often, as I sit at my desk pouring over yet another Excel spreadsheet. I know that those Excel mornings are necessary because they allow me to afford wonderful moments like these ones in Rome… but somehow, I still regret that I can’t make those balcony mornings my permanent reality.

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