The following three weekends in the greater Seattle area hold opportunities to experience the whimsy of Alice in Wonderland-themed theater in a park setting. Read my article on Examiner.com for details about Theater Simple‘s “WONDERLAND: Alice Adventures”.

The image above is related only thematically to the upcoming theatrical performances in parks. It is a still from the first cinematic adaptation of Lewis Caroll’s fanciful tale, a 12-minute distillation called – like most film adaptations – Alice in Wonderland (unlike the book itself, “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland”).

The silent film, released in 1903 and directed by Cecil Hepworth and Percy Stow, captures the historical milieu of the original book in a way that more contemporary adaptations can not. There is only one known print of the film in existence, but fortunately we can watch the film online:

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Lewis Carroll (Charles Lutwidge Dodgson) – writer, mathematician, photographer, Anglican deacon, and perpetrator of glorious logic-puzzles and nonsense – was born on this day in 1832. Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, the best known of his works, and a book no doubt responsible for fostering a great many fixations on tea, was first published in 1865.

I can’t find any verification of this, but I would like to imagine that Carroll preferred a nice Keemun in his cup.

“Take some more tea”, the March Hare said to Alice, very earnestly.

“I’ve had nothing yet”, Alice replied in an offended tone: “so I can’t take more.”

“You mean you can’t take less,” said the Hatter: “it’s very easy to take more than nothing.”

“Nobody asked your opinion,” said Alice.

“Who’s making personal remarks now?” the Hatter asked triumphantly.

Alice did not quite know what to say to this: so she helped herself to some tea and bread-and-butter, and then turned to the Dormouse, and repeated her question.

I’d like to add a couple of notes on the madness exhibited by the attendees of this famous tea party. The Mad Hatter can be assumed to suffer from a malady common to many milliners of the Victorian era: extended exposure to mercury, which was used in the felting process during the manufacture of hats. Common symptoms of mercury poisoning are delusional, erratic behavior and shiny red skin. The March Hare’s perceived madness can be attributed to the commonly observed crazed behavior of hares during mating season in the Spring.

The painting above of the mad tea party is by Arthur Rackham, illustrator of many children’s books and classical fables in the early twentieth century. You can view the rest of Arthur Rackham’s beautiful 1907 illustrations for Alice in Wonderland here, along with a large collection of other Alice artworks, including the more familiar John Tenniel woodcuts.

So why is a raven like a writing desk anyway?

“The Twa Corbies” (The Two Ravens) is also by Arthur Rackham, from “Some British Ballads,” published in 1919.

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Excerpted:

“I believe, that every one who sets about writing in earnest does his work, as a friend of mine phrased it, on something—tea, or coffee, or tobacco. I suppose there is a material waste that must be hourly supplied in such occupations, or that we should grow too abstracted, and the mind, as it were, pass out of the body, unless it were reminded often enough of the connection by actual sensation. At all events, I felt the want, and I supplied it. Tea was my companion-at first the ordinary black tea, made in the usual way, not too strong: but I drank a good deal, and increased its strength as I went on. I never, experienced an uncomfortable symptom from it. I began to take a little green tea. I found the effect pleasanter, it cleared and intensified the power of thought so, I had come to take it frequently, but not stronger than one might take it for pleasure. I wrote a great deal out here, it was so quiet, and in this room. I used to sit up very late, and it became a habit with me to sip my tea—green tea—every now and then as my work proceeded. I had a little kettle on my table, that swung over a lamp, and made tea two or three times between eleven o’clock and two or three in the morning, my hours of going to bed. I used to go into town every day. I was not a monk, and, although I spent an hour or two in a library, hunting up authorities and looking out lights upon my theme, I was in no morbid state as far as I can judge. I met my friends pretty much as usual and enjoyed their society, and, on the whole, existence had never been, I think, so pleasant before.”

This sounds quite lovely, so far. But then the narrative turns darker, as the central character in the story, Mr. Jennings, is visited by a spectral and menacing monkey with glowing red eyes. The tortured subject of the story solicits doctors to help relieve his affliction, including the narrator, who is also the other principal character of the story, Dr. Hesselius, who offers the following analysis not too long after listening to Mr. Jennings relay the events and facts surrounding his condition:

“By various abuses, among which the habitual use of such agents as green tea is one, this fluid may be affected as to its quality, but it is more frequently disturbed as to equilibrium. This fluid being that which we have in common with spirits, a congestion found on the masses of brain or nerve, connected with the interior sense, forms a surface unduly exposed, on which disembodied spirits may operate: communication is thus more or less effectually established.”

Alas, this diagnosis comes too late to save the tormented tea drinker from his terrible fate. I’ll leave the details for you to discover in the story itself.

I don’t want to go too far into analysis of the Victorian attitudes about foreign religions, ideas and substances, but I will say that these are central to the story’s theme. Mr. Jennings, a pastor by vocation, becomes unhinged and haunted through his pursuit of studying ancient Pagan religion and venturing away from the standard British Isles black tea. He goes beyond the formal strictures of Victorian society, and disaster strikes him.

I tried to determine what specific kind of green tea a person in Britain or Ireland would have been drinking in the mid- to late-nineteenth century, but I was unable to find out. This was after the establishment of British colonial rule and the tea plantations in India, and after trade with China fell apart, so most tea coming into the British isles was black tea from the sub-continent. My guess is that any green tea coming in would have been Chinese, and given the troublesome relationship with China at that time, regular consumption of such a tea would have been considered at the least, a little suspicious.

You can read the entire story online: Green Tea, by J. Sheridan Le Fanu, (28 August 1814 – 7 February 1873 )

In addition to reading it (or instead, if you’re short on time or attention), you can listen to the story on LibriVox.

The book image above is the cover of the 1945 Arkham House edition of “Green Tea and Other Ghost Stories.”

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One benefit of obtaining better information is dismantling my biases, and this was no exception. I discovered that this particular piece of tea ware is more distinctive in its materials and design than I had thought, plus it has an interesting history that I had known nothing about. I also discovered that it brews an excellent pot of tea. I now have a 6-cup Brown Betty that I enjoy using for the same types of tea that are typical of English tea consumption: Ceylon, Darjeeling, Assam, Earl Grey, etc. The teapot is also a more solid and attractive object than I had thought it was, never having handled or used one until recently.

One thing that I spent a little time puzzling over was that brewing in the Brown Betty is optimal with the loose tea leaf directly in the pot, but this presents a quandary of how to halt the steeping process when the tea is ready. Of course one would not want to allow the leaves to over-steep as the tea is consumed, and generally the entire contents would not be distributed into cups right off, so the logical solution would be to decant the tea into a different pot for serving. I haven’t been able to determine whether this is accurate, but I suspect that perhaps in English homes where there are formal tea sets, like those made by Wedgwood or Limoges, the fine china teapots would be used for serving, but not for brewing. The proletarian Brown Betty would be used to steep the tea but would be left back in the kitchen after the tea was poured into a fancier teapot.

However, in spite of its plainer appearance the Brown Betty is also very good at keeping tea nicely warm after steeping and it pours exceptionally well, so there are practical advantages to using it for serving the tea. In an attempt to resolve this, I performed one experiment where I strained the tea into an alternate container and then back into the Brown Betty after the leaves were rinsed out, but the method was very awkward and impractical and had a high risk of burnt fingers. The best solution I could come up with was to use two same-sized Brown Betty teapots. After steeping, the tea can be strained into the second pre-warmed pot which can then be used for serving the tea. I am sure that this is unconventional, but it seems to be an ideal solution, particularly since the cost of a second Brown Betty is not prohibitive.

This is just the beginning of my post on The English Tea Blog (which has little or no overlap of content with this one):

“Despite its humble appearance and role as default teapot in so many English cupboards, the Brown Betty is a much more interesting piece of tea ware than one might assume. The ancestral forms of the Brown Betty came into production and use in England near the close of the seventeenth century, when craftsmen began using the unique red clay found in the Bradell Woods area of Stoke-on-Trent to fashion into teapots.”

Read the rest on The Taste of English Tea Blog.

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The tea, quiche and cakes were free to all comers and the furnishings, teaware and serving wares were vintage early-ish twentieth century. It sounds like quite a marvelous thing to step into for a brief visit back into history. If nothing else, this is a good reminder to pay enough attention not to miss brief opportunities like this when they happen.

“I sat down with a china cup full of lapsang souchong and nibbled on quiche. I thought of tea parties I wanted to have. I stirred my tea with a silver spoon. What an utterly perfect way to spend a sunny Thursday. All I needed was someone to talk to and I could have spent the whole afternoon there. Instead, I packed up after my third cup (and after having some of the cake) and went back to work.”

- excerpted from Tonnvane’s post about her experience

The gentleman serving (literally) as the face of this ephemeral tea shop runs Time for Tea, a tea shop on Shoreditch High Street, and also produces vintage-themed events and provides vintage props, such as a fabulous Daimler limousine, for events, photography and films.

The pop-up tea shop concept is not unique to this particular event, although it might be a London phenomenon, at least in name. There was another similar manifestation this month: Lady Luck’s Pop-Up Tea Shoppe. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear about such a thing popping up again in the city some other time, in support of some other cause or business.

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1. Terrorist Teapot and Tea Cosy: The only thing I dislike more intensely than tacky kitsch novelty teapots are decorative objects that look like teapots but do not perform the function of brewing or serving tea. This item is completely serviceable, so it avoids the second category, but it could in all fairness be considered a novelty. Contrary to my own personal rules about tradition and suitability, I find this set charmingly clever. I might even buy one of these myself, to use the next time I feel the need to serve British style tea to people with a perverse sense of humor, which is really not as often as it ought to be.

The Terrorist Teapot Set certainly appears to be quite functional and well-designed. Unlike those really goofy, loud, floral-printed fully teapot-smothering tea cosies, this nice little balaclava appears to keep the pot toasty without having to be removed for pouring. The teapot itself, seen in the second photograph in its bare state, brews 1.5 liters of tea, enough for you and four or five fellow miscreants to each have a large cuppa’ as you sit around the table plotting the disruption of polite society. You can order this wonderful set from Suck UK.

2. The Haunted Tea-Cosy: A Dispirited and Distasteful Diversion for Christmas by Edward Gorey: I love Edward Gorey, and this great little book is particularly appropriate for those with a dark sensibility or a cynical apprehension of Christmas, plus it’s tea-related and inexpensive. Here’s a quote:

“Waiting for the week’s teabag to steep, he wrote by hand several letters to the newspapers anent the price of a typewriter ribbon having risen the day of the winter solstice.

The tea-cosy suddenly twitched and from beneath it leapt a creature many times the size of the space within, even if it had not already held the teapot.”

Note: the word “anent” is archaic, but is a real word. I had to look it up. It means “in regard to” or “about.” You can order the book from the link above, which goes to Amazon.com, or from a myriad of other booksellers. It’s not hard to find.

3. “Tea is the new black.” travel mug. This ceramic travel mug can be purchased from our new Cafe Press store, along with similarly themed mugs in different sizes. They have the saying in bold, easy-to-read-across-the-room type, with “gongfugirl.com” very small below. The standard mugs would be particularly nice to bring to the office. The travel mug would be good for sipping tea during the commute in the office vanpool. You, or the lucky person whose stocking you stuff this into, would be the envy of all co-workers. You could even buy one of the mugs for that annoying, company-wide, mandatory-participation “secret Santa” nonsense. Our shop also offers stylish black tee-shirts with the same declaration in white, a rather plain tote bag and a tile coaster.

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