Several of the other videos in the series Words of the World are well done and informative also, although the British woman speaking about Russian icons has some strange pronunciation habits.

The painting above is “The Merchant’s Wife,” by Boris Kustodiev, 1918.

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While I am extremely strict about using only teawares that come from the same culture as the tea I am drinking, I have a soft spot for the misfits, anomalies and enigmas of the world, and also objects that signify an intersection of cultures. The piece of teaware in the accompanying photographs is one of the best examples I’ve ever seen of an odd blend of two different tea cultures and artistic traditions.

The style and form of the object are those of a fairly typical Russian podstakannik. A podstakannik (подстаканник) is a metal tea glass holder, used for drinking black tea in Russia and the Ukraine. Examples generally look a lot like the second image in this post, either with the metal filigree often found in Russian metalwork, or cast with images of Russian myths or history. Many of these items made during the Soviet era have emblematic revolutionary symbols: the hammer and sickle, rockets, or images of revolutionary heroes. But this piece was made in China sometime between the middle of the 19th Century and the very early 20th Century, in a style that is clearly Chinese.

The majority of the Chinese metalwork referred to as “export silver,” due to the fact that it was made in China to be sold to people outside of China, had Chinese designs and motifs, which were in vogue in Western European countries and the United States at the time. But they were made in the forms of utilitarian objects that were not at all Chinese, like napkin rings, salt cellars and western-style teaware. Chinese export silver teaware is generally in the British style, in sets of three pieces: teapot, creamer and sugar bowl.

But this particular piece of teaware was obviously not made to appeal to the tastes or tea practices of the British or American silver buyers, which comprised the primary markets for Chinese export silver. I assume that during this same period of history there must have been some demand within Russia for the works of these highly skilled Chinese silversmiths, but this is the only evidence I’ve seen of a piece that is so specifically Russian.

The style fits the description of items from the third period of Chinese export silver, from 1850-1885. But its form, as a traditional Russian tea object does not fit into anything I’ve found on this period of Chinese production. It does have manufacturer’s marks in Chinese on the bottom of it, but I think that they just say that the item is made of silver, and do not bear the manufacturer’s hallmark. I noticed when I photographed the marks that the bottom round piece was cut from sheet silver. Upon closer inspection of the main body I can see that the entire piece is made from sheet silver, with the patterns cut out and ornamental relief hammered into it. None of it is cast silver. The craftsmanship of the piece is quite marvelous.

For more general info, here’s an excerpt from an Antiques Roadshow article on Chinese Export silver:

All Chinese silver was made by hand, with its elaborate designs hammered out by master Chinese craftsmen. The silver depicts flowers, birds, landscapes, dragons and human figures, the patterns that collectors seek out most often. Since Europeans would spend weeks or months aboard ship to travel to China, they would often spend months there. That was long enough to choose a pattern that could be custom-made while they holidayed. “Many of the pieces you see for sale today were made to order,” Stuart says. “It was primarily for foreigners. The elaborate designs of most of the export silver weren’t to the Chinese tastes.”

It should be noted that the podstakannik’s original glass had been lost or broken probably decades before I ever saw the piece. I replaced it with a standard-sized juice glass that I bought for about $2.00 in a thrift store. It fits it perfectly.

Appropriately, the tea pictured with it is Keemun, a tea grown in China and favored in Russia.

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Of particular interest, accompanying these other Russian food and drink items was a selection of teas. The array was not huge, but it appeared to provide some valuable insight into what Russians in the United States would purchase in their attempts to recapture some of the flavor of Mother Russia. These particular teas were not the expensive, refined teas that members of the Russian aristocracy would have poured out of blue and white Lomonosov “Cobalt” teapots. These were teas of the proletariat – inexpensive and convenient, most of them manufactured by a company called “Czar Nikolas II.” Although I later found out that the company also sells one-pound bags of loose tea, this particular store only sells the company’s boxes of tea bags, in varieties very much geared to the Russian palate. Along with basic green and black teas, they sell “Valentine,” which is flavored with rose petals and safflower and a bergamot-scented tea similar to Earl Grey, and “Nostalgia,” which is Ceylon tea with the addition of black currant leaves and strawberry leaves.

To get an idea of a similar, but more extensive selection, take a look through the Russian teas available through Skazka Russian Food.

It might seem a little surprising that I’d be attracted to a tea that is both flavored with non-tea ingredients and, quelle horreur!, in tea bags, but my expectation was to investigate commonly available Russian teas, not to discover the most exquisite and sublime tea taste imaginable. Plus, I have no resistance whatsoever to items that fascinate me and also happen to bear the name of my favorite film – Nostalghia (Ностальгия), by the visionary director Andrei Tarkovsky – thus the compulsion was strong to buy a box of the Nostalgia tea, so I did.

I was intrigued by the notion of the addition of currant and strawberry leaves to tea. These were two flavors I had not experienced before, but I didn’t think they’d be fruity or sweet. From what I already knew about Russian cuisine and the types of flavors that appeal to my palate, I expected this tea to be one I would like, in spite of it being so very different from the pure-leaf teas I drink the rest of the time and I was not disappointed. The non-tea taste is hard to describe. I can’t think of a more familiar flavor to use to describe what it tastes like by analogy. Imagining the flavors of currants and strawberries, but slightly pungent and bitter and without any sweetness, ought to provide an approximation of what this tea tastes like. It’s kind of hard to talk about it as tea since the dominant scents and flavors are not tea, but that’s to be expected. As one would expect, the Ceylon black tea in this tea would be pretty substandard on its own, but that’s not important. Why would anyone add weird dominant non-tea flavors to good tasting teas in the first place?

I don’t have any Russian grandmothers to ask whether they like this tea or not, but it certainly fits my definition of a very Russian character. Czar Nikolas II’s “Premium Nostalgia” tea tastes like Russian tea because it is made for consumption by Russians.

“I wanted to make a film about Russian nostalgia—about that state of mind peculiar to our nation which affects Russians who are far from their native land. I saw this almost as a patriotic duty in my understanding of the concept. I wanted the film to be about the fatal attachment of Russians to their national roots, their past, their culture, their native places, their families and friends; an attachment which they carry with them all their lives, regardless of where destiny may fling them. Russians are seldom able to adapt easily, to come to terms with a new way of life. The entire history of Russian emigration bears out the Western view that ‘Russians are bad emigrants’; everyone knows their tragic incapacity to be assimilated, the clumsy ineptitude of their efforts to adopt to an alien life-style. How could I have imagined, as I was making Nostalgia that the stifling sense of longing that fills the screen space of that film was to becone my lot for the rest of my life; that from now until the end of my days I would bear the painful malady within myself?”

- Andrei Tarkovsky, from his book “Sculpting in Time”

After doing some additional reading in preparation for writing about the tea, especially the passage by Tarkovsky above, I became aware of how appropriate it was for a Russian tea in an unassuming suburban grocery store in the United States to be called “Nostalgia.” The signs of an influx of Russian culture into the area are there, from older indicators like the two beautiful Russian Orthodox churches in Seattle, to more recent signs, like the ease of finding Russian language as an option in local ATMs. But there aren’t restaurants or neighborhoods or many of the more blatant signs visible here, so I only notice the signs when I seek to spot them. I have fantasies of a Russian teahouse opening up with a running loop of Eisenstein films in one room and Stravinsky playing in the background, with banks of bronze samovars holding teapots of Keemun perched on top, but until then I can console myself with strong cups of cheap Russian tea.

(The image above is a still from Nostalghia.)

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In a theater last week I encountered a very poignant example of tea as cultural signifier. First a little background: The film, Katyń, by Andrej Wayda is about the massacre of more than 20,000 Polish officers in the Katyń Forest in 1940. In the late stages of World War II both the Nazis and the Soviets produced propaganda films describing the massacre as a crime committed by the other. Until 1990 it was almost universally believed that Germany had been responsible, but ultimately evidence was revealed that corrected the historical record to show that the men were executed under an order by Stalin. Some of the Poles who had family members killed at Katyń knew or suspected the truth, but under the rule of the USSR they had no opportunity to speak.

The importance of retaining Polish identity and traditions is a running theme throughout the film, but it was particularly effective in a scene involving tea. The relevant scene in the film takes place some time before the massacre, shortly after Germany and the Soviet Union, through the Nazi-Soviet Non-Aggression Pact (also called the Ribbentrop-Molotov Pact), simultaneously invaded Poland from opposing sides. Immediately following this invasion, thousands of Polish officers were taken as prisoners. This scene takes place a couple of months after their capture, but some months prior to the massacre. The families of these officers waited for news, and expected that the men would be released.

The scene begins when a Soviet officer – one of the other occupants of a home where Ann, the wife of one of these captive officers has taken refuge with her sister, her child, and her sister’s child – brings a large samovar into the room where the two women and their children are staying. He tells them that the samovar may be able to give them some comfort. They look, but no movement is made toward it.

He then asks that Ann go with him into the other room. She does, and on the table in this other room are two traditional Russian tea glasses filled with tea: podstakannik (ornate metal holders with handles), with glass inserts. The officer speaks of the tea and laments that it has grown cold. He then entreats Ann to marry him, advising her that as the wife of a Soviet officer she will be safe, whereas her current status as wife of an imprisoned Polish officer places her in a perilous position with the occupying Russian forces. She refuses his offer, emphasizing that her husband is still alive. But her rejection is far bigger than the choice of one man over another – it is the choice to retain her Polish identity.

In a simultaneous decision which reveals much more than a refusal of hospitality, Ann does not drink the tea on the table. The glasses remain untouched during the entire scene. The significance of this act is in her refusal to embrace Soviet culture, even at the expense of her own personal safety. Just moments later the danger becomes imminent, as Soviet soldiers come to the house with a warrant for the arrest of the two Polish officer’s wives. Ann is able to evade capture, but she does so by hiding, not by embracing the culture of the Soviets. In a later scene Ann is seen drinking a cup of tea with her mother-in-law – from an English-style bone china cup and saucer, which is typical of how Poles traditionally enjoy their tea. Her refusal of the officer’s tea in the earlier scene is not rejection of tea itself, but of the essentially Russian trappings around the particular tea offered her by the Russian officer.

I doubt that anyone questions the deep cultural significance that the samovar has taken on for the Russian people.The same basic type of brass samovar is also used in Turkey, Iran, Israel and Afghanistan, but nowhere else is it quite as much an icon of national identity. It was important in Tsarist Russia, to the Soviet Union, and remains not just an important appliance for the preparation of tea, but also as a symbol of Russia herself, throughout several centuries.

The podstakannik is also quite an important tea-related object in Russian culture. The distinctive combination of holder and crystal glass is perhaps less recognizable to people outside of Russia than the blue and white of Lomonosov Porcelain, but the tradition of using glasses instead of cups and saucers is very Russian. Note: The following excerpt from the source referenced above uses the term “coaster” to refer to the podstakannik.

“Apart from fulfilling its purely utilitarian functions, the coaster, especially one made of silver, began to play the role of an object that made the man’s daily life more attractive. In this respect it can be compared to the cigarette-case, which likewise became widespread since the 19th century. Both are related to each other by the use of the same materials during the manufacture (precious and nonprecious metals), working techniques (casting, stamping, filigree), stylistic features of ornamentation and a very significant point – the items’democratic nature: the coaster, just like the cigarette-case, could be seen in the hands of an aristocrat, official, serviceman, merchant, boss or his subordinate, professor and student. A silver coaster and a cigarettecase alike belonged to the most sought-after gifts. Colleagues gave them as presents to their fellow workers, patients handed them over to doctors, students presented them to teachers, relatives got them as keepsakes during family feasts; such gifts were also made to close friends or beloved men.”

And adding even a little more weight to the premise that tea holds great cultural significance to Russians:

“We can even assume that the podstakannik was invented by Russians. This is proven not only by the tradition of endless Russian tea parties, which are not regulated by the fixed time or rituals, but also by the fact that the glass coaster as a subject of the tea table laying pattern very rarely occurs worldwide in special collections or reference sources. As for Russia, all is different. You can see the great-grandfather’s coaster in many families despite all ups and downs of the Russian history of the past century marked by interminable displacements of popular masses along vast expanses as a result of wars, forced resettlements and development of new regions. The cherished tea glass coaster remained a symbol of the sweet home, stability of daily life, and inviolability of the kinship relations.”

Any objects and traditions of national/cultural identity can be used as a means of suppressing other national/cultural identities and traditions, and tea can be an important element of this. I am incapable of viewing any specific preparation of and/or consumption of tea without reading great cultural import into it. Tea culture is only one of an enormous range of aspects of culture laden with significance, but obviously it is one that I find particularly interesting.

A coincidence involving the tea-culture observation in the film was that I had been reading about Russian tea traditions earlier that day, mostly about samovars, but also including the use of podstakannik in homes and on trains. So I was particularly attuned to the significance and particularities of the Russian ways of tea.

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