He boils milk with . . . tea that is so dark and fine-leaved that it looks like black dust. He strains it and puts cane sugar in both our cups. There’s something euphorically invigorating and yet filling about it. It tastes the way I imagine the Far East must taste.
— Peter Høeg, Smilla’s Sense of Snow
For years I have enjoyed and written about the fine green and white teas of China, the crisp blacks of Sri Lanka, the sophisticated greens of Japan; all have been delectable and many quite memorable. Yet I always go back to the teas I first tasted during childhood — Darjeeling, Assam, and Nilgiri, the tea triumvirate of India. The difference between what I drank as a child and my adult choices is the difference between a beverage made with more milk than tea, plus a big spoon of sugar, compared with estate-caliber teas steeped briefly and carefully and drunk plain, savored as much for their spiritual components as for their seductive taste.
The single-estate teas of my adult experience — Darjeeling Goomtees or Nilgiri Tiger Hills — are of paramount importance to many tea lovers, but still relatively unknown. Instead, what has captured the public’s attention so vividly these days is masala chai, a casual tea beverage made with buffalo milk, loaded with exotic spices, and drunk primarily throughout northern India. This drink is as common there as Coca-Cola is here in the United States. (Coffee is drunk in southern India, along with a spice tea, but it is not the milky chai of the north.)
Masala chai is not a serious drink; it’s fun. It’s full of the unexpected taste sensations of fiery and sweet, soft and harsh. For all its contradictions, it is calming and delicious to enjoy by itself, with desserts, with a meal, or, as the Indians do, with spicy savories. The savories, in fact, represent an entire chapter in the huge “book” of Indian cuisines, and I offer many examples of the most classic of these dishes.
Frank Miller, owner and tea buyer of Blue Willow Tea Company in Seattle, Washington, has had a long romance with tea that first blossomed during his sojourn in India nearly thirty years ago. Miller’s own “secret formula” is part of the allure of his version of this Indian nectar, appropriately called Seattle Chai.
During the 1960s I was a volunteer in the Peace Corps, and my first home was in the center of a magnificent tea garden in the state of Punjab in northwestern India. This was not just a blind date with tea, it was a chance encounter. Up to this time I had never been a tea drinker, and I certainly had no inkling that twenty-five years later I would own my own tea company.
The Bandla Tea Estate was planted among the gently rolling hills just outside the town of Palampur, 5,000 feet high in the foothills of the Himalayas. The gardens were lush with dark green tea bushes pruned flat to waist height, elegant shade trees, and a labyrinth of tiny gurgling irrigation channels. Passing through the tea garden to and from the bazaar, I observed daily work rhythms, seasonal changes; people, flora, and fauna seemed to thrive there. Even someone unaware of tea and its traditions would have loved this place for its enchanting beauty and serenity, and I was no exception.
Not all of Peace Corps life was quiet and unassuming, though. In the mid-1960s, India and Pakistan engaged in the first of what would be two wars over shared borders; the battle zone was barely 100 miles from our tea garden. The U.S. Embassy was adamant that we abandon our station, but four of us wanted to hold our ground. When Ambassador Chester Bowles sent his big black Chevy Carryall to evacuate us, we knew we had better move down to New Delhi.
I had little to do there other than socialize with other Americans displaced by the war, so I mapped out a rail tour of India that took in the major sights of northern India and parts of the south. Following this itinerary, I would trace the major tea-growing regions of India: Darjeeling and Assam in the north and the Nilgiris, or “blue mountains,” in the south.
Tea and travel go hand-in-hand in Indian culture.
All Peace Corps volunteers traveled third class, a result of both an unspoken rule and economic imperative. Today this would not be such an insurmountable hardship; during the 1960s, however, third-class rail travel was like traveling with the entire rural population of India . . . all in a single car. There were no seats as such, just hard wooden benches without upholstery or forgiveness.
Ventilation was provided by two tiny oscillating fans covered with oil-soaked dust. Coal soot flurried in through open windows to smear itself on clothing and exposed skin. Families carried what appeared to be all of their worldly possessions. Infants and toddlers were undiapered; people ate highly spiced foods that filled the rail cars with their aromas; sometimes live animals, tied by the feet, stood between family members and other passengers. The cacophony of many languages added noise to what was, in truth, uncompromising discomfort. Nevertheless, we four youths crisscrossed the subcontinent in a relatively carefree manner, taking in some of the most unusual sights in the world, and because of our age (this was thirty years ago!) and natural enthusiasm, we loved it.
At night sleep was fitful; the click-clack of the train would lull us into semiconsciousness, then the wailing air brakes and squealing wheels stopping at a station would jar us awake. In the twilight zone between short snoozes and bleary consciousness, usually at an unreasonable 3 a.m., came the plaintive cries of the red-turbaned chaiwallah,”Chai garam, garam chai,” “hot tea, hot tea,” slowly getting louder as we whooshed into the station. In southern India he would be wearing a dhoti, a traditional white cloth wrapped around the waist; in the north he wore billowy white pajamas covered by an untucked, oversized shirt. The costume, however, was beside the point; the main event was the noisy activity on the railway platform, a signal for us to count our Indian paise in preparation for his quick visit. Suddenly, this implausibly energetic man would careen toward our open window, push a creakily built wooden cart toward us, and offer the elixir of life, hot chai.
This thick, orangy drink was a simmered milk tea made of half fresh buffalo milk, half Nilgiri broken or CTC tea leaves, plus lots of sugar. Each thick white ceramic cup or tiny unfired clay bowl was filled to the brim with this molten hot, treacly brew — hotter than you could hold without scalding yourself, which you did, and which woke you up proper. This is what I call “station chai,” a treat as ubiquitous and as welcoming as the “station noodles” of Japan.
Since then I have tried hundreds, actually thousands, of teas of every hue and style, from the most expensive Darjeeling FTGFOP I (clonal) to the rarest China tribute tea, but nothing compares with the vibrant lifesaving cups of chai that came sloshing out of the chaiwallah’s carbon black teakettle. Drinking that chai in the noisy, crowded train station in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere, was part of what even today makes India and tea seem so mystical and so wildly exciting.
In many large Indian cities it is not uncommon to see people and animals walking side-by-side with cars, trucks, and even rickshaws pulled by men.
How did this fascinating spice tea develop in India? One legend, certainly apocryphal, avers that the chef for a royal king of India created this tea by scenting it with the luxurious fragrance of spices from his kitchen: cloves, nutmeg, and cardamom.
The king, entranced by the unique taste of his chef’s special tea, announced that this drink could be served only in his court and forbade the chef to divulge its ingredients. Long after the king’s death, however, the recipe filtered down from royalty to the aristocracy and then to the masses, with each group adding and deleting spices to its tastes, including cinnamon, pepper, fennel, and more.
Tibetans, who have used tea as a sacred offering and beverage of hospitality since the tenth century, boiled their tea with salt and goat’s milk and later with salt and yak butter. Tibetan monks traveling to India and bringing the combination of milk and tea to that country are another possible source of masala chai recipes.
No matter where it began, though, it’s clear that the spice tea of India can intrigue anyone, in any era or station of life.
The typical style of tea preparation throughout southern India is English, complete with porcelain teapot and cups, sugar and milk, but no spices. This is not to say that Indians outside of the north do not drink spice tea. When they do, however, they use perhaps one cardamom pod per pot of beautifully made, whole-leaf tea of exquisite aroma and taste, plus milk and sugar. This is a very simple recipe compared to most chais made here in the United States or the spicy northern Indian masala chais.
What is it about the spicy chais of India’s north that have captivated me — and so many other tea lovers? Is it the exotic combinations of spices that warm us all over? Is it the sweetness of sugar and richness of whole milk that comforts? Or is it a drink that simply tastes wonderful?
British pots, cups, and saucers are the teaware of choice in India.
Masala chai (spice tea) is generally made with black teas, although many commercial manufacturers have begun preparing classic chai recipes with green teas, combinations of black and green teas, or herbal infusions, to great success. As always, the better the quality of tea, the better the final product will taste. Any of the following, or a blend of two or three, will do: Indian Assam, Nilgiri, or Darjeeling; China Keemun; Uva, Dimbulla, or Ceylon blacks from Sri Lanka. Typically, masala chais for the Indian masses are made from inexpensive “ground tea” — black tea ground nearly to a powder — or rough low-grade black teas processed by a method known as CTC (crush, tear, curl). These are cheap, providing many cups to the pound, and have a heavy, intense taste that stands up well to spices and milk.
India was and remains one of the premier sources of exotic spices. The sophistication and complexity of Indian spices are so vast, in fact, that I can only touch on the subject here. (See more information about spices here, although even that treatment hardly does the subject justice.) Every region — from Bengal to Punjab, from Assam to Kashmir, from Bombay to New Delhi, and everywhere in between — has had chefs who favored one spice or spice combination over another, creating cuisines specific to each local region.
The exotic cuisines of India, from north to south, have for centuries each used the spices native to its own area: the pungent peppers and chilis, the sweet bite of ginger, cinnamon, or cloves, the softness of cardamom, the pleasures of aniseed and its close cousin fennel seed, along with lemongrass, vanilla, allspice, coriander, and so many more. Just as spices differ in cuisine from region to region, so they differ in spice teas.
Not all masala teas have the same spices, but cardamom, cinnamon, cloves, and black pepper are generally used in northern India. Other recipes may include cumin or coriander. The variety and proportions of spices also vary with each chef.
Sugar. Orwell’s criticism about sugar aside, both Great Britain and India love sugar with their tea, and both countries owe their love of this sweetener to the spice traders of the fifteenth century — particularly Christopher Columbus, who introduced sugarcane to the West Indies.
A tropical plant, sugar continues to grow in the West Indies and in South and North America, particularly Hawaii. It grows to enormous heights (20 feet) and produces a bamboolike cane.
While sugarcane has been around for nearly five centuries, sugar beets have only been used popularly since the late 1800s. A field crop grown throughout the plains of North America, the sugar beet has fat, parsniplike roots from which the sweet beet sugar is extracted.
Molasses sugar, a dark unrefined sugar with a high quantity of molasses, is fantastic in masala chais, because its dark richness is a perfect balance to the spiciness of fresh ginger or pepper. Another excellent sweetener is raw Barbados cane sugar, also known as jaggery (goodh). Jaggery is the preferred sugar for sweets in all the provinces of India. It is an unrefined sugar made by boiling the juice of sugarcane or palm sap to thicken it, pouring it into molds, and allowing it to dry into a lumpy mass. Turbinado sugar and Demerara sugar from Guyana are both excellent brown sugars in chais.
Honey. Domestic beekeeping dates to the Bronze Age and before, and honey is the preeminent sweetener, and preservative, around the world. Much of honey’s flavor relies on its flower source, from lavender to clover, from orange blossom to herb flowers like thyme and rosemary. Orange and clover honeys are ideal for chais because they add a delicacy that can, nonetheless, stand up to the other more pungent spices used in the mélange. Colors can range from nearly clear to thick yellow or opaque cream, but each has a hint of golden color.
Flavored honey is the preferred tea sweetener for many people.
Tea — unless one is drinking it in the Russian style — should be drunk without sugar. . . .
How can you call yourself a true tealover if you destroy the flavour of your tea by putting sugar in it? . . .
If you sweeten it,you are no longer tasting the tea, you are merely tasting the sugar. . . .
Try drinking tea without sugar for, say,a fortnight and it is very unlikely that you will ever want to ruin your tea by sweetening it again.
— George Orwell, “A Nice Cup of Tea”
Generally, rich whole milk is used in Indian cooking, and chais are no exception. Some chai lovers enjoy their brew with condensed milk or unsweetened evaporated milk, and the lactose-intolerant opt for soy, oat, or rice milk, with excellent results. For the richest taste, do not use a nonfat product.
Buffalo milk has sometimes been used for Indian chais. However, the best-quality, richest whole cow’s milk is a more typical choice. If you must use low-fat or nonfat milk, heat until it is reduced somewhat to give it that thick, creamy taste. Condensed milk is also good.
Chais come in many colors, and you can use these to create some dramatic presentations. You might serve your chai in Russian-style tea glasses with metal holders, or in Irish whiskey glasses. Mugs or cups with intense colors of rust or terra-cotta, red, green, or even the basic blacks or whites can all mirror the color of your chais.
Just as you might add a stick of cinnamon, a dusting of cocoa, a quick grating of nutmeg, or a sprinkle of sugar to a coffee drink, you can do the same with your chais. And don’t forget the whipped cream! Who said a chai shouldn’t be as decadent as it is delicious?
Preparing chai from scratch at home is easy and provides a brew with more complex layers of flavors. The basic ingredients include tea, at least four spices, water, and milk. The spices are commonly cinnamon, cardamom, ginger, and cloves, but pepper, allspice, and fennel (or aniseed or star anise), are also excellent. Some chai lovers like to brew the tea first, toss in the spices at the last minute, then add warmed milk. I prefer to put the tea and spices into cold water, heat it to boiling, and then continue to cook at a simmer for three to seven more minutes. I believe that adding the spices in this manner provides a more pungent taste that is as good for your palate as it is for the spices.
Brewing chai is as simple and easy as brewing tea. It’s even easier if you opt for soluble powdered mixes. (I’ll discuss these more fully in the next chapter.) All you need then are a kettle (to heat the water), a measuring cup (to measure the milk and water), and a cup or mug (to pour the chai into before its pungent sweetness warms you up).
To brew chais with liquid concentrates, tea bags, or loose-leaf teas, all you need is a saucepan and a strainer. Add water and/or milk to the concentrate (or tea bags or teas), plus more spices as necessary, warm it up, strain, and serve.
Making chai in quantity is fairly straightforward. Tea bags are ideal: Just toss one tea bag per person, plus two or three more (to taste), into a pot, then add 6 ounces of water per person. As always, though, loose-leaf teas give a better flavor; use at least 1 teaspoon per person, and a heaping one for the pot.
When the tea has fully brewed, add one serving or 6 ounces of milk to the pot. Another alternative is to brew the tea bags in milk, rather than water, for a more intense, creamier flavor. Do not boil the milk.
It’s always a good idea to use fresh whole spices, rather than ground ones, when making chai, because ground spice flavors tend to fade. So slice that fresh ginger, shred that cinnamon stick, and crush those peppercorns. Your crowd will ask for more.
1⁄4 cup
The blend at right is a good basic spice mixture for chais. As always, let your own taste preferences guide you, adding or deleting spices and adjusting quantities as you like.
Mix all ingredients thoroughly. Store in a tightly lidded glass jar in a cool, dark place.
2 servings
Whole milk works best in this chai, but unsweetened condensed milk is a good alternative. One heaping teaspoon of tea per serving is perfect. If you are using tea bags, one per person will do, but for stronger tastes make this with two tea bags per person.
13⁄4 cups
My friend Sally Champe, a veteran traveler who has lived in India, has the simplest at-home chai recipe I’ve ever tried, and it makes a perfect beverage every time. She keeps a can of spice-infused unsweetened condensed milk in the refrigerator; it is at the ready whenever the craving for chai surfaces. She just puts on a tape of Indian music, relaxes, and savors the taste of India.
2 servings
Experimenting with quantities and varieties of spices has been intriguing (and delicious). Although I admit to continually “adjusting,” this is now my current favorite mixture.
Chai for two can be a relaxing, intimate experience.
4 servings
In their New York shop and book, Adriana's Spice Caravan (see Recommended Reading) Adriana and Rochelle Zabarkes provide a lot of insight into cooking with rubs, marinades, and blends created with spices grown around the world. This is their recipe for classic chai.
Nilgiri is a fine black tea to use in chai recipes.
2 cups concentrate (enough for 14 to 16 servings)
Making your own concentrate can save time and money. It can be refrigerated for more than a week; just reheat with water or more milk for your own fresh-tasting hot chai.
1 serving
When you’re ready for a cup of chai, assemble the ingredients and follow these steps.