The cicada in the hallway two nights ago kind of made me wonder what I got myself into with this new house. I moved in last weekend and have been in love with having a bathroom on my floor of the house. And a large, fully stocked and furnished kitchen. So I was still kind of floating in this reverie as I squeaked over the floorboards toward the bathroom that I share with only one other person (as opposed to three in the old house). That is, until I heard the high rattle-chatter – you know, the kind of moment like in Jurassic Park when the camera is on the fat guy and you hear the raptor screech just inches away but don’t see it yet.
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I didn’t know that there are 80 types of tea, much less that they could all be housed in one place. But apparently there are and they can, because I’ve seen them and quaffed at least one. Yesterday I popped into this little teahouse about 3.5 minutes from my house and found myself a little dizzy at their tea menu. Most places have drinks written on a wall in chalk, but this place, called Essencha, had a several page-long menu. It was crazy. And these weren’t just deals like “Tea with honey,” or “Tea with blue food coloring,” but serious drinks with strange health benefits and names that imply an imported quality.
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