moroccan mint tea

I love everything about coffee; the ritual, the scent that fills the air as the oils release while the beans grind. The aroma that wafts up the stairs, as it brews on the stove top. The way the steam tickles my nose, as I bring the cup to my lips.

It happens every few months, though. I wake up, and no longer feel an affinity for my usual temptress.

For weeks, I’d been craving Moroccan mint tea. Mint usually a hardy herb, can’t survive this past winter unless taken indoors. Mine is a shriveled pot of twigs on the front stoop. I’m not particularly worried because I know it will come back. Past years have taught me that while winter batters it into submission, spring has a way of reviving it. That mint plant is quite special, too. It’s a holdover from my old apartment, and my old garden, the one I shared with Michael. Each leaf I pluck connects me to my past. It may be dormant now, but it will soon awaken to a new season.

The last two and a half years have felt a lot like the cycles of that mint. Grief is a never ending marathon, the emotional hurdles a bit further apart as time passes. The height of the hurdles, however, seems to get higher. The energy required to jump them, feeling almost insurmountable. Almost, but not completely.

I’ve spent the last seven days immersed in working on my next book, a memoir. The first 15,000 words were delivered to my editor in the wee hours of the night, as Sunday faded into Monday. Perhaps that is why I lost my taste for coffee. Maybe my body knew it needed something energizing without the dehydrating effects? My head has been one throbbing mess, and last week came with a bout of nausea from that special lady time of the month (too much information?). A few friends suggested mint to soothe my stomach.

So, that little whisper of a craving for that tea could no longer be ignored. I found myself at Cafe Mogador last week after my therapy appointment. I saddled up to a seat at the bar for a quick breakfast of poached eggs in a spicy tomato sauce. As I watched the bartender prepare my pot of Moroccan mint tea, I noticed they use dried mint, not fresh. I decided this was a much better approach until my own plant wakes up from its slumber.

There is something so soothing, and comforting about this tea. It makes me feel centered, balanced, and calm. The latter being a bit of a struggle these days. Just about a year ago, I made a trip to Morocco, an insanely short trip, at that. Who travels on two planes for 18 hours to stay someplace for only 60 hours? I went to visit C; he was working as a food and beverage director at one of the hotels. We needed to sort some things out. That trip is something I will never forget, and to be honest, I’m not sure I’ll get back there any time soon, if ever.

via:http://www.injennieskitchen.com/2014/03/moroccan-mint-tea-recipe/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+typepad%2FPFAc+%28IN+JENNIE%27S+KITCHEN%29