“Coffee?” Every day I say no. I don’t like coffee and it’s a waste of money to pay $2.50 for a teabag. But I am hungry, I’ve already eaten morning tea, and it’s a long way to lunch.
“Yes, a herbal tea. I don’t mind which.” Surprise and cheerful ribbing from my colleagues.
But now, along with some other extras, the order is huge. How will Gossip Support carry it all?
Volunteering to go along. Be nice to have a little walk outside since the rain has paused.
Chaos at the counter. “Five flat whites, one soy, one skim.”
“Seven flat whites?”
“No no, three regular, one soy, one skim.”
“So three regular flat whites, one soy flat white, one skim.”
“They’re all large. Three large regular…”
And it goes on and on. Standing quietly in the corner while the conversation is untangled, sniffing at my lemongrass and ginger tea. The smell is so strong that it conquers the coffee scent. The ginger out-wafts the lemongrass, but it’s there, hiding…
Back at my desk. Pull the lid off the cup to cool it for my over-sensitive tongue.
Oh, the teabag is not just powdered tea, it’s a cloth-like triangle filled with chopped green lemongrass stem and fresh crushed ginger. It looks like something I’d put into a stir-fry. It looks tastily edible. I’m tempted to break into the bag while I wait for tea to cool… But no, no, such shenanigans are not office-appropriate.
Sniff the tea and teabag separately. The teabag has all the ginger smell, the hot tea gives off a softer lemon sense.
Carefully try for a sip. Ow, my lip! Too hot.
Wait. Try.
Perfect heat now, very warm but not burning.
Herbal teas never taste as good as they smell. This is once more true, but at least it doesn’t taste just like regular black tea either. There is the bitterness of tea, but along with it a soft ginger zing on the front of my tongue, a mellow citrus aftertaste.
I add the beautiful teabag back into the cup. Sip. The ginger is
instantly much stronger, hanging around long after I swallow. In fact,
it’s like it gets stronger the more time passes. Kind of fun in its
buzz. The bag can stay in.
This is probably the best herbal tea I’ve ever tasted. Certainly the only one with fresh ingredients. And hopefully all this hot water will distract my stomach and tongue until the clock ticks to lunch.
Rating: 
Specifics: T2 Lemongrass & Ginger teabag, takeaway from Café Sparta, Merrylands
Chana Bhatura
Okay, I know there’s been some epic rain lately, but did everybody and their dog really have to go shopping today? It’s like someone put a giant people magnet in Liverpool and everybody is unconsciously drawing near and getting trapped in the maze of one-way streets.
Not me, I’m here for a purpose. Time for some Indian lunchings.
Finally the car is parked. Seating ourselves since the owner-waiter is on the phone, flicking through the menu.
The Husband decides on a rava masala dosa. I can’t decide between poori with potato curry, or bhatura with chickpeas. Umm… bhatura! I normally like chickpea curry better than potato anyway.
Talking about big decisions. I hate big decisions. I hate not being able to undo them if I get them wrong. Especially when both options are equally weighted with good and bad points.
Pause the conversation, here is my lunch.
I didn’t know bhatura would be quite so… fried. I normally try and avoid oily foods. Oh well! There are two stacked on the plate, huge half-inflated circles of heat-blistered flatbread. Pale creamy yellow to golden on the burns, bumpy like poorly-contacted school books. Each at least twenty centimetres in diameter.
Besides them in a shallow silver oval dish are the chickpeas, snuggled in a thick brown-red tomato gravy.
Smells good. Smells like it’s time to eat.
Tear at the top bhatura. Though the bread looks as if it would be hard and crisp to the touch it’s actually soft. Pop a dry piece in my mouth. Tastes of semolina with a hint of potato. A little bit of chewing, but it’s certainly not tough. A little like roti but softer, firmer, with less stretch.
Ripping a bigger triangle to trawl through the chana chickpeas.
The chickpeas are soft but not mushy, the rich gravy tastes prompting an unplanned ‘mmm’ of pleasure. A harmonising blend of tomato, oil, cumin, garam masala, chilli and who knows what… With the bhatura wrapped around it both taste fantastic together.
I eat. And eat. And eat. And there’s still another bhatura to go.
Eat. Yum. Eat. My fingers are coated in drips of chana, my palms shining from the oil on the puffed bread. It’s gotten cold, looses that perfection and becomes more tough.
A quarter of bhatura and a few spoons of chana left, but I’m done. Conquered. But I am happily vanquished.
Rating:
Specifics: Chana bhatura eaten at Woodlands, Liverpool