• Water, leaves and a little time: On the senses, habits and personal rituals

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    Making tea is a simple act. We heat water, let the tea leaves steep and pour the tea into a cup. Yet there is much to discover in something we might do several times a day.

    The scent of the dry leaves changes when they meet the water. The colour shifts, from almost transparent to different shades of green, yellow or amber. The first sip may be mild, while another infusion of the same leaves brings a different flavour. The temperature of the water, the amount of tea we use and how long we wait all make a difference.

    For anyone wanting to get to know their tea more closely, these small variations are a good place to begin. What happens if we let the water cool slightly before pouring it over the leaves? If we use more leaves but steep them for less time? Or if we brew the same leaves several times?

    There are long traditions and a wealth of knowledge surrounding how tea is grown, prepared and enjoyed. But a personal ritual does not need to follow a set pattern. It can develop through curiosity, repetition and a sense of what we ourselves enjoy.

    For ceramicist Yuichi Romita, this became clear when he encountered io tehus in Copenhagen. Despite spending four years as an apprentice in Japan, he had never developed a particular habit of drinking tea. He appreciated the traditional tea ceremony but found it too governed by rules for his own everyday life. Through io, he discovered a freer, more personal approach to tea, one that left room for experimentation.

    It is an approach that also resonates with his work in ceramics. For Norrgavel, Yuichi has created a shiboridashi, a traditional Japanese tea brewer with a low, wide form and a matching lid. Together with a wood-fired cup made from wild clay from Jutland and an oak tray, it forms a small collection of objects for tea.

    Norrgavel furniture
    Norrgavel furniture

    A shiboridashi is simple in its construction, but its shape is carefully considered. The tea leaves are placed directly in the open bowl and hot water is poured over them. When the tea is served, the lid holds back the leaves while the liquid flows through a small opening between the lid and the rim of the bowl.

    The size and shape of this opening matter. It must be narrow enough to hold back the leaves, yet allow the tea to flow out without taking too long. A well-made shiboridashi makes it possible to pour the tea quickly and evenly, which is particularly useful when making several short infusions from the same leaves.

    The wide shape also makes it easy to get close to the tea leaves. Even before adding water, we can observe their shape, colour and texture, and take in the scent of the dry leaves. When the hot water meets the ceramic, there is a gentle trickling sound. The leaves begin to move, slowly unfold and release new aromas. We watch the water change colour and hear the sound as the tea is poured into the cup. Even between infusions, there is something to discover: how the leaves have changed, how they smell now and what they still have to offer.

    It is a way of preparing tea that brings us close to both the ingredient and the act itself.

    The objects we choose also shape the experience. One cup may be thin and light, another heavy and coarse. Its form determines how it rests in the hand, how the warmth feels and how we drink from it. A tray provides a place for the things we need. Over time, we find our favourites, sometimes for reasons quite different from those we first imagined.

    Perhaps that is what makes a ritual personal. It need not be particularly formal, take a long time or look the same every time. Some days, we make tea while doing something else. At other times, it becomes a reason to sit down, pay attention and follow how the flavour develops.

    Sometimes, all it takes is water, a few tea leaves and a cup we enjoy using.