culturedPRIMITIVE/stockist: Rooibos.

The global guide to stocking your pantry.

I am generally a coffee drinker, but I do occasionally take tea. In South Africa, that often takes the form of rooibos, a brewed beverage indigenous to the Western Cape. Rooibos is of course known outside of its country of origin; it is perhaps one of the few products with an Afrikaans name to successfully branch into the international market. That name, by the way, translates as 'red bush', an evocative descriptor of the rusty-earth colour the needles take once they have been oxidized. It is available in many brands, in organic loose-leaf or chai flavoured tea bags, and even in an espresso like form, but I rather favour Eleven O'Clock Rooibos for its no frills tea, and its attractively vintage graphics. Outside of South Africa rooibos is mainly sipped by the health crowd (it is high in anti-oxidants and caffeine free) and is generally taken black, but here in the Western Cape we take it in the proper South African way: with a little milk and honey, and preferably, a crunchy buttermilk beskuit on the side.

Taiwan Treats: Pudding Milk Tea.

I've written about pudding milk here in Taiwan- but pudding milk tea is something entirely different. Not milk tea flavored like pudding, but rather milk tea filled with chunks of pudding. It's an unusual idea, distinctly Taiwanese, and it works rather well. Ideally, the milk tea should be creamy but not too sweet, so that it can balance out the richness of the pudding. And of course, an extra large straw is a requirment.

Taiwan Treats: Mango Green Tea.

Stopping by a drink stand on a sweltering walk home from school, I picked up a mango green tea. Not a mango flavored green tea, but rather a blend of fresh mango, ice, and chilled green tea. It was ideal for chilling off in the afternoon heat- icy, fresh, and not overly creamy. Though I love the blended mango smoothies on their own, they can be a little sweet- the green tea added a nice nuance, and an attractively flowery flavor.

Along the avenues and alleyways of Taipei.

This past weekend, in advance of my upcoming 25th, Bordeaux took me to Taipei. Most of our time was spent reveling in the high-tech, futuristic wonders of the city (more on that later). However, while meandering along city streets and alleyways, we also took in the more unusual charms of the city.

Some sights evoked the older charms of the city, like this incredible tea shop. I'd love to take some of those massive green enamel urns home...

Some sights were just strange- like this woman briskly walking a full grown pig on a leash. I should point out that this is the second time since I arrived in Taiwan that I've seen a woman walking a pig on a leash.

Perhaps most intriguing of all was this small pineapple pizza set in front of a Pizza Hut. Not advertising, but in fact a personal-pan offering to the gods, wreathed with smoke from a cardboard-cup incense urn.

A sesame milk tea in Taichung.

The town of Taichung is famous in Taiwan for its impressive range of teahouses. Though the idea of a 'teahouse' tends to conjure images of paper lanterns, imperial interiors, and palm-sized cups, in Taichung, teahouses can be as modern or as traditional as you'd like. This is, after all, the city that gave the world bubble milk tea and pearl milk tea- thereby dropping Taiwan's median tea drinking age by at least twenty years. On a weekend visit to Taichung, we checked this out for ourselves at Teaworks, an attractively modern cafe.

Though the building was starkly modern, with angular columns lifting the glass-box interior above the earth, it contained thoughtful nods to classical Asian style. Frangipani trees blossomed around the exterior, stone Buddhas were tucked into niches in the wall, and plump red and gold koi fish swirled below the building's stilt-supported frame.

We took a table outside, where cleverly placed misters provided respite from the sultry afternoon heat. The kitchen prepared a number of small snacks, but the focus was of course on the tea. The menu offered an abundant range of brewed beverages, and had a list of milk teas that spilled from one page onto the next. After deliberating over milk teas flavored with taro and red bean, I selected a black sesame milk tea. It arrived on the table in a tall glass dripping in condensation, the creamy liquid capped in ground black sesame seeds.

Lei cha.

On a rainy Sunday afternoon, Bordeaux and I braced ourselves against the drizzle and zipped into the mountains. We passed through distant Hsinchu suburbs, among Castle kindergartens and shop-sized Taoist temples, before rising above the city into the green bamboo-clad mountains.

Our destination was the town of Beipu, a popular mountain retreat at the heart of the ethnic Hakka Community. Once parked, we slogged through puddles into the town center. Weaving through the snack-stands and crowds of weekend tourists, we found a cobblestone lane lined with intimate teahouses. We selected an especially inviting one, and ducked in to shake off the last coat of rain. The waitress showed us to a heavy wooden table, set under a delicately glowing paper lantern. We knew one thing we wanted- lei cha. The rest, we asked for our waitress to suggest.

As we waited for the tea to arrive, our waitress brought us a selection of hearty Hakka snacks. There were tiny rice-cakes, coated with sesame seeds; crisp sweet potato chips; spicy fried eggs. Most intriguing of all was the kejia mashu, a heavy blob of glutinous rice, coated in a powdering of crushed peanuts. We were grateful for the dark clouds outside- on a sunny Taiwan summer day, a stodgy meal like this would have felt completely out of place.

The arrival of a black ceramic plate covered in pine nuts, sunflower seeds, peanuts, and black and white sesame seeds announced that we were ready to make lei cha. A clay pot was set in front of us, a layer of forest green tea leaves resting at the bottom. With a heavy wooden dowel, we ground the tea leaves until they were a dark pulpy paste, then we poured in the seeds. The grinding continued, until the whole paste was smooth- not an easy process, but thankfully we were assisted by a friendly Taiwanese tourist who showed us the proper way to grind. The waitress peeked at our progress from time to time, but not until she was satisfied did she bring the kettle of hot water. Pouring it in, she instructed us to stir, and finally, we had our tea.

We dished it out into ceramic bowls, and topped the thick matcha green liquid with a flurry of puffed rice. Though lei cha is considered a kind of tea, it is eaten by spoon, making it fully deserving of the title of 'cereal tea.' It was tasty and nutty, only a hint of the green tea flavor peeking out from the predominately peanuty taste. Most importantly, it filled our stomachs, and warmed us so completely that as we set out to visit a nearby shrine, we barely felt the grey drizzle that enveloped us.