To leaf!

The best quality tea must have creases like the leathern boot of Tartar horsemen, curl like the dewlap of a mighty bullock, unfold like a mist rising out of a ravine, gleam like a lake touched by a zephyr, and be wet and soft like a fine earth newly swept by rain.

Attributed, in The Columbia World of Quotations, to Lu Yu (d. 804), Chinese sage and hermit

REGRETTABLY, I'VE not had the pleasure of encountering such wondrous tea; perhaps I just didn't recognize it though it was right under my nose, as I've never seen a Tartar's boot nor the dewlap of a mighty bullock at close range. I grew up drinking tea Russian-style, a style that may have Lu Yu turning in his grave: a little very strong zavarka (brew), diluted by lots of hot water from the kettle. It's samovar-style. The samovar is essentially a giant kettle with a fuel-burning system under it (many are now electric) and a hole on the top for the pot. With a samovar, a little tea goes a long way.

This dilute manner of taking tea is probably what allowed a very expensive, imported substance to become the beverage of the people. Any meal at most Russian family tables includes it. In my family, in copious amounts: I take mine in a beer stein, and my mother drinks hers from a sacred (to her) blue-and-white Spode china bowl. Neither of us, however, drinks chai v prikusku – which translates along the lines of "tea with a bite," referring to the 19th-century practice, mainly of Russian merchants, of drinking tea through a sugar chip held in one's teeth. I've tried this, and it's a skill I've yet to master. Of traditions in Russian tea-drinking, a personal favorite is tea with raspberries in it (fresh, this time of year, and frozen the rest). Raspberries are thought to have a heating effect on the body, and raspberry tea helps cure a cold.

Perhaps it's my plebeian tea habits that prevent me from fully appreciating the glory of the enticingly named Snow Leopard, the white tea that I bought at Peet's. It's somehow too mild, perhaps because I can't bring myself to brew it up in the appropriately strong proportion. I will say this, though – it makes for excellent second, and even third, brewing. But, at more than $10 for two ounces, I'd rather save that cash for some more intense intoxicant and stick to Gen Mai Cha, my favorite Japanese green tea, which has toasted brown rice and the added bonus of a few popped rice kernels too. It's like tea and a tiny snack in one.

In "The Kreutzer Sonata," Tolstoy tells a cautionary tale of the dangerously exciting effects of drinking tea: Yes, friends, tea, together with mood-agitating music, may cause unbridled sensuality. Beware! Tolstoy might have looked on tea more favorably had he been acquainted with the unfermented (and so less likely to foment?) green tea. Modern science also tells us green tea may have some positive effects to offer. Tea in its unfermented (i.e., green) form is high in cancer-fighting isoflavones, which work as antioxidants and antimutagens (preventing cell mutation). Some isoflavones may also reduce production of the estrogen thought to be a factor in breast cancer. But – you've got to drink a lot of tea to get its benefits. I've read estimates that range from 2 to 10 cups a day (oddly, though, no mention of how strong the brew should be).

The good news is, you can drink your tea and eat it too. The Burmese (and maybe Thai too) have a green-tea salad called lephet thote, a.k.a. la pat dok. (The tea it's made with is fermented, though, so I wonder whether the isoflavones have fled ... )You could easily make this leafy treat yourself, as the ingredients and preparation aren't fussy. Standard components are garlic, green chile, dried shrimp, roasted peanuts, peanut oil, lime, and sesame seeds. The catch is that the fermented tea leaves, the lephet, are difficult, if not impossible, to come by in the States. Burma Super Star, on Clement Street, is rumored to have an excellent version of tea salad, and apparently, they import their lephet directly from the home country.

So you may've had your tea and drunk it too, but are you prepared to smoke it? Or at least, smoke with it. Tea-smoked poultry – especially duck – is a popular item in Chinese cooking. You can make this at home. It's fairly easy to smoke a duck in a home oven using a deep pan lined with foil containing the tea, and the bird on a rack above. If you want to go for double smoky flavor, use Lapsang souchong tea from China's Fujian province. Lapsang is smoked in bamboo baskets over pinewood fires, resulting in an unmistakable, and very particular, flavor. If you're fond of smoky scotch, you'll likely take to Lapsang. Lu Yu might have approved, but Tolstoy wouldn't. Ah, well. You can drink your tea and eat it too, but you can't please all of the hermits all of the time.