#origin of tea

[internationalteaday]

Tea export earnings help to finance food import bills, supporting the economies of major tea-producing countries.

The global tea production amounts annually to over USD 17 billion, while world tea trade is valued at about USD 9.5 billion, While little is known about the exact origin of tea, for centuries China was the only tea exporting country in the world until it faced stiff competition from India in the early 19th century. Today tea is grown in over forty countries, but the greatest teas of the world are still grown and skillfully produced by just five traditional tea growing countries, China, India, Japan, Sri Lanka and Taiwan.

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China

China along with India is one of the two largest producers of tea in the world. It produces greatest variety of teas including green, black, white, yellow, oolong and pu-erh. China produces large amount of green tea, but exports only around 20-25% as the rest of it is consumed domestically. Majority of Chinese tea export include black tea. In China tea is produced over a large part of the country from Hainan Island down in the extreme south to Shandong Province in the north and from Tibet in the southwest to Taiwan across the Straits. The tea growing areas in China can be divided into four main regions- Jiangbei, Jiangnan, Linglan and the Southwest.

India 

India is one of the leading tea producers and is known for some of the best tea in the world. Over 70% of the tea produced in India is consumed within the country itself while the rest is exported. Majority of the tea produced in India is black, although there is an increasing quantity of green, white and oolong coming from the Indian tea estates now. There are three main tea growing regions in India – Darjeeling, Assam and the Nilgiris. Since there is a wide variation in their location, elevation, climatic conditions and even the tea plant used in each of these regions varying from original Chinese stock to indigenous and hybrid tea plants, it is important to know the origin of Indian teas.

Sri Lanka (Ceylon)

Sri Lanka, formerly known as Ceylon is one of the largest exporters of high quality black tea into the world tea market. Tea grown in Sri Lanka is classified into three main varieties depending on the altitude in which the plant grows. The low-grown varieties are cultivated up to 600 meters and yield a strong, dark infusion used mostly in blends; the mid-grown from 600 to 1200 meters and the high-grown, between 1200 to 2300 meters, give the best quality.

Japan

Japan is the only major tea producing country in the world to almost exclusively process only green tea, around 97% of which is consumed internally. Its three major tea-growing regions are Shizuoka, Kagoshima, and Uji. Japanese teas are prepared in three styles – pan-fired, basket-fired and natural leaf. Within these styles there are several quality levels: Bancha, Sencha and Gyokuro. The vast majority of production is the middle quality grade Sencha. In addition, there are other teas like the Matcha which is a powdered green tea used in the Japanese tea ceremonies.

Taiwan (Formosa)

Taiwan was formerly known as Formosa and so Taiwanese tea is still referred to as Formosa tea. Taiwan is famous for its Oolong although it produces green and black teas too. Tea is grown in many areas in Taiwan but the best variety comes from the higher altitudes. Some of the better known Oolongs include Dongding Oolong, Alishan Oolong, Pouchong, Shanlinxi Oolong, Jade Mountain Oolong, Dong Fang Mei Ren, Da Yu Ling Oolong, Li Shan Oolong, etc.

[cirrus-grey]

I know I haven't mentioned it in a while but I'm still red-stringing about the symbolism of tea vs coffee btw. Alice found a tape recorder and now Sam’s bringing her tea. She's been introduced to the Archives' universe. She's upset and goes to make herself coffee instead. She refuses to be drawn in and finds refuge in the comforting and familiar instead.

[hi-intrepid-heroes]

littledoggy girlcollar… truly none of us can ever benedict cumberbatch this girl better than ally beardsley themselves

[cryotters]

peek-a-boo!🌷💧

[campesine]

Revolutionary Girl Utena Episode 2 (1997)

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Thank you all for an incredible 500 days of love and support. I offer you: answers to questions that no one has asked.

(As always, more can be found in the tags <3)

[neokandis-hardcore-art]

Based on my bubble tea sticker designs!

What flavour are you getting?

Blood Tea, Poison Tea, Full Shop.

[scumvillainess]

another post of me cooking on twitter (i refuse to call it x)

[assaultvvyvern]

[sighcomics]

Teatime :)

[potatounicoorn]

The fact we grew up along side him makes me emotional every single time.

[art-is-kayos]

A Hypothetical.

[hoka-illustration]

[thegnomelord]

I was talking with some friends and kinda came up with an original story idea where you're the new groundskeeper for a wealthy Victorian gentleman who is definitely not some kind of eldritch abomination.

Here's some touch and go snippets of what I thought of, lemme know if y'all want to see me turn this into an actual story.

CW: NSFW at the end, gay, homoerotic pining, Victorian gothic, mentions of murder.

Now I'm thinking ab a dark gothic Victorian gent who is *definitely* not some kind of eldritch abomination who marries wives who mysteriously disappear or die soon after and you're the new garden keeper who moves to work there because your old man is ill and the Victorian gent lets you live there and through no fault of your own you catch his interest and the way you smile as you handle the newly born lambs makes his, definitely not dead, heart beat.

----

You'd snuck in a 'friend' from the local brothel after your friends badgered your ears off about being a 'real man'. The night had gone poorly, she was a pretty woman, yes, but you just couldn't bring yourself to have sex no matter how hard you tried. You had to beg her not to tell anyone about your problem before paying her and sending her on her way yet. . . you can't find her anywhere.

It's as if she'd dissapeared in thin air (or was dragged by the carpets down into the maw in the basement) — Don't question the thing in the basement, you don't have to worry about that and it's probably just rats. Besides the door for the basement is never where you last remember it to be.

You could have sworn it was down the hall past the master's study but when you go to look all there is is just another grandiose painting, this time portraying the whore of Babylon riding on the many headed beast. And the master of the house appears before you can recognise the face of the whore, asking if you can fix the old light in his study that keeps flickering

---

You notice the master starts asking for you or going out of the house more often, usually to go horse back riding through the wide hunting woods you maintain behind the house. You're never sure why most of the animals shy away from the master like a devil from a cross, but there is one dove white steed that is the master's favorite. It's the only one who doesn't shy away, the one that you're not sure was in that empty paddock last night but you'd rather not lose your job by telling him you'd probably lost his horse and it came back.

The horse is sweet to you but you've seen it try to bite the other farm hands that get too close. Maybe it's just a temperament thing, animals feel more than you do after all, but. . . Hmm, where's that new farmhand that had slapped your ass gone to? And was the horse's muzzle always dyed red like that? Eh, someone must have just fed it some strawberries.

____

You get bullied by the chamber maid into helping her with cleaning the numerous bedrooms because the other two have come down with the seasonal flu and you were *sure* the nth bedroom you go to clean is empty, you'd checked it twice, but somehow when you pass through the very same door you enter the master's private bedroom and he's there in only his sleep clothes smiling at you and you can only stutter out weak apologies with your face a flame while your eyes stare at the other man in a way that would get the old town's priest rolling in his grave.

Oh yes, your ma and pa were extremely religious, dressing you up in your Sunday's best, taking you to church every Sunday regardless if it's rain or shine. You remember seeing the new master of the house when your parents were allowed to attend the previous master's seventh wedding. The master's family has long since supported the church and the local community, gaining favour from everyone despite the, erm, eccentric decorations and continuous wife deaths.

But death in child birth or from disease can happen to anyone, and what is a peasant like you supposed to understand the gentry?

Besides, the current master knows best what the wealthy people invited to his party expect from a man servant that you were commandered to be this evening. And if the young lord decides to tug off your cross necklace in favour of tying his own tie around your throat, slowly tightening it until the knot sits firmly at your Adam's apple and his ungloved fingers brush against your skin, and his smiling face is inches away looking at you like a man should not look at another man while purring how dashing you look tonight, who are you to argue?

----

The dairymaid had asked you to go get some honey from the beehives they keep. The door slowly budges open as you're forced to use more strength than you should, as if the house refuses to let you out this early in the morning, you were certain you'd oiled the hinges but it's an old house, it's bound to happen.

You go to the hives and for some reason the bees are not as violent as you remember your pa telling you about them being. They just buzz around you lazily as you carefully remove the frames with the honey.

You're nearly given a heart attack when you turn and the lord is there, behind you, staring at you with eyes you swear glint like the surface of an oil spill after a rainstorm but that must just be the light.

"Let me try some?" He asks, closing in, as if you have any ability or want to refuse.

He reaches out to grip your hand. Your fingers are still sticky with honey and for a second your blaspheming mind thinks he'll lick the honey off your fingers (god smite you down for that thought, you don't even know how many 'hail Mary's you'll need to recount for that).

He dips his fingers in the honey, rivulets of the golden liquid trickling down his knuckles as he slowly brings them up to his face and sticks them in his mouth. You know enough of the gentry and their weird customs to know this would be seen as unsightly, but you're neither gentry nor do you find yourself caring when he keeps his gaze locked on you even as his lips part, pink tongue swirling around his fingers to lick up all the honey in a way that makes you think it's purposeful. (It can't be, he's the lord for crying out loud, you can already hear your ma reaching for the lord's word to bash those sinful dirty blasphemous thoughts from your skull)

He pulls his fingers from his mouth with a loud sound that goes straight from your ears to your chest and down to where it shouldn't. Your hands itch to grab the cross around your neck and hold it but you only now remember the lord still has it, his tie still loosely wrapped around your neck. His eyes sparkle like stars "You should try some." He says, and he's tugging you by the arm before you can even start spouting your excuses about how it's not your place for such things.

----

Getting down on your knees in prayer, only for him to appear and gently grasp your chin - murmuring lowly how worship can be done later, that he needs you to do one more task before you pray and head to bed

That 'one more task' turns out to be a simple fix that for some reason takes longer than it should. The house does not want another's name to be spoken by your tongue and isn't above petty childish ploys of constantly flickering the one light in the lord's private chambers regardless of how many lightbulbs you change. The lord doesn't mind despite your growing emberassment, he likes the sight of your muscles tensed to stay balanced on that rickety ladder and how, despite your annoyance, you still treat the house - him- with care.

And it's late at night when you finish, so late everyone is asleep and there's no point in waking everyone up by trying to maneuver through the dark house with a candle.

"Stay the night." He says, order clear even without his hands tugging on your shirt. It's improper to sleep in the lord's bed in your work clothes after all, and you swear you see his eyes harden when he noticed that cross you'd managed to find, but it's soon discarded when he pulls the shirt over your head, cross dropping to the floor to be quietly swallowed by the carpets.

----

The only prayer he allows to be uttered in his house is the one you mutter when you fist your cock, squirreled away in your tiny room in the house. The only time he allows you to pray to your god is when his name is right next to Jesus and God the father, asking them for forgiveness for your sinful thoughts while you rut your cock into the sheets and moan his name as quietly as you think you're able to get away with.

He's learned not to 'stumble' on you in such a state, humans and their privacy, you were stone cold like a nun for a month when he'd did that once, and he'd missed the sweet prayers you sing him late at night when you think he's not listening.

[twog-team]

yugioh ponies but cooler than the other ones we posted