The box of Tazo Organic Chai conforms to my hand as would a favourite sword to the grasp of a wayward knight. Before my mind is able to process it, muscle memory has taken over. In place of making windmills with a blade of deadly steel, I find that I have turned the box over and begun to shake it vigorously, releasing the sediment from its long and lonely perch on the bottom of the container. With a few more strokes the box is opened and being poured into a waiting pan, which perks up elatedly to receive that sweet nectar thought lost and irrecoverable. The red glow from beneath brings strong heat, steadily transforming the deep, brown liquid into one rich and dark, nearly black. And just before that precious elixir begins to smoke and burn, down pours the milk, like a gift from the heavens, to complete the hallowed ritual and unite east with west. Soon the desired temperature has been reached, and with perfection surely achieved I ladle the delicate potion into an enormous mug and bring it to my expectant lips.
‘Hello, old friend,’ I think to myself. ‘It’s been far too long.’