No David*, Chai Latte is not Chai

I used to think it was obvious that Chai was a whole class apart from Chai Latte. But if you need convincing, here's how they are different.

For my recipe lovers: Skip the story and just make Chai at home

The first Saturday we moved into our new home, I went to my bare-ish backyard and plucked out the ornamental shrub the builder had planted. 

When the soil was loose, I dug six tiny holes and planted the six root cuttings of mint I had taken from mom’s garden, patting them lovingly into place. Four years in, my herb garden has less of a mint plant and more of a mint “situation”. Sprigs of mint popping up near my thyme, rosemary, lemon and curry leaf as if it’s reminding me that I must add mint everywhere.

New sprigs of mint taking over all the other herbs!

I couldn’t be happier. An endless amount of fresh, peppery mint to brew into my tea is what my chai dreams are made of. 

My mum’s backyard has a mint situation too. But that’s not what her chai dreams are made of.

Whenever I go to her home - around the block from my place - I’ll find small bowls half-filled with either pieces of ginger or thick ginger peels. She’s one of those people that loves ginger everywhere - in her chai, in her juice and even in her cake!

For mum, chai is not chai without ginger's warm, spicy notes.

And, while I love mum’s gingery brew, no potluck at my house is complete without a request that my friend, Farzu, make us some chai. The request comes partly as an excuse to extend the fun a while longer but mostly because we love the heavy-on-lemongrass brew Farzu volunteers to make for us. 

But, none of those chai’s will do on a cold, rainy evening.

On those evenings, my Pavlovian brain forces me to indulge in hot, freshly fried bread pakora and only a chai laced with smoky green cardamom will do.

I’ve had thousands of cups of chai since I started drinking it when I was nine-ish. 

Sweet, diluted and milky when I was introduced to it as a girl. From a tea bag with dried mint leaves from the fridge during midnight study sessions. Spicy and earthy at a Dhaba stop in Punjab. Sickeningly sweet, with a hint of cardamom from the chai-walla at my first job in India.

My favourite version? Minty, smoky, gingery and strong - the brew mum makes for me when she senses I’m in need of some TLC.

Her love, bottled up for me, in a hot steel flask.

And not one of them has ever tasted like a chai latte. 

Dial an Indian, and they’ll tell you that the unnaturally sweet, cinnamony, disappointingly one-dimensional drink that is chai’s namesake is an impostor. 

Let’s call the drink a cinnamon latte, and I have no problems. It’s a perfectly nice drink, even with its syrupy after-taste. But calling it Chai Latte gets my hackles up.

Because Chai latte is to Chai what the radioactive orange butter chicken served at takeaways is to Delhi’s Murgh Makhani (the OG name for butter chicken). A weak, diluted counterpart.

I’ve learned that a good cup of chai is much like a Māori pepeha

Living in NZ, I’ve spent the last few years educating myself more on Te Ao Māori (Māori worldview). One such Te Ao Māori way is to formally introduce yourself to a group of people with a Pepeha. It establishes one's turangawaewae, a Māori concept that refers to a place where a person feels a sense of belonging, where their identity is anchored.

In the same way that a pepeha is used to establish connection and community, an offer to share a cup of chai is used to tell you a bit more about me.

Where I come from, the flavours that are important to me, the intention I’m putting into our relationship. Are you a friend for whom a tea-bag tea will do? Should I impress you by going out into my windy backyard and plucking out some mint? Or, do I love you enough to brew you chai from scratch in my aluminium chai kettle? 

I’m not trying to latte shame but Chai Latte, in contrast, only tells me one thing about you. That you’d rather not drink coffee.

The Indian way is to offer chai to anyone. At any time. Whether that’s morning, afternoon or twilight. Preferably, as soon as they enter your house/shop/office. It doesn’t matter if you’ve already had two cups.

Chai is a ritual. A way to say, “You’re welcome here”. Or, “Stay a bit longer, won’t you”.

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Make Chai at home

Ingredients (for two)

Chai Masala
4 green cardamom
2 cloves
2 peppercorn
1 thick slice of fresh ginger
1/2 inch piece of cinnamon/cassia bark

Chai
5-6 mint leaves
Couple 2-3 inch pieces of lemongrass leaf
2 tsp good-quality black tea powder
2.5 cups water
Milk (to your liking)
Sugar (to your liking)

Method:

• Using a mortar and pestle or the back of a kitchen knife, roughly crush/bruise all the ingredients for the chai masala

• Add the water to a saucepan along with the tea powder and all the chai masala ingredients

• When the water starts to simmer, add in the mint and lemongrass

• Allow the water to come to a rolling boil. At this point, move the gas to medium and add the milk and sugar

• Reduce the heat and allow to simmer for a further 3-5 minutes

• Strain into tea-cups and enjoy with some hot snacks or crumbly biscuits

Notes:

• If you boil the tea for too long the tea turns bitter.

• The strength of your tea depends on the kind of tea and amount of spices used. Adjust the quantities as needed.

• Tea powder is concentrated. If you’re using loose leaf assam tea increase the quantity you add in.

• Wagh Bakri, Society Tea and Tata Gold are my favourite Indian tea brands and widely available in Indian food stores overseas.

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*The David in the title is a fictitious white male. I was going to go with Karen but my inner feminist rebelled. Also helps that I’m currently doing Write of Passage which is led by David so this is a sly nod to him.

Thank you to

Alec McNayr

Erin Rupp

Miche Priest

and

Siesta in the Storm

for their feedback on this story.

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