Snug amid a cascade of knitted cushions, vintage wallpaper, and twee china, I could easily be somewhere in the heart of Middle England. Only two things betray my real location: the bizarre and totally impractical glass teapot, steaming slightly on the lace tablecloth, and the lack of milk.

“Milch?” repeats the kindly frau behind the counter, frowning and incredulous, “Meinen Sie Kaffee Sahne?” NEIN! NO. I don’t mean cream. Of course I don’t – why would she even suggest such blasphemy? This pleasant German lady’s utter disbelief and mild disgust at my tea drinking preferences comes as a sudden, stinging attack on the very core of my identity. It’s ridiculous, but undeniable. I feel belittled, out of place, and very, very far from home.

Before travelling to former East Germany to take up my position as a temporary English teacher, I made sure to pack a large box of bog-standard English Breakfast Tea. Upon admission of this to my Anglophone colleagues I was light-heartedly reprimanded for my failure to integrate with the local way of life. Why bring English tea when you’re supposed to be living like a German? Why not even attempt to separate yourself from all things British for a month or so? Well, honestly, I just didn’t want to. Don’t get me wrong, in the days following the infamous Brexit vote I was actually ashamed of the half of me that is English, clinging desperately to the fact that my fellow Scots voted to remain. I would never suggest that British culture is more important than anyone else’s. 

"Life without a proper brew is simply miserable."

Yet, tea is different. Tea is personal, yet communal, foreign, yet homely. Tea is a part of my heritage, my identity, and I’d even go so far as to say my soul. Life without a proper brew is simply miserable. Gleefully, I observed my fellow teachers discover this as, after a week and a half, requests began to float across the staff-room: “Ooh make us a cuppa, won’t you?”

However, tea sales in the UK plummeted last year. Was it the weather? The clean-eating craze? Can we blame Brexit for this one too? It seems that it is us: you and I. The younger generation simply does not seem to have the same taste for tea that our parents and grandparents had. Whilst I am certainly part of that 70% of the British population who drank tea yesterday morning, most people our age apparently are not. Are we slowly falling out of love with the drink that has been part of our national identity for at least two centuries?

In Watching the English, Kate Fox concludes that how we Brits make our tea betrays a lot about us. Differences can in fact be seen between ethnic groups and even between social classes: the strongest tea-brewers are typically found among the working classes, and the humble cuppa gets progressively weaker as we move up the social ladder. It seems absurd but it’s true. Our sweet tooth also seems to grow weaker the higher up in society we find ourselves. This is undoubtedly self-perpetuating, as middle class tea-drinkers strive to avoid ‘vulgar’ connotations of a sweet, milky tea – the classic Builder’s.

Bread and Rutter: Harriets Café Tearooms

Tea also seems to be a side-effect of British character. Fox identifies tea making and drinking as an impulsive activity which we resort to in times of boredom, stress, or anxiety, so that “whenever the English feel awkward or uncomfortable in a social situation (that is, almost all the time), they make tea.” And indeed the simple cuppa does seem to be a building block of British spirit, a cornerstone of the ‘Keep Calm and Carry On’ mentality, the traditional stiffener of the proverbial upper lip. In any crisis, the offer of ‘a nice cup of tea’ is almost guaranteed.

Towards the end of my time in Germany, the panic began to set in. Rationing of the few remaining teabags had begun in earnest as I desperately tried to eke out my supply, counting the days until my flight home. Perhaps we are a nation in love, perhaps we are simply addicted, or maybe the British public’s love affair with tea really is waning and my own tea-drinking habits will change. But one thing is certain: wherever I am in the world, no matter how counter-cultural or downright weird people think I am, there must always, always, be milk in my tea