A Tea Dream, 'Caramel Cream'

Last weekend my parents came over for Sunday lunch (another time honoured British tradition). As mum had bought me the London Tea Club subscription (and she had read my blog) I excitedly showed her the packaging, which she agreed was rather delightful. My father then asked a most sincere question; which is your favourite?

Truthfully, I had still yet to try even one. Oops. To which it was then suggested that we try one together. My mother isn't over fond of 'fancy' or flavoured teas (just the odd Earl Grey, otherwise nothing beats a good Assam) and my boyfriend is some heathen who isn't over fond of tea at all, which left just myself and my father to try one. We opted for the Caramel Cream because not only did it smell absolutely divine I felt that it was a tea that I could pay less attention to (no need to meditate on watching leaves unfurl).

I opted to make a pot, selecting my two cup cast iron tea pot, with my little Japanese green glaze cups to drink from (I also made mum an Earl Grey and I think my boyfriend just had water, but no one cares about his uncultured tastes anyway). As I poured the tea into my measuring teaspoon I observed just what was there. Black tea leaves, obviously (I suspect Ceylon), but also tawny and sage tinged leaves and a single golden drop of butterscotch. I have since realised that there was only once piece of butterscotch in my whole test tube, so I may look at adding my own to future cups as the scent and flavour as it melts is gorgeous.

It is not the only tea I own whereby there are solid treats designed to melt into the infusion. I also have a Sticky Toffee Pudding with pieces of, well, toffee, and I'm sure my Marzipan Rum tea has solid rocks of sugar or similar. I love tea with melting ingredients; it just seems to add another dimension.

Anyway. I consulted the card that came with my tea. The dried 'leaves' are, in fact, petals of calendula and sunflower. Interesting; I would never have considered sunflower as part of creating a 'cream' or 'caramel' flavoured tea.

Once my timer went off, I removed the tea basket from the pot and proceeded to pour myself and my father a tiny cupful. The colour was a rich ochre. The aroma was surprisingly robust, sweet and decadent.

So onto our first sips, which immediately elicited a positive response. I feel that I had perhaps got the tea to water ratio a little off, as I felt it a touch too week, but my father disagreed. This tea wasn't a subtle flavour. It tasted much as you'd expect from a tea entitled Caramel Cream. A sugary sweetness, with a creamy aftertaste, such as you might get after eating good quality fudge. This is the Lindt Lindor of teas.

When asked to comment, my father said; 'it was really nice and creamy and caramelly. I'd say it was smooth and a good drink with a sweet accompaniment, like cake, etc.' 

It didn't take long for the the two of us to finish off the pot; which was good in the sense that I really needed to get on with cooking dinner.


I definitely appreciated this tea. It's  the sort of tea I'd drink in an evening at home alone, curled up with a light hearted, fantasy novel or a non-fiction history novel, in front of the fire (only not, because are fire is faux, but if I could, I would). The tea card suggests drinking it with sugar and milk to 'create a rich and creamy indulgent treat'. Now even though I rarely add milk to my tea (why mar perfection?), even before reading the card I had thought such an addition would not be so unwelcome in this blend. Perhaps next time I drink it I will allow a splash in the bottom of my teacup, you know, for the sake of completion. The scientist in me would not consider the analysis of such a blend to be exhaustive without attempting it; for once, it is not tea treason, but in the name of science...

So next time, perhaps I'll have tried this with milk. Or perhaps not. Either way, this is a truly superb blend and, if I could, I would gladly depart with good money for more. Wonderous, indeed!