It is far more potent than that: it's tea!
There is a sophisticated yet simple violet flavor to it.
But do "not o'erlook the modest flower
That makes the woods of April bright."
Many places will use artificial flavorings to flavor their teas,
not The Wulfshead.
The bartender says it was collected from
"a bank whereon the wild thyme blows
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine:
There sleeps Titania some time of the night,
Lull'd in these flowers with dances and delight:
And there the snake throws her enamell'd skin,
Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in."
I think he was putting me on.
Be that as it may: it is a most entrancing drink.
I thought you were talking about another kind of grass. I do happen to be a serious tea drinker. I buy very good tea online and drink nothing but the best Earl Grey available. It took awhile to find the perfect tea for me, but I have my brew now. But if I were indeed able to join you for a cup or a puff, I'd try your "grass."
ReplyDeleteA typically lovely entry, Nausicaa. It seems Shakespeare has tried the wide weed too, that he could find a fairy willing to be thus wrapped. The blur of past and future continues at The Wulfshead.
ReplyDeleteMethinks if Utah Savage casts her jazz mind back far enough to the Beat and bebop days, she'll remember that grass used to be called tea too. Take tea and see. Not only the leaf will be wide. You'll be wide. Let's roll one, without the fairy, and see if that's where the lightning is. Bartender, don't brew it. Just bring us some---er---leaves of Grass.
Seems only the faeries recall the true origin of Lightning Grass, though it makes perfect sense if you think about it; however, after even one sip of true good Lightning Grass, one's thoughts fly about the Wulfshead like clouds of assorted colors, bringing gaiety to the usually drab décor--oh yes, we were Speaking Of: The True Origin: there is a very delicate but hearty tea which grows only in a place not yet disclosed, which lightning strikes now and again (hence its name) the grass never burns, but oh, how it smokes!
ReplyDeleteThe villagers of this Undisclosed Place, noticing a certain feeling of euphoria that arose from breathing in the astonishing scents wafting around them after such stormy events - soon realized they could prolong this bliss by immersing the cut & by then smoked grass in boiling water and drinking it. The villagers knew they were Onto Something and immediately began to sell their rare and precious commodity to the finer establishments such as Wulfshead.
The taste is nothing like bergamot, since nothing need be added to enhance the flavor of This Tea she said disdainfully, flouting the fan she stole from the last Lightning Grass Tea Ceremony performed in Japan (it was also the first, since all Lightning Grass was banned from Japan after That Event!) and fanning it over the pot to bring the scent of violets to bear across the Wulfshead, thereby instantly filling the place with multicolored clouds that used to be people's thoughts
Indira, I fear I have insulted you. Twas not my intent. I call myself Savage, because I am barely civilized. I often wonder what is was about me that garnered me an invitation to the Wulfshead. But I am impressed with you and your lovely writing. I'd consume any tea you offered me and be thrilled to be euphoric and blown away.
ReplyDeleteColin Wilson relates, in "Mysteries," how he woke up one night, having had a dream that seemed to summarize to him the question of human existence. He was being wheeled along in a bathchair outside the British Museum, pushed by two attendants, who, come to think of it, I suspect both looked very much like some of the bartenders here at The Wulfshead; he had no memory of how he'd got there. He turned around and asked: "would you mind telling me what we're supposed to be doing?" They looked at him in amazement, and one of them said: "We thought you knew."
ReplyDeleteWhat do you think? I wonder whether Colin had had a sip of Lightning Grass that night, before he went to bed?
The bartender told me that as wine retains the perfume of its cask, Lightning Grass retains the essence of its most ancient genesis, and that is the seed of conscience.
no, no, no, she said, stamping her foot in its black patent leather shoe on the newly waxed (and hence very slippery) floor of the Wulfshead,
ReplyDeleteI haven't taken offense or offence or even a fence! Taking offense is as bad as giving offense and I never do neither. Er, either. (Here she paused to shout, "double negative rules are for fools. I shall say what I like!")...
being a bit of a tea (and word) connoisseur myself, I shall be delighted to share a cup of fine Bergamot with such a fine maven of Things That Count, Ms. Savage, and perhaps you shall share your tea secrets with me?