Born monk, reborn tea seller, Baisao brews free sencha on Kyoto’s streets, offering “enough is plenty” and marrow-changing elixirs beside humble pines. Waddell’s translation gathers poems, letters, and memories of this playful saint who rejected rank, burned his stall, and left us teapot, loose leaf, and care-free joy.

Tea, taxed into contraband, seeped into England through moonlit coves and cave caches, borne by horses and cheered by parsons, farmers, and illiterate folk alike. Smugglers, glamor and bloodshed mingled, made tea universal until Twining’s persuasion and 1784’s repeal ended the black market, cementing tea as the nation’s lawful cup.

Darjeeling, India’s most fabled tea, is scarce, laborious, and Himalayan in spirit. Grown high on vertiginous slopes from China-type bushes, it yields minute quantities of intensely individual Orthodox black teas. Spring’s First Flush, exquisitely aromatic yet piercingly astringent, commands astronomical auction prices—and devoted pursuit from connoisseurs and merchants alike.

Majestic East Indiamen, John Company’s might made tea the empire’s golden tide, founding cities, forging fortunes, shaping flags and fleets. Deep-drafted “tea waggons” crawled to Canton, yet their guns bluffed France and enriched London. Behind the glory, monopoly, opium, and exile scarred China, leaving coolies, contraband, and contempt.

Buddhist legend and practice shaped China’s embrace of tea. Monks bearing leaves from India, Bodhidharma’s eyelids, and mountain monasteries united cultivation, ritual, and refinement. Like Catholic wine culture, Buddhism sacralized tea, spreading it as sober clarity, meditation’s ally, and Chan ceremony—until Lu Yu codified this Way of Tea for the wider world.

The Dutch East India Company, a formidable maritime empire, fused trade and war to introduce tea to Europe. From Japanese green tea to China’s Bai Hao, branded royally as Orange Pekoe, they cultivated continental taste, shaped Frisian and English habits, yet ultimately misjudged demand, surrendering Asia’s tea dominion to the English.

Few Westerners met Chinese before da Gama’s voyage opened sea routes. Portuguese “foreign devils” buccaneered along China’s coast until granted Macao in 1557, shifting luxury trade from Venice to Lisbon. Missionary Ricci praised tea; in 1610 the Dutch imported both leaf and name “tay,” from Fujian dialect, transforming Europe’s commerce and taste.

Lu Yu, orphan-turned-clown-turned-scholar, retreats five years to codify tea in the Ch’a Ching, a classic rivaling the I Ching. Meticulous, literary, quasi-spiritual, it catalogues origins, tools, methods, legends, districts, and ceremony, transforming a cooling, medicinal beverage into a disciplined, transcendent art for persons of inner worth.

Born poor in Glasgow, Thomas J. Lipton sailed to America, studied its showmanship, then returned to Britain to revolutionize retailing and tea. With spectacles of hogs and brass bands, cheap “brisk” Ceylon Orange Pekoe, packeted consistency, cables over steep plantations and a Hoboken beacon, “Sir T” brewed empire, trademark, and legend.

From Canton’s cramped waterfront to Mincing Lane’s auctions, tea bound China to an emerging world economy, entwined with opium, silver, sugar, and slavery. China’s unmatched inventiveness birthed tea’s global reign, yet foreign-controlled black tea, addiction, and imperial “free trade” shattered her sovereignty—until Communist China, Inc. reentered world markets with refined green teas.

Steamships, standardized Assam and Ceylon black teas, and branded blends turned tea into an imperial industrial commodity and social ritual, from Lyons tea shops to Russian samovars. America added its own accidents: Blechynden’s iced tea and Sullivan’s tea bags—mass-market conveniences that transformed consumption while quietly degrading the leaf itself.

Porcelain, China’s “white gold,” transformed European life: replacing fragile earthenware, ballasted tea ships, flooded chimneys and palaces, and spurred Jingdezhen’s roaring kilns. Bottger’s captivity birthed Meissen; espionage spread the secret to Worcester and Sèvres. From kaolin to bone ash, tea equipage made the finest chinaware an everyday European luxury.

British thirst for tea drained silver; opium refilled coffers. The East India Company addicted China while preaching temperance at home, smuggling “foreign mud” past complicit mandarins. Chinese self-deception met British cynicism; war, “free trade,” and Hong Kong followed. Legalization doubled addiction, entwining tea, drugs, empire, and a long white disaster.

War whoops answered Rowe’s sly query as patriots in Indian guise shattered tea chests from Boston to Greenwich, Charleston to Philadelphia, New York to Annapolis, scattering East India cargo to salt water and flames. Thus a republic, weaned on punch, wine, and coffee, was born with a deliberate distaste for taxed tea.

American colonists, slavishly stylish yet stubbornly constitutional, embraced tea from New Amsterdam to backwoods cabins. A threepenny tax, trivial in purse yet monstrous in principle, collided with “taxation without representation.” Boycotts, Dutch smuggling, and Parliament’s Tea Act brewed crisis, until Boston crowds asked how East India cargo might “mix with salt water.”

Eighteenth‑century England, that most amusing and attractive of societies, steamed with tea and smoked with coffeehouses. In these penny universities, bishops and highwaymen “tossed their minds,” wit was minted, Lloyd’s was born, and sedition murmured. Outside, perfumed tea gardens let ladies, gentlemen, and “fair tea makers” consort beyond class.

Russia twice spurned tea before the Gobi frontier fixed its fate. Through Usk Kayakhta and Mai-mai-cheng, endless camel caravans swapped furs for cotton and, increasingly, tea. Astronomical prices yielded aristocratic luxury, then imperial caravans, samovars, sugared glasses, and legendary caravan tea—romantically dear, slow as a camel, yet central to Russian life.

Tea slipped into Europe with Dutch ships and Portuguese precedents, fetching absurd prices yet suiting Vermeer’s affluent burghers. Apothecaries peddled it as medicine; Bontekoe praised prodigious consumption. Doctors thundered doom, mocked Chinese complexions, and decried spoiled leaves. France and Germany flirted, then retreated to wine, coffee, and beer; England and Russia embraced.

Spain and Portugal bestrode global trade, yet one captured carrack revealed Asia’s staggering riches to Elizabethan England. Chartered “for the honour of the nation,” the East India Company evolved from daring voyages and fortified factories into a quasi-sovereign empire-builder, ultimately wielding its greatest power through an intoxicating, court-fashionable, world-shaping monopoly: tea.