It seems the tea craze has swept over some of my colleagues, or at least they’re getting into it because of my incessant nagging. (Also, I might be making this post because of the irresistable corniness of the title.) Either way, we made the second trip down to Koko Tea this afternoon in Chinatown to gawk at the shelf of Pu Erh tea ranging in price value from two dollars for a little pack to over a hundred for the same quantity. Coo.

They have an okay website but the shop is this rustic little thing, imposing in that you feel like an intruder weaving through haphazard boxes strewn about and shelves jutting out here and there to peer at the walls of tea containers; you’re frustrated that you have to continually ask them for the price and description of what’s in them too, because you can’t read, and they speak s l o w l y to you because they think you’re (a) stupid (b) westernised (c) both.

But it’s addictive. You can’t help but pick a packet (say that five times fast) to bring home and sample because of how many variants you’ll find, and how within each category of tea, the colours unfold in an even wider array.

Hands up everyone who think I’m turning into an old lady. Scary, isn’t it. Yesterday, I carried tea out of the office to my car in a thermos. Ohhhh yes.