Well I won’t say no if one’s going. Milk and sugar, thank you.
I was a latecomer to tea drinking, culturally speaking, and I’m still not a regular. I trained myself into liking it well enough. It’s easier to keep up with when employed, since a baseline level of caffeination is expected in the workplace (and I don’t associate with the devil’s bean outside of the occasional mocha while everyone else is drinking proper coffee). But I don’t habitually make it for myself at home, even when I would probably benefit from it. I’ve got tea right here, still warm, and it’s not particularly delicious.
I could disappear down the reddit hole of precision display kettles and matching cups to blends in search of the ultimate experience but it wouldn’t really matter. The same mug would taste better if someone else had made it. Tea’s real value is social.
Explaining it to my sour teenage brain was like this: The benefits of giving hospitality are obvious, because if you give someone something they will be indebted to you. Training yourself to receive hospitality is as important as being able to give it, because it means you allow someone else to give. This is called participating in the social contract. You will not be liked more by only asking for less.
As a grown adult I am, thankfully, less transactional about it. Hospitality is about creating comfort, a privilege to give and a blessing to receive. How much sugar do I like? Oh, however it comes, everyone’s spoons are different. Oat milk is more than fine, thank you. Ooh, biscuits? Well you’ve talked me into one, you silver tongued devil. Thank you very much.
My tea is cold now, still an inch or so deep in the mug. I won’t finish it. That’s fine. It’s done all it needed to. But I much prefer having tea with you, it always tastes much nicer than what I make at home. The same Scottish Blend bags with the same tap water, but it’s missing that magic you give it.