As a foreigner newly arrived here, there’s much to delight in, but I don’t think I will ever be able to get behind “gumboot” tea.
Don’t get me wrong; I think the analogy is perfect: the tea certainly resembles something that I have poured out of my gumboot after a particularly wet country tramp. I just don’t know why New Zealanders are so proud of it.
Tea should be poured generously into beautifully painted, fine-lipped cups from your grandmother’s silver teapot warmed with piping hot water before a long-leaf tea is steeped at a comfortable 90 degrees. The pot is then turned — thrice clockwise, half a turn counterclockwise — and there are biscuits shared with a friend or a stranger.
Convenience (teabags) is, well, helpful, but beauty is essential, as is ceremony. If a cup shared between friends is cause enough for fanfare, how much more an historic event like the coronation?
Queen Elizabeth’s in 1953 did not come at a particularly agreeable (or convenient) time. Food rationing was in place, but the celebrations were so memorable that grandmothers were still talking about them over their coronation chicken 60 years on.