Jeff Koehler

Finished this last night and it was a solid 4 star read for me. It might have been 4.5 save for a dull chapter or two on the colonial history between India and Great Britain. Lots of names, dates, and skirmishes, with back-and-forths between time periods that just made my eyes glaze over. But at 19 chapters, the book had plenty of chapters to make it up to me, and it mostly did.

Written in a ‘feature article’ style, the author frames the book and its chapters within the tea-picking show more seasons, called flushes. Spring flush, second flush, monsoon flush and autumn flush, tying the trajectory Darjeeling tea finds itself into the advancement of the seasons. These ‘preludes’ to the chapters are written in a flowery, evocative style that mostly works, although at times seems to try a tiny bit too hard.

In general terms the book set out what it meant to do: educate me about tea. As someone whose circulatory system is, at any given time, roughly 75% tea, I was shockingly ignorant about my life’s blood, so the book was destined to succeed. I knew nothing about CTC vs. orthodox teas (CTC is the mechanical process of cut, tear, curl, while orthodox tea is still almost entirely hand processes) and while I’d heard of Darjeeling tea, of course, I wouldn’t have been able to tell you it’s considered the world’s best tea, or that the vast majority of it is certified organic. The importance when it’s picked has on its taste is also going to make it easier for me to find my go-to black teas; I’m pretty sure I’m a solid spring-flush kind of girl.

But what the author really succeeded in, was convincing me of the inherent romance surrounding the growing of teas in spite of all the challenges and barriers: the climate changes, labor issues and a fraught political climate in West Bengal. He touches on all of them in some depth, describing the ways owners are tackling the first two issues and trying to survive the fall out of the third, but still, it’s almost impossible not to imagine these tea gardens as romantic.

If nothing else, the book succeeded as a marketing tool: midway through I found myself online ordering 100g of a tea called “Gold Darjeeling” described by the Tao of Tea as a Light Black Tea, with a smooth, buttery, honey texture. Full-bodied brew with pleasant rose, muscatel grape-like aroma. I’m off two minds about my hopes for this tea: of course I want to like it, but given that you can only buy it by the gram, not so much that it ruins me for all the other black teas out there. Although, as long as I drink iced tea, I doubt I’m in any real danger of becoming the tea snob. show less

Normally, it’s animals that tie a farmer to the land. You can’t leave for a day. Vegetables and fruit are far less demanding on an hourly basis. Unless you’re taking about tea, where the finest has its own universe of rules. The greatest teas come from Darjeeling, a quarter of the way up the Himalayas. They are harvested daily (every bush must be plucked at least weekly, March through November). The harvests are different, according to the cull, the weather, the time of year, the show more humidity and even the phase of the moon. They must be processed immediately, and stopping a process is a minute to minute judgment based on smell and feel. Great tea is as labor intensive as it gets. The pay is lousy, and the life is isolated. And yet, once given the opportunity to be a planter in Darjeeling, people tend to stay for life.

Tea is naturally a tree, and will grow into one unless constantly trimmed and plucked (harvested) to keep it low enough for workers. Imagine hundreds of acres of bonsais, and you can imagine all the attention needed to keep everything producing daily. All tea comes from one plant. It’s the way the planters process them that makes tea white or green or black, sweet or smoky, heavy or light.

These are the ingredients Jeff Koehler stirs into Darjeeling, an endlessly entrancing journey from smuggled seeds to world record auctions. The topography is unforgiving, the climate(s) fearsome, and the workers horrendously underpaid in a feudal system set up by the British. That anything comes of it at all is a mystery. Yet the brand is so powerful, five times as much Darjeeling tea is sold as can be produced.

For some reason, farms acquired the name tea garden, even though the average “garden” is 553 acres and produces 220,000 pounds of tea. There are 87 tea gardens in Darjeeling, with 58 certified organic. There are four “flushes” per year, as the leaves are physically different spring, summer, monsoon and fall. “Darjeeling” is now protected like any high quality international geographic brand. Still, 80% of the Darjeeling tea in stores is doctored if not entirely counterfeit. In Germany for example, it is perfectly legal to blend 50% other tea and still call it Darjeeling.

The process of making tea uses no chemicals. First they wither. Then rolling the leaves causes a breakdown in the cell structure, inducing fermentation. Stopping the fermentation is a matter of quick drying, and the leaf’s condition is set until soaked. (Zero fermentation leads to green tea.) Getting it off the mountain is another challenge, as is dealing with 40% absenteeism. It all makes for a real education and a much higher appreciation of that simple cup of tea.

David Wineberg show less

Of course, Morocco: A Culinary Journey with Recipes from the Spice-Scented Markets of Marrakech to the Date-Filled Oasis of Zagora is a cookbook, but it’s much more. Author Jeff Kohler fills readers in on the history and geography of Morocco, its various populations and the many influences on its cuisine. Had every recipe been a bust, this cookbook was definitely a worthwhile read, if just for this tantalizing travelogue, complete with photos.

But Kohler doesn’t disappoint on the show more recipes, either. From tangines to skewers to salads to desserts to the national drink of mint tea, there’s plenty of Moroccan dishes to love. show less

Once again, I am out of step with the rest of the world. The entire US may be eliminating carbohydrates from its diet, but I’m siding with the Mediterranean on this matter. In his cookbook Rice, Pasta, Couscous, Jeff Koehler has produced a terrific introduction to a diverse cuisine and its starchy staples.

Koehler really does get props for exploring the full diversity of his offerings. Pasta dishes, for example, range far beyond the typical Italian offerings and include dishes from Greece, show more Spain, Croatia, Turkey, Egypt, Morocco, and Algeria. Yes, there are familiar favorites, but even those generally have an interesting twist, such as Cannelloni Stuffed with Spinach, Pine Nuts, and Raisins. More unusual offerings such as the Turkish, ravioli-like Meat-Filled Manti with Garlic Yogurt Sauce are especially intriguing. Oh, and in addition to the savory fare, Koehler even includes a couple of sweet dishes. The rice and couscous sections are equally diverse, but I have to admit it was the couscous that was the real draw for me. How can a girl named Tunis not be intrigued by North African cuisine?

Another great aspect of the book’s diversity can be seen in the recipes’ complexity. While some recipes are major undertakings, other dishes, such as Lentils and Rice with Fried Onions, can be pulled together quickly with just a few staples you probably have on hand. The recipes are easy to follow, and Koehler has included all sorts of additional information about cooking techniques, spices, ingredient sources, etc.

My two minor complaints are as follows: There are dozens of lovely color photographs scattered throughout the book. People, storefronts, close-ups of ingredients, all sorts of things—just not as many photos of the actual recipes as I’d ideally like to see. The other thing is the text. It’s informative, but it’s not wildly compelling reading. However, that’s not what most people are looking for in a cookbook. If you’re looking for an excellent cross section of one of the world’s great cuisines, Rice, Pasta, Couscous would be a terrific starting place. show less