‘The day draws to a close; the samovar of the evening boils, glowing, on the table ...’ (A. Pushkin)
Act I, Scene 3
Outside, the snow-covered Nevsky Prospekt and a magnificent Art Nouveau building. Inside, a large bookshop. And on the first floor an elegant café. As the water is poured into the cup, the infusion unleashes its most characteristic flavours. Black tea, heavy and intense. A floral note, sharp and biting. And the unmistakable smoky aftertaste from the campfires of the caravanserais, which are supposed to keep the precious tea cargo dry on the endless journeys through Siberia.
Fresh mint leaves give the hot water a fresh flavour. A teaspoon of preserved raspberries sweetens the bitter aftertaste of leather and birch without changing it. We drink it slowly, gazing out of the large window at Kazan Cathedral and beyond. The Russian tea ritual takes us on an unexpected journey to distant lands, full of mystery and fascination.
