Chamomile, Rosehip & Apple Tea
I noticed the pantry getting dim before I noticed the rest of the evening.
The shelves were still there, obviously.
But their edges had softened, and several jars near the back were beginning to look as though they would prefer not to be found.
The chamomile was easy.
Its pale flowers seemed to be holding on to what remained of the afternoon.
The rosehips were darker. Wrinkled little red things with the grave expression of ingredients that expect to be taken seriously.
Then I opened the dried apple.
It smelled faintly of the orchard after rain.
Smokey arrived at once.
He put both front paws against the cupboard, stretched himself to his full investigative length, and sniffed one of the apple pieces in my hand.
I offered it to him.
He inspected it again.
Apparently this had not improved matters.
He left without comment, which was worse somehow.
Rosehips and apple need longer in the pot than chamomile, so I lightly crushed the rosehips and put them into the saucepan with the chopped apple and water.
The chamomile waited beside the stove.
It looked very patient.
Chamomile usually does.
Once the water began to simmer, the apple pieces softened and the rosehips slowly gave up their color. The water turned pale gold at first, then deepened toward red.
Steam rose from the saucepan and briefly clouded the kitchen window.
For a moment the garden disappeared completely.
Then the glass cleared, and it was there again, though with fewer details than before.
I let the rosehips and apple simmer gently for ten minutes, then took the saucepan off the heat.
Only then did I add the chamomile.
The flowers floated on top for a while before settling into the warm red water. I covered the pot and left it alone for five minutes.
Smokey returned during this interval.
He sniffed the air.
He sniffed the saucepan.
Then he sat down with his back to both of us.
His official position on herbal tea remains unchanged.
When I strained the tea, it came out amber-red and clear, with the chamomile softening the tartness of the rosehips and the apple sitting quietly underneath.
I carried the cup to the table and put it near the window so I could look at the color.
There was not enough daylight left.
This felt like a small personal failure on the part of the sun.
I moved the cup beneath the lamp instead.
There it was.
Deep amber around the edges. Red where the light passed through. A little curl of steam above it.
The first sip tasted softly floral.
Then bright and tart.
The apple arrived last, rounding everything out without making a great fuss about being included.
Outside, the garden had nearly disappeared.
Inside, the lamp had found the tea.
That seemed sufficient.
Chamomile, Rosehip & Apple Tea
For one generous mug
- 1 tablespoon dried rosehips, lightly crushed
- 2 tablespoons chopped dried apple
- 1 tablespoon dried chamomile flowers
- 14 ounces water
- honey, to taste, optional
Add the rosehips, dried apple, and water to a small saucepan.
Bring to a gentle simmer, cover loosely, and simmer for 8–10 minutes.
Remove the saucepan from the heat. Add the chamomile, cover fully, and steep for 5 minutes.
Strain carefully into a clear cup. If your rosehips contain fine hairs or many seed fragments, strain the tea through a paper filter or a fine-mesh strainer lined with clean muslin.
Add honey if desired and serve warm.
This tea is best made fresh. Any leftover tea may be cooled promptly, covered, refrigerated for up to 24 hours, and warmed gently before serving.
Smokey recommends leaving the dried apple where he can investigate it and taking the finished tea elsewhere.
