Ode To Iced Tea

As the late summer sun bakes the thirsty landscape, my taste buds start to scream for iced tea.

When I was growing up in Oklahoma, I swear there wasn't a day that would go by that didn't see Mom with a tall glass of tea in her hand -- ice rattling around in the amber concoction like some sort of odd percussion instrument. Actually, there still aren't many days -- winter or summer -- that I don't see Mom without her iced tea.

When I was a young girl and into my teens, I, too, would drink the stuff like it was water (in fact, I don't really remember drinking very much water back then).

We would usually dump tons of sugar (and later, artificial sweetener) in our sweaty tumblers filled with ice and steeped tea, and clank the sides of the glass with long, skinny "iced tea spoons," as Mom called them, trying to dissolve all that sweet stuff.

That was the drink of choice, until I discovered diet soda. And, being a teenage girl, I was worried about my weight. So, iced tea -- or "sweet tea," as some folks call it -- and I parted ways for a while.

Oh, sure. I would sip some now and again (usually with Mom), pouring enough sugar in it to give a hippo a sugar buzz. But my tastes had changed, and the stuff was just too sweet for me for any sort of regular consumption. It never occurred to me to use less -- or even no -- sugar. That's just not what you call "tea" in my family.

Then one day, I mistakenly thought I had added sugar to my tea, but Mom and I were so immersed in conversation that I hadn't. I took a big swallow and -- wow -- I could taste the tea!

Suddenly, my love for iced tea was rekindled. But, this time, I wanted no sweetener to come between my tannins and me.

The iced tea infatuation lived on in Colorado, where we brewed "sun tea," steeping tea bags in a big jar of water that was warmed by the sun. We would leave the tea outside for hours and then rush it into the kitchen to pour the strong concoction -- straight from the jar -- over tall vessels filled with ice cubes that popped and crackled as the warm liquid hit them.

When I moved to Oregon, sun tea was less practical. I found the clouds got in the way of brewing tea, and it wasn't any fun to retrieve my precious "cloud tea" jar from the rain.

Once again, tea took a back seat to other beverages. But, years later, iced tea and I found our way together again -- this time in Europe.

While looking for something besides beer to drink in Amsterdam (not that I didn't enjoy the wonderful beers there), I ordered an iced tea. It came in a can, and when I poured it into the glass, it fizzed like a soda. Mildly sweet, the tea combined with the fizz in perfect and surprising harmony.

I enjoyed several more of those iced teas while trekking through Amsterdam and Belgium, even getting to the point of seeking them out when I was parched. They were truly the perfect thirst-quenchers.

On the plane ride home, remembering our trip, I fondly recalled those fizzy iced teas. A wave of melancholy washed over me when I realized that I would not be able to enjoy them again stateside -- until I got to thinking about how I could recreate that sparkling iced tea.

It's a long plane ride "across the puddle," so by the time I got home, I had a plan. The idea was to make a double-strength tea, sweetened lightly, and mix the concentrate in the glass with sparkling water.

After a couple of adjustments, I discovered the perfect combination for the concentrate -- on the grocery store shelf. Iced tea concentrates that you are supposed to mix with water must be the same concentrate used in the fizzy European iced tea. Instead of mixing with tap water, just use the same amount of sparkling water. But make each glass separately; don't make a pitcher of it or you will lose the fizz.

As our love affair continues, who knows where our travels will take tea and me. But I am loving every minute of it, sip by sip.