The Sunday Salon – The Art of Sharing
This Sunday, like every other, Mrs. Betjeman places her cup on the table, next to Monsieur's. But here, there is no perfect symmetry:Minedoes not seek itself in a mirror, it asserts itself in counterpoint. Where he loves the full-bodied depth of Sikkim in his favorite teaYours, also tinged with spices and citrus fruits, she chooses the lively freshness of Yunnan.
She only drinks green tea. And not just any green tea. She has always been quietly loyal to Chinese green teas, whose slightly earthy, almost mineral, vegetal profile she appreciates is quite different from Japanese green teas, which are more iodized, more marine, and sometimes more incisive. She loves this muted sweetness, this discreet complexity that evokes sun-baked stone more than fresh seaweed. Her palate knows its nuances, its slightest inflections, a truly intimate language.
Between Freshness and Fire – Another Intimacy
He watches her pour her tea into a thin cup with a pink, almost translucent rim. She, without saying anything, appreciates the diffuse heat rising from the black cast iron. Together, they compose a duet where each note exists for itself, but finds its place in
harmony.
