Confessions of a Chai Junkie

I was hooked the moment I tasted my first glass of chai--Indian sweet tea. Stall operators throughout India begin their morning by brewing the most intoxicating mixture of cardomom, fennel, anise, ginger, cinnamon and cloves to bring sleepy residents to life. Done properly, it's a pure assault on the senses with every taste bud rioting and saying thank you. I became so enamored with chai that I convinced my wife I had to buy a motorcycle. My excuse: to use it to get to work. The real reason: to expand my range in search of the perfect glass of chai.

And expand my range I did. No tea stall was safe in a city of 8.5 million inhabitants as my quest continued for the ultimate brew. I was relentless and left no chai seller untasted, but like most compulsives, that elusive perfect elixir was always in the next neighborhood or over the next hill.

It was through a pure serendipitous act that I happened upon my liquid nirvana. Pondicherry is a small French town two hours drive from Chennai. I needed a fix after my hectic two-wheeled journey when I happened upon the tea stall operator by chance. Instinctively I knew I was in for something special when I saw his throw. That's the distance he throws the finished chai from a full to an empty glass. This fusion process is critical to oxygenate and mix the spices. He held the full glass above his head and with a an uncanny ability tossed the complete contents into the bottom glass at his waist. Not a drop was spilled. When he handed me the finished product a perfectly-formed head sat atop the chai. I took one sip, wiped the foam from my upper lip, pulled out my notepad and wrote two words: Mission Accomplished.