Green tea was always served in my Japanese household. My mother is from prefecture, which is famous for its : naturally, this drink was not only served at mealtimes, but if anyone dared to sit anywhere, a hot brew was offered. I learnt how to pour green tea for my family, to pour it little by little in all the teacups until the last drop, so it always ended in the same amount and the same colour. The brew should not be too weak, but never bitter. If a piece of stalk floated vertically in your tea, it was a sign of good luck, so I always kept my eyes peeled not to miss it.
My family moved a lot. Our family's first big move to Singapore introduced us to thirst-quenching and cooling watermelon juice and fresh coconuts. While balancing on round chairs at a hawker centre, we munched on fried frog legs and star fruit.
Living in Hong Kong revealed to us a mesmerising world of , with its endless flow of jasmine tea. Amongst the steam and loud noises, I waited impatiently for sago, egg tarts and mango pudding.
In Malaysia as a teenager, I loved going to the pasar malam (night market) and drinking teh ais: pulled black tea with condensed milk and ice cubes, served in a bag. Another popular option was air mata kuching, which translates to 'cat's eye drink': a cold herbal drink with dried longan fruit. It was the most refreshing thing on a humid evening, as you weaved through a crowded street market.
When I moved, alone, to Melbourne for university, I acquired an enduring love of Melbourne coffee. I savoured my newfound freedom with tequilas, gin and tonics, and awful, awful snakebites – a mixture of beer, cider and raspberry cordial.
A lifetime of drinks, as drawn by Yoko Baxter. Source: Yoko Baxter
I met a guy who introduced me to , and garlic prawns. I chose to stay, and we did lots of growing up together. His family welcomed me, and celebrations were in accord.
Then came milk. What mum remembers drinking anything at this time, except cold coffees? As time went by, I learnt the taste of red wine. From a cask, no less. A glass filled to the top after cooking a pasta.
If a piece of stalk floated vertically in your tea, it was a sign of good luck, so I always kept my eyes peeled not to miss it.
My Melburnian is one Melburnian who doesn't like coffee. On rare occasions, we go to a cafe: he has his English breakfast tea and me, my soy latte, while the kids sneakily order themselves babyccinos. It's ridiculous paying for these tiny potions of warm milk, with or without marshmallows, but the kids' cheeks filled with marshmallows, sporting Dali moustaches, do make it a worthwhile expense.
My eldest recently told me he'll no longer need babyccinos, as it's for babies. Now he's moving on to bubble tea. My children will grow taller than me in no time.
I rarely drink green tea these days, and that's okay. I miss it sometimes, and I wonder if I'll ever start drinking green tea again. What I do know: I won't have to keep an eye out for the stalks to float.
This piece was originally submitted for , a project dedicated to promoting diverse voices on food.
