How I Learned to Cook with Tea, Thanks to My Grandma？
I never thought tea belonged anywhere else but in a cup.
Until one quiet afternoon, while thinking of my grandmother.
When I was a child, weekends at grandma’s house were always filled with comforting smells — simmering soup, fried eggs, and something else I couldn’t quite name. A warm, earthy aroma that lingered in her kitchen long after the meal was done.
Years later, while marinating chicken wings for a backyard BBQ, I remembered how she once casually said,
“A spoon of old tea leaves makes the meat less greasy.”
At the time, I didn’t pay much attention. Tea was for drinking. Period.
But that day, out of curiosity (and nostalgia), I opened a bag of black tea powder I’d been saving. I added a pinch to the marinade — just enough to see if it did anything.
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I grilled the wings as usual, expecting nothing.
Instead, I got the surprise of the day.
The tea added this subtle, fresh aroma that cut through the smokiness. The wings were lighter, brighter, and strangely addictive. One of my friends asked if I had used lemongrass or something “Asian.” I smiled and just said, “It’s tea.”
Since then, I’ve started experimenting.
Black tea with steak — rich and deep.
Green tea with chicken — clean and refreshing.
Even pu-erh with lamb — earthy and bold.
Now, whenever I cook with tea, it feels like a quiet tribute to my grandma — who somehow knew all along that tea isn’t just for drinking.
It’s for flavor, memory, and love.
