Segment aired Sept. 20, 2014 as part of the “Dave’s Gone By” radio program hosted by Dave Lefkowitz.
Please Note: Segments extracted from “Dave’s Gone By” may have music and other elements removed for timing and media re-posting considerations. For the full interview with all elements, please visit the audio of the complete original broadcast.
All content (c)2014 TotalTheater Productions.
More information on Dave’s Gone By: http://www.davesgoneby.com
*
6.
A food writer is compiling a book about the best cups of tea from all over the world. He sends a first draft to his editor, who writes back, “Great job. You’ve been to India, China, Sri Lanka, Russia – but I notice you haven’t been to Australia. You need to go and report on this incredible tea I’ve heard about that’s only served in one tiny shop in the western outback. We can’t do a proper book without it. I’ll extend your deadline, just get there asap.”
So the writer books a plane ticket for Australia where he winds up taking two trains, three puddle-jumpers and a rickshaw before reaching a tiny village. Worried that he’s been sent on a wild goose chase, the writer asks a woman at the local market if she’s heard of this fabled tea shop. “Oh, of course! Best tea in the world.”
“What makes it so special?” asks the writer, grabbing his notebook.
“Well, the shop is owned by Johnny Murphy, this Irish fella who moved here thirty years ago and has been making tea ever since.”
“Fine, but what’s so great about the tea itself?”
“It’s not just the leaves; it’s what happens to them. They grow high on these gum trees. And the koala bears climb all over them and chew on them making them really tender. That’s why no other leaves have their flavor.”
Intrigued, the writer asks the woman for directions to Murphy’s Tea Shop. After a three-mile trek, he arrives at this little hut where a burley, deeply suntanned Irishman stands at the counter.
“A cup of tea, please,” the writer orders.
Murphy nods and sets a kettle on the stove. He then produces a small teacup and a wee bag of brown leaves. He pours two heaping spoonfuls of dry leaves into the cup, and, when the water boils, sloshes the hot water into the tea. “Here you go,” he says, handing the writer the cup and a plain napkin.
The writer looks into the cup but isn’t particularly enthused. Though the beverage smells okay, visually it looks like muddy brown water, with twigs and dirt and dead things floating about. “Whatsamatter?” says the Irishman. “Too strong for ya?”
“No,” says the writer, making a face. “It’s just so unfiltered. Why don’t you use a strainer?”
“Sir,” gasps the owner, affronted. “The Koala Tea of Murphy Cannot Be Strained!”
