Smoke Signals

I’m sitting here on a rainy Sunday night writing this, comforted by a nice cup of tea.  Not just any tea, but Lapsang Souchong, a black tea smoked over Chinese pines during the drying process.  Mr. Nick Foulkes wrote about Horace Walpole’s coining the term “gloomth” on Swellboy not too long ago, but for my money while Walpole may have coined the term it’s Thomas de Quincey who epitomizes the feeling in Confessions of an English Opium Eater. As his description of the joys of opium comes to a close, de Quincey digresses for a moment and rhapsodizes on the merits of a warming cup of tea in a dimly-lit room on a cold winter night – then he does some more opium.  Narcotics aside, I don’t think it gets much better than that.

I’m not a frequent cigar smoker, and I find I like things flavored with smoke more than the taste of smoke itself.  One of my favorite feelings is being warm and cozy when it’s wet and freezing outside, and nothing does that for me like smokey food and drink.  That savory, salty, vegetal kick really warms me from the inside, and since I don’t have a fireplace in my apartment, it’s about as close as I can get.  Whether it’s a cup of lapsang, a glass of peaty whisky, or even a great smoked beer, I crave that smokey goodness more and more as the temperatures plummet.  Bring on the gloomth.