A Spot of Tea

It started innocently enough: one day, with little else to do, I lugged all the loose change that I found around my room to the nearest Coinstar. To my wonder and slight embarrassment, I had managed to stow away $48 of nickels and pennies over the past few years. My next stop? To buy a Le Creuset Halo teakettle with my hard-earned coinage.

For quite some time, I've lusted after this model:It's so sad: during college, in lieu of a proper kettle, I would just zap a mug of cold tap water, throw a tea bag in it, and pray that it didn't taste of the spaghetti sauce that was crusted on the inside of my microwave. Late at night, instead of doing homework, I'd peruse the websites of Sur La Table and Chefs Catalog, pondering the color combinations of the Le Creuset line and weighing the pros and cons of a phenolic knob. Creepy? Yes.

And, I must admit, for the $55 pricetag, it's a very solid specimen. The model has an ombre effect, and I opted for the classic cobalt over the kiwi or cherry colors. It has a pitch-perfect whistle, and the cast iron enamel is so heavy and sturdy that, fingers-crossed, I don't expect its base to wear out and burn through any time soon.

Remember that children's book mantra, "If you give a mouse a cookie, it'll probably ask for some milk"? Well, my problem is, once I buy a kitchen gadget, I instantly need more to accompany it. Suddenly, everything in the kitchen seems a bit shabby in comparison to the shiny new objet du jour. So, soon after the Le Creuset came home with me, I began picking up loose leaf teas, stainless steel mesh infusers of varying sizes, tea caddies, sugar bowls, coasters, and a Sophie Conroy for Portmeirion teapot. All this in the span of two weeks. Next thing you know, I'll attempt to buy the Mad Hatter on the black market.

Even though it's 95 degrees in the shade, I've been brewing 6 cups of rooibos and organic darjeeling tea every day. I better start saving more quarters for all those scones and sticky toffee puddings...