Buddhas, St. Francis, and Oliver at the Loma Vista Cafe

     The first day my friend Maren and I were in Big Sur, we decided to have breakfast at the Loma Vista Bakery and Restaurant, next to and associated with the Big Sur Garden Company. Walking through a gate, we found ourselves in an enchanted place. A sand pathway, meticulously raked into patterns, led past a large Buddha statue, laced with greenery and tiny flowers, peacefully contemplating a small pool with a gentle fountain; then past cactuses with big, white, odorous blossoms and other fragrant and colorful flowers to a rose-embowered cottage that was the cafe.

    Inside, a fresh-bread odor mingled with that of coffee and tomato-and-pepper frittata. The young man behind the counter was a golden-hued, Greek-god figure with seductive blue eyes, a fresh clean face with long cheekbones, and a ponytail of light brown hair. He wore a surfer tee-shirt, and he prepared my tea with a mysterious ritual that had me bewitched.

    Taking our breakfasts outside, Maren and I wandered through a honeysuckle arch into a courtyard with small tables and a farrago of exotic flowers, large pots, and sculptures of all cultures:

Buddhas next to Renaissance angels, Bacchus with his grapes, Nordic trolls rubbing elbows with St. Francis alongside a Mexican donkey. Egyptian figures guarded the entrance arch. Honeysuckle blew its sweet breath into the air. A black cat wandered through the garden, followed in a few minutes by a young, bearded, hippy-style gardener who chased the cat away and then explained with a grin that the cat wanted to make a kitty box from the sandy floor of the courtyard. He turned to watering his plants with such sunshine in his aura he seemed a figure of mythology himself, half troll, half St. Francis.

    Maren and I returned to Loma Vista every morning we were in Big Sur. The hippy St. Francis hugged me when I arrived. The Greek-god surfer performed the tea-making ritual. Finally, emboldened by familiarity, I entered the story. "What is your name?" I asked the young man of the tea ritual.

    "Oliver," he said. "What's yours?" When I said, "Diana," he said, "That's a good name. I have an aunt, whom I love dearly, with that name."

    "Where did you learn to make tea like this?" I asked.

    I should have known the answer would have a story. "From a Chinese man," he said, "an architect who studied teas. He learned to make espresso drinks while he was in this country, and he developed a similar way to prepare tea. I learned from him."

    And now, along with the enchantment of Loma Vista Bakery in Big Sur, I give to you from Oliver the tea-making ritual of the Chinese master:

    Half fill a tall glass with hot water. Loosely stuff a white tea bag with tea leaves—rooibos, yerba matte, black—any kind. Secure the envelope flap with a toothpick and drop the tea bag into the glass. Using a squeeze-bottle, scallop honey along the top inside of the glass in small swirls till you have completed the circle. Then—"This is the important part," Oliver said—take a long-handled spoon and draw the honey down the sides of the glass to the bottom, each time beginning with the swirl part of the scallop. Pour steamed milk into the glass, filling the vessel to the meniscus. The tea bag will rise to the top but be hidden by the thick white foam of the milk, leaving the toothpick to poke through like a mast. Finally, with your squeeze-bottle of honey, spiral a design atop the foam. Drink slowly, in a garden, in enchantment.

Next week: "Was This the Best Meal of My Life?"

Recipes from this post: Tea from the Chinese master (see above, last paragraph)