I used to think cold brew tea was cheating.
Not seriously, of course. But there was something about it that felt almost too easy. No kettle. No worrying about water temperature. No watching the clock while the leaves steep.
Just tea, cold water, and a little patience.
It seemed suspiciously effortless.
Then I actually started drinking it.
And, annoyingly, I liked it.
There is a certain attitude in tea culture that treats hot brewing as the more serious way to drink tea. I understand where that comes from. Hot water has been at the heart of tea preparation for centuries, and there is something wonderfully comforting about watching leaves open in a warm pot.
But does that mean cold brew is somehow less legitimate?
I don’t think so.
Cold brewing simply gives tea a different personality. Without hot water extracting everything so quickly, some teas can taste softer and more delicate. Floral notes can become gentler. Fruitier flavours can feel brighter. Even teas I find slightly sharp when brewed hot can become surprisingly pleasant when chilled.
And in Singapore, I have to admit, this makes a lot of sense.
There are days when the last thing I want is another steaming drink. When the weather is humid and the afternoon feels like it has been sitting under the sun for hours, a cold glass of tea sounds far more inviting.
Does that make me less of a tea lover?
I hope not.
I think we sometimes confuse tradition with rules. Just because something has been prepared one way for a long time does not mean every other method is wrong.
Tea has travelled across countries and cultures precisely because people have adapted it.
We add milk.
We add sugar.
We drink it with spices.
We serve it over ice.
We turn it into lattes.
Cold brewing feels like just another chapter in that long history of experimentation.
And honestly, there is something wonderfully low effort about it. You can prepare it in advance, put it in the fridge, and come back later to a drink that is ready when you are.
Maybe that is the part some tea purists dislike.
It does not look particularly impressive.
There is no elegant pouring technique. No beautiful cloud of steam. No elaborate ritual.
Just a bottle sitting quietly in the refrigerator.
But perhaps tea does not always need to look serious to be worth taking seriously.
I still love hot tea. I suspect I always will.
But I also love having a cold brew waiting for me on a hot afternoon.
So if someone tells me cold brew tea is lazy, I might agree with them.
It is easy.
It is convenient.
And it tastes good.
I am not sure why any of those things should be considered a problem.
— Maria Tan
On tea, culture, and everyday rituals.
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Why We Secretly Judge Tea Shops by Their Music
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The Best Everyday and Gift-Worthy Blends from Gryphon Tea Singapore
I have a small confession. For the longest time, I treated tea like a background character in my day. It was just the thing I gulped between meetings, barely tasting it. Then a friend handed me a proper cup one quiet afternoon, and I finally slowed down enough to notice the aroma, the warmth, the…
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We Talk Too Much About Tea and Not Enough About Drinking It
Tea culture has become remarkably good at talking about tea. We discuss origins. Elevation. Harvest seasons. Processing methods. Water temperatures. Brewing vessels. There are endless conversations about tea. And yet I sometimes wonder whether we spend enough time simply drinking it. This may sound like an odd criticism coming from someone who enjoys learning about…
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High Tea St Regis: A Grand Afternoon Ritual at Regis Singapore
The light in the late afternoon does something quiet to a room. It softens. It lingers on the rim of a porcelain cup in the elegant Tea Room, slides along the curve of a silver pot, and settles into the folds of a linen napkin without asking for attention. There is a stillness here, the…
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Why We Keep Looking for the Perfect Tea
I used to think there would be a moment when my tea journey felt complete. A tea so good that I would stop searching. A tea that would make every other tea feel unnecessary. Years later, I can confidently say that moment has never arrived. And I’m starting to think that’s the point. Tea drinkers…
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Darjeeling First Flush: Capturing the Himalayan Spring in a Teacup
I still remember the first time someone handed me a cup of Darjeeling First Flush, a prized form of black tea, and asked me, quite seriously, not to add milk. I almost laughed. Tea without milk felt like toast without butter. But I humored my friend, took a sip, and paused. The liquid was pale…
