Storm in a teacup

As the humble teabag celebrates its centenary, Tom Bruce-Gardyne charts our changing attitude to the drink in which British life is steeped and finds a renaissance brewing in the world of fine teas

A few weeks ago, I had an amazing cup of tea. It is strange, perhaps, to notice something so prosaic: beyond it being warm and wet, there is not a great deal to say on the subject, or so I thought. But this cup—a floral, silky-textured Oolong tea from the foothills of the Himalayas—was as far from PG Tips as it's possible to get. Drinking it slowly at the bar of Postcard Teas, behind Oxford Street, felt good for the soul. The world outside, with its packed pavements and shops full of bleeping tills, faded with every sip.

Postcard Teas was set up three years ago by Tim d'Offay—son of gallery owner Anthony d'Offay—as a spin-off from East Teas, which he runs with Alex Fraser in Borough Market. With its wide assortment of single-estate teas and own blends, it is part of a new wave of London tea emporia that includes the Tea Palace in Notting Hill and Soho's Yauatcha. My favourite is TeaSmith in Spitalfields, which John Kennedy established with his Japanese wife Tomoko Kawase in 2006. It's a captivating experience to sit at the bar listening to Kennedy sharing his enthusiasm and knowledge as he prepares one brew after the next.

In most cases the teas can be bought by mail order, but having a shop where people can try different varieties before they buy makes all the difference. At Postcard Teas, d'Offay says, "People are usually knocked over by trying something new, and a long tasting-table means you can encourage them to try as many cups as possible."

With prices from £1.50 a cup, you can explore a whole new world of flavour, from Darjeeling's Monsoon Flush black tea right up to the rare, hand-picked Sparrow's Tongue green tea from Korea.

D'Offay scorns the romantic view of some, especially white, teas—"the idea they are from some mythical, wispy mountain, and are picked for the emperor by virgins wearing special gloves". Yet it all felt pretty exotic to me, and probably too niche for everyday life. It was like glimpsing a world that might have been, but for the complete dominance of the teabag, which celebrates its centenary this year.

This modern-day staple was pioneered by Thomas Sullivan, a New York merchant, as a means of sending samples: by mistakenly dunking the little hand—sewn silk muslin sacks in their pots, his customers created a whole new tea-drinking culture. The invention took a while to catch on in Britain and by 1968 still only accounted for three per cent of the market. Today 96 per cent of the tea we drink comes from teabags, which Kennedy believes are more removed from finely produced tea than instant coffee is from its ground counterpart.

"When people used loose-leaf tea, they had a relationship with it; they were creative and blended their own. Today it's as if they're frightened of the teapot," says d'Offay. "Hopefully, though, it will become like ground coffee, in that people will be too embarrassed not to offer loose-leaf tea."

Jane Pettigrew, a tea expert and author who co-hosts the United Kingdom Tea Council's popular masterclass, believes it is simply a matter of education. "The whole fast-food boom, where everything has got to be instant and available to drink whether you're walking, running or driving, has been detrimental to tea."

But the Tea Council's executive chairman, Bill Gorman, leaps to the little bag's defence. "As we moved into the 1960s, our changing lifestyles demanded a more efficient way of delivering a great-quality tea. I think the teabag saved the tea industry. The thought of brewing a pot of loose-leaf tea is not what most people want at seven in the morning when they're trying to get off to work."

As for our perceptions of tea, Gorman is critical of the way it was marketed in the 1970s and 1980s. The drink's image, he believes, was not allowed to evolve. While coffee produced "some wonderfully amusing, sexy and sophisticated advertising", tea seemed to be hung up on class. On one side were the cloth-capped Tetley Tea Folk busily counting their perforations. On the other was the aristocratic Earl Grey, led by Twinings. And somewhere in the middle, treating our national drink as a joke, were the PG Tips chimps. The fact that these ads have returned to our screens and billboards, albeit with a toy monkey and the comedian Johnny Vegas, suggests that the brand isn't very keen on an image change.

Because tea is quintessentially British, class was bound to feature from the start. The drink first became popular at court following the arrival in 1662 of the tea-sipping Catherine of Breganza, Charles II's wife. As shipments rose and prices fell, tea slowly permeated all sectors of society, attracting praise and condemnation in equal measure. Few were as fulsome as the playwright, Colley Cibber, in what sounds like an early Pepsi ad: "Tea! thou soft, thou sober, sage, and venerable liquid... thou female tongue-running, smile-smoothing, heart-opening, wink-tipping cordial, to whose glorious insipidity I owe the happiest moment of my life..."

Would he have felt so inspired after a cup of economy tea? Five or 10 years ago we were probably wary of seeming pretentious on the subject, but today the widening choice of varieties on offer in the supermarket, from builders' to speciality and herbal teas, suggests attitudes are changing. Pettigrew thinks the drink is acquiring "a younger, trendier image". Apparently Tesco has admitted it may have missed a trick, and believes the category could well blossom just like the wine boom of the 1980s.

"One of the challenges the tea industry faces is that people don't have the patience to let the bag brew in the mug for long enough. After 15 or 20 seconds, they want it out," says Gorman. For those making good-quality teabags, such as Twinings or Taylors of Harrogate, it must be frustrating that most of the carefully blended complexity and character is probably leaking into the bin or the sink rather than the mug. No wonder the top priority for the volume end of the tea trade is to give colour fast. If we have forgotten how to make the stuff properly at home, maybe we can re-learn in the tea shops and hotels.

Visiting Americans have long complained that their cherished vision of the English taking afternoon tea like the Queen is shattered on arrival. Well, not anymore. At least, not for those staying in the grandest hotels, where tea has become a new and highly valued cash crop. To meet demand, Afternoon Tea at the Ritz now starts in the morning and ends in the evening, while at Claridges you are wise to book six weeks in advance for a weekend slot (where you can also enjoy a tea-infused jam). Over at the Dorchester, the afternoon ritual is rumoured to bring in £250,000 a month—up from £60,000 two years ago.

Yet, as Gorman concedes, "In mainstream outlets, tea is being treated abysmally. For the café, tea is just tea." For serious aficionados, one solution is to choose an establishment with a Tea Guild sign in the window, which means it has been approved by the Tea Council's inspectors. Suppliers, meanwhile, always have the option of opening their own chain. This is what Taylors of Harrogate has done with its six Bettys Café Tea Rooms in Yorkshire. There are no plans for a national Starbucks-style roll-out, although according to the company's tea buyer Kate Roch, they get besieged with letters begging them to open in London or Scotland. "If people stock our tea we offer them free training," she says. "It includes everything about how to brew, prepare and store tea to make sure their customers get a better cup." This is exactly what the Italians do with their national drink, ensuring that just about any bar in Italy can serve a good espresso.

In January, Taylors' top-selling blend received an unexpected plug from Ozzy Osbourne. Sounding like an ageing hippy still hooked on Moroccan black, the US-based heavy-metal merchant confessed all to a Sunday Times reporter. "I f***ing love Yorkshire Gold. I've found a couple of English shops in LA, and I fill my cupboards with this stuff. I never thought I'd see the day when I'd be getting excited over a cup of f***ing tea." Whatever you think of his music—or his language—the man does have taste when it comes to tea.