An English traveller once journeying through Asiatic Russia
was obliged to claim the hospitality of a family of Buratsky
Arabs. At mealtime the mistress of the tent placed a large kettle
on the fire, wiped it carefully with a horse's tail, filled it with
water, threw in some coarse tea and a little salt. When this was
nearly boiled she stirred the mixture with a brass ladle until the
liquor became very brown, when she poured it into another
vessel. Cleaning the kettle as before, the woman set it again on
the fire to fry a paste of meal and fresh butter. Upon this she
poured the tea and some thick cream, stirred it, and after a time
the whole. Was taken off the fire and set aside to cool. Half-pint
mugs were handed around and the tea ladled into them: the
result, a pasty tea forming meat and drink, satisfying both
hunger and thirst.

M. Vambery says: "The picture of a newly encamped caravan in
the summer months, on the steppes of Central Asia, is a truly
interesting one. While the camels in the distance, but still in
sight, graze greedily, or crush the juicy thistles, the travellers,
even to the poorest among them, sit with their tea-cups in their
hands and eagerly sip the costly beverage. It is nothing more
than a greenish warm water, innocent of sugar, and often
decidedly turbid; still, human art has discovered no food,
invented no nectar, which is so grateful, so refreshing, in the
desert as this unpretending drink. I have still a vivid recollection
of its wonderful effects. As I sipped the first drops, a soft fire
filled my veins, a fire which enlivened without intoxicating. The
later draughts affected both heart and head; the eye became
peculiarly bright and began to glow. In such moments I felt an
indescribable rapture and sense of comfort. My companions
sunk in sleep; I could keep myself awake and dream with open
eyes!"

Tea is the national drink of Russia, and as indispensable an
ingredient of the table there as bread or meat. It is taken at all
hours of the day and night, and in all the griefs of the Russian
he flies to tea and vodka for mental refuge and consolation. Tea
is drunk out of tumblers in Russia. In the homes of the wealthy
these tumblers are held in silver holders like the sockets that
hold our soda-water glasses. These holders are decorated, of
course, with the Russian idea of art.

In every Russian town tea-houses flourish. In these public
resorts a large glass of tea with plenty of sugar