Pot of Tea or Tea of Pot?

The story you’re about to read is true. Only the names have been changed to protect the ignorant. Though I guess if that’s the case, I should’ve changed our names, too.

Because of our religious beliefs, Ruyman and I aren’t tea drinkers. I, however, am a huge fan of herbal tea, which is okay for us to drink. Here, the word for herbal tea is infusion, which refers to any of various herbs soaked in water.

Last night, Ruyman and I went with Peggy and Susan to the house of Arthur, who’s been a longtime family friend. Arthur has a huge house filled with antiques, artwork, and a three-legged dog. We went there for dinner. After a very filling meal, Arthur offered us herbal tea - an infusion de maria.

The last time we were in Tenerife, we visited a different friend who had a very healthy maria plant. It was lush, green, and sported vaguely familiar leaves. Being a public school teacher endows you with some uncommon knowledge, so I immediately recognized the plant. Maria was a nickname for marijuana.

When Arthur offered us the tea, we recognized the name. Peggy and Susan, two people we know and trust, convinced us that Arthur was really joking and that the tea wasn’t marijuana. It was just an herbal infusion to help you relax, like chamomile. Arthur even took us to the garage where he’d dried the herbs himself. (Since chamomile is considered a weed here, the garage full of drying plants wasn’t that unusual). The herbs neither looked nor smelled like pot, so we agreed to try the tea.

Ruyman got the first cup. He’s one of those tea drinkers who loads his tea with milk and honey to the point where you can barely taste the original flavor. Despite him putting in an unhealthy amount of both, he still grimaced at the tea’s strong flavor. He passed the cup over for me to try. I sipped and was overpowered by the taste of honey and hay. It was a little like the grass-flavored Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Bean. “Strange,” I said.

I like my tea straight up, so Arthur plunked the steeper in my mug and I waited for the water to cool. Ruyman was still asking the name of what was in the tea, since it was a flavor he didn’t recognize. Arthur continued to assert that it was maria, even though Peggy still insisted that it wasn’t. Then Arthur said, “Well, it does have another name.” “What’s that?” Ruyman asked. “Cannibus.” 

Back in high school, I had a friend who stayed with us for a week while her parents took their best crop of weed to Amsterdam for judging at the Cannibus Cup. I instantly recognized the word. “Honey, it’s marijuana,” I said. “Seriously?” asked Ruyman. “Yeah. Don’t drink any more.” 

Though I’d only had the one sip of Ruyman’s tea, by this time Ruyman was already near the bottom of the cup. He turned to Peggy and Susan. “I thought you said this wasn’t marijuana!” 

“Well, it’s not a drug when it’s in tea,” they replied. “You can only get high if you smoke it and we never do that.” Arthur went on to say how he used it as an ingredient in cakes and it improved the taste so much people couldn’t stop eating them. It was just like cooking with wine; the drug part cooked out.

I’ve heard enough about magic brownies with extra “sugar” to know that mary jane is perfectly potent despite being cooked and I tried to say so. Peggy, Susan, and Arthur just laughed and  made a joke out of it for the rest of the night. There wasn’t anything I could say, so I just smiled as the three of them complained of unexpected hunger and then polished off a pound of cheese, two bags of potato chips, a bag of figs, a loaf of bread, and two jugs of juice. Munchies, anyone?

On the way home, Ruyman remarked that he did feel more relaxed, but he didn’t like the accompanying dizziness. In fact, he was calmly upset that his friends had duped him into trying dope. We should've just said no, gosh darn it.