When I was in college, I lived on a food budget of about $16 per week and along the way developed a bit of an anemia problem, but beyond that I actually managed to drink generic tea. It was a horrible no-name brand and the teabags had no strings, though not in the eco-conscious way of today's stringless teabags but simply because these were teabags that were awful and completely no-frills. The tea itself tasted like whatever leaves might have fallen onto the Lipton factory floor along with maybe some sawdust and perhaps loose tobacco or rat droppings. It was harsh, it was nasty, and it left stains on the cup that I could never get out -- but it was also weirdly addictive. I drank cup after cup of that bad brew, especially around final exam and term paper time, and every December at what was once semester's end I get an odd craving for that nameless rock bottom-grade tea that I doubt they even serve in prisons. In fact, I doubt they even make it anymore and I think the FDA pulled it off the shelves in the late 90s, but to me it still has a strange association with independence and knowledge -- and whatever not killing me making me stronger.
Pictured: Tea Cups -- Juan Gris, 1914
