The Great Tea Heist, 1848

The year is 1848. Robert Fortune is disguised as a Chinese merchant, sneaking through Wuyi Mountain with stolen tea plants sewn into the lining of his coat. The entire British Empire runs on tea it can't grow. He's about to change that. This is either the greatest heist in agricultural history or the greatest crime. Depends who's telling it.

Ancient Yunnan, 1st Grade. This is the tea that started it all — the original, from the province where tea was born. It tastes like earth and smoke and time, like drinking something that's been waiting for you longer than you've been alive.

Pu-erh, Three-Year Vintage. Fermented, aged, the tea that gets better the longer you ignore it. It cuts through fat like it has a grudge — the Chinese have been drinking it after heavy meals for centuries. Precious Eyebrow, rolled tight, unfurling in hot water like a secret being told. Pai Mu Tan, white tea, delicate as paper, the opposite of everything else on this table and somehow the thing that ties it together.

The food is the other half. Red-braised pork with Star Anise and Vietnamese Saigon Cinnamon — sweet, sticky, falling apart. Chinese Five Spice on roasted duck, lacquered and crackling.

Seven products. One table. The kind of meal the British Empire stole a plant to have alongside.