Some time ago I shared my old nettle chai recipe with you. And really, it's good. So good.

But since that time I have continued to tweak and refine the recipe, week after week.

Like so many things, cooking – and yes, simply making tea – is a living process around here. And where that recipe is at now – well, that old version just can't hold a candle to it.

So I jotted down my latest recipe for you. The changes are minor – just four new ingredients. But to drink it is to love it. As in seriously obsessively love it.

It's crazy good.

This newest incarnation of chai is spicy and sassy and sweet and amazing.

And caffeine-free to boot without feeling like something was forgotten. I loved the nettle version I shared with you before, but it always felt just a little too thin to me. I knew the black tea wasn't there. But this version? You won't even miss it.

That being said, you can also throw in up to six black tea bags to make yours with a caffienated kick. If I'm jonsing for caffeine I'll often make the whole pot without, then add a single tea bag to my cup. Then the kids can enjoy from the pot and I can have a little jolt at the same time.

What is different from last recipe?

Here are the four magical tweaks:

1. Rooibos

When I cut out the black tea I really missed the dark richness that it gave. The mouth feel of black tea. And no matter what I added I just couldn't reproduce that. Until I tried rooibos. Rooibos is herbal but has the dark richness and thicker mojo of black tea, without the cranky jitters.

2. Star anise

Lupine would tell you it's cute (always helpful in a spice) and she's working on hot gluing one she swiped from my spice cabinet to a barrette. I'm more interested in the smooth, floral edge it lends. Of all four tweaks this is the most subtle, so if you are out of star anise charge forth without it. I add one to a large pot of chai.

3. Chili powder

Holymoses. I don't know what compelled me to first put chili powder in my tea. (Truly. I have absolutely. No. Idea.)

But since the first morning I did I don't think I've skipped a day. It's surreal how transcendentally good even a humble cup of black or red tea is with a pinch of chili powder. (My standard morning tea is now a cup of black tea with a pinch of ground ginger and a pinch of chili powder.)

And in chai? It's spicy heaven. If you are terrified of spice start slowly but if you are feeling brave add a decent pinch. Good morning!

It's freaking fantastic I tell you.

Do be sure your chili powder is just ground chilies. We don't want salt or funny chili seasoning blend in our tea.

4. Coconut sugar

Oh, coconut sugar. Where have you been all my life?

We long ago gave up refined sugar of all types. (Except that type in that hidden pint of ice cream in the back of the freezer. Shhhh…) When we began to eat more Paleo foods we discovered coconut sugar in lots of recipes.

And unlike agave's tarnished reputation and recent fall from hippie food glory, coconut sugar is clean. We reach for it often because it doesn't jack your blood sugar. (A good thing for lots of health reasons. Please don't bring up that ice cream.) It's also easy on your gut and has a more subtle flavor than honey, maple, or stevia in recipes. 

But enough chatter. Let's get on to the recipe, shall we?

Are you ready? Because if you are, know that you'll want this every day. Consider yourself warned.

Rooibos-Nettle Chai

2 tsp Cardamon seeds or 2 T cardamon pods (ideally crushed with a mortar and pestle but whole works okay too if your lack of a spice grinder would stop you)

1/2 tsp whole peppercorns

Scant 1/2 tsp cloves

1" x 2" piece of fresh ginger, sliced thin or smashed with the butt end of a knife handle (or substitute 1 scant tsp dried ginger)

1 star anise

1-2 cinnamon sticks or 1 Tb cinnamon bark chips

1/4 tsp chili powder or 1 small whole dried chile

1/2 cup dried nettle

1/3 cup raspberry leaf

1/4 cup rooibos tea

coconut sugar to taste (1-3 tsp per cup, approximately)

milk of your choice (I use raw cow milk but it's outstanding with homemade coconut-almond milk as well.)

Bring 6 cups water to a boil with the spices. Cover and simmer for 5 to 25 minutes, depending on how spicy you like your chai.

Add nettle, raspberry leaf, and rooibos. (Note: While both nettle and raspberry leaf are safe, healthful herbs, nettle can be a bit drying to your system. In the winter feel free to leave it out if you are feeling dry. I add it because I appreciate the minerals. Listen to your body on this one if you drink it often.)

Remove from heat and steep covered for 15 minutes. 

Strain out and compost your herbs. (Or if you simmered your spices for a shorter amount of time, strain out the first batch of chai, then add 4 cups of water to the herbs, simmer covered for 10 minutes, and then remove from heat. Let it steep all day. You'll have a second batch of chai that's almost as good as the first for no additional effort.)

Transfer your chai infusion to a glass jar and store in the fridge for up to a week.

To drink, combine 3 parts chai with 2 parts milk or whatever proportions your palate dictates. Warm and sweeten with coconut sugar to taste (also lovely is half coconut sugar and half honey, or just honey if you don't have coconut sugar on hand).

Drink and enjoy, and wonder how you ever lived a day without this chai.

Love,
Rachel

P.S. Did you know that chai means tea? So if you call your chai "chai tea" you are referring to it as "tea tea". I have few pet peeves. But this is one.

P.P.S. Thank you to my long time sister-friend Ami and her mom for starting this unrelenting chai obsession of mine. I love you. And your chai tea.

P.P.P.S. Thank you for embracing yesterday's tender parenting post. You understand. xo

Oh, mercy. Just one more. My nettle mug is from here. Because you might just need one, too.

The garden is brimming with kale.

Kale.

Our favorite green.

Kale.

Whom we crave and eat all through the year.

Kale.

That we (guiltily) buy from California in February long after our freezer stockpile has run out.

Oh, kale. How we love you.

So I planted twice as much this season as I did last year in hopes of a stash in the freezer to last us through until spring. Recently I looked into the garden and couldn't believe how much kale there was. Despite the aggressive and enclosing weeds, there was serious kale happening out there. A few good rains and the plants (as one friend put it about her own crop) had "turned into palm trees".

So Lupine – my faithful garden helper – and I headed out with our harvest baskets.

We picked kale until we couldn't carry any more, than brought it inside to process.

Kale is pretty straight forward to put by, like any sturdy cooking green.

Quite simply: Rinse. (If you care to. Which I don't.) Stem (As in cut out the tough rib down the center). Chop. Blanch. Chill (with a dip in some ice water). Drain. Bag or jar up. And freeze.

That's all there is to it.

And armload after armload of kale was transformed into a (rather small) armload of bagged kale headed to the freezer. Greens are funny that way, aren't they?

Regardless, it's (good, nourishing, homegrown, affordable) food for winter. With more to come in long after the first frosts.

Food for the winter.

It's stocking up.

Yesterday I did not cry over spilled milk.

Or spilled cream.

Come to think of it, I did not cry over the spilled yogurt, salt, vinegar, bone broth, or tea that also found their way onto my once clean counters, floor, and the inside of our refrigerator yesterday. (Those spills I handled with varying degrees of grace.)

I did, however, cry over the spoonful of ghee that spilled directly into my pickling brine. The brine that I made from the very last of my apple cider vinegar.

Poor kid. He was just trying to make quesidillas. It was simply poor planning that his path with the dripping spoon when directly over my simmering pot.

I had to leave the kitchen.

I threw myself face down on my bed and shed a few tears, then collected myself and returned to start the brine again (with the white vinegar I keep on hand for cleaning).

But really I wasn't crying over spilled ghee as much ans I was crying over the overwhelming size of the bushel of green beans in my kitchen (a full sized cooler filled right to the top) and the shadow of a second bushel looming on the front porch. 

So I had a little cry and got back in the game canning pound after pound of dilly beans and wasabi beans for the fall and winter.

I was overwhelmed.

And could have used a little perspective. My friend Mary for example cans thousands – literally tens of thousands – of quarts of food each summer. She showed me her pantry once and I was speechless.

She is feeding herself, her husband, and their seven boys. Mary is Amish and therefore she does this work without electricity over a woodstove in their kitchen – regardless of the temperature outside. She washes her thousands of jars without consistently running water and does her clean up by heating water on the woodstove.

(As an aside she once referred to herself as "lazy" to me in conversation because of a modest shortcut she takes when canning pickles. I almost fell off my chair.)

Mary's family survives on the food she puts by. Canned produce, root cellar veggies, pantry staples, and dairy from their cows feeds them all winter.

So how can I complain about a little work with a box of beans yesterday?

But hard work is hard work, regardless of who's doing more. When I forget about the work my friend does for a moment, canning almost 30 pounds of beans is serious. Heck, canning 30 pounds of anything is a big deal.

But unlike my friend I have a chest freezer. A refrigerator. Air conditioning. I've got a pretty cushy life here. I don't need canned beans in my pantry for the survival of my family.

Dilly beans won't save us if things start to fall apart.

And on days like yesterday when I feel overwhelmed by the choices I have made I wonder: why am I doing this?

Because when I am not in my flow canning the abundance of the season feels a lot like whacking my head against the counter.

But then it happens.

The jars begin to line up in long steaming rows on the towel.

And all of a sudden I can measure my success. The cooler of beans begins to empty and the counter of jars begins to fill.

And in that moment I remembered why I was doing this.

Because I can. (No pun intended.)

Because my hard work now feeds us – in part at least – throughout the year.

Because I would rather eat one jar of homemade dilly beans that 100 jars of store bought. Because these beans have soul.

Because I planted seeds and harvested fruit (or in this case connected with a farmer doing that work, the hardworking friend mentioned above in fact) and made brine and packed jars and put food by. To feed my family all through the year.

And there is something deeply satisfying in that work. At least when I shake off the overwhelmed sensation and connect with the spiritual side of my efforts.

Because be it one jar or ten thousand, putting food by feeds more than just our bodies. It's big work, but it's important work as well.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

In closing, this may be my favorite photo from the day.

The tidy and photogenic jar on the right was in the first round that went into the canner. The wild and messy jar on the left was in the fourth round. The jar on the left was filled when I reached the "Dear God, just let this be done!" phase of the project.

They'll both taste amazing, but filling that jar on the left took 1/10 the time. I think Mary would go for the messy jar, yet judge herself and being "lazy".

As for me, I'm not lazy. I'm wisely budgeting my energy.

Aesthetics be damned! The beans are done.

Hallelujah!

Love,

Rachel