It wasn’t just a drink…
It was a ritual, a language, a Southern “welcome” poured into a cup, no matter where you were from. In my grandmother’s kitchen, sweet tea was a constant. The pot on the stove might change with the seasons—collards in winter, Red Beans and Rice at Christmas—but the pitcher in the fridge? Always there, always full, always ready.
My grandmother was from the South, so her tea was not “iced tea,” it was sweet tea. Brewed strong to the color of polished mahogany and sweetened until the spoon could stand up straight in the pitcher. We didn’t measure the sugar; we poured it like we meant it.
Sweet tea was served in whatever vessel was on hand—tall glass tumblers from a mismatched set sweating in the summer heat, a mason jar with a chipped rim, sometimes an off-brand red cup from the dollar store—the kind that showed up at every birthday party and cookout—cool to the touch and slightly soft if you held it too tightly.
In my family, sweet tea transcended borders and generations. It traveled with my grandmother from her Southern roots, to her apartment in Queens and followed us to the Bronx apartment where I grew up where 4C or Crystal Light was made for the kids to enjoy while Marvin Gaye played on the radio and the smell of fried chicken drifted from the kitchen.
The vessel was part of the story—a reflection of time and place. A glass on the table meant you were staying awhile. A cup handed to you at the door meant you were welcome, even if you just “stopped by for a minute.” In the South, a big handled jar might mean we’re spending time on the porch. In the Bronx, it meant we were sitting on a stoop, waving at neighbors passing by.
From the Source: Inspired by our roots
My new quarterly column, From the Source, was inspired by these kinds of drinks. The ones that were here long before “craft beverage” was something you could write in a business plan. Drinks that weren’t designed for Instagram but for company, for thirst, for connection.
This series is about tracing those beverages and recipes back to their roots, exploring what they meant to the people who made them, and reimagining them for the present while holding onto their original essence.
In each issue we’ll be connecting beverage, art, and culture by inviting the artists, creatives, and makers who inspire us to share their stories, their culture, and the ingredients that inform what they do. We’ll be crafting current-day drinks based on history and culture with memories of the past.
The lens is nonalcoholic, but that doesn’t mean it’s lacking complexity. There are stories, flavors, and depth to be shared in each sip.
The Story of Sweet Tea
The story of sweet tea is steeped in land, labor, and love. Its roots run deep in the South, but the tea leaf’s journey starts farther away. Cultivated in China, traded through Europe, and brought to the Americas by colonists and immigrants, the tea plant (Camellia sinensis) is grown in soils shaped by centuries of climate, geography, and care. The land imparts its character into every leaf, giving the tea a depth that no amount of sugar could ever replace. The work of harvesting and drying the tea leaves into their many forms is deliberate and skilled, often learned over lifetimes and passed down through generations. It’s the quiet, unseen effort that turns the raw plant into something worth savoring.
In the 19th century, tea was an expensive import, often served hot—or with ice, in the rare case ice was available—sweetened to taste with sugar or syrups. Sweet tea—brewed strong, sweetened heavily while still hot, and chilled over ice—became a regional signature of the American South in the early 20th century as ice production and refrigeration became more common.
The classic sweet tea is sunlight caught in liquid. Hold it up and you’ll see warm amber in the middle, gold at the edges. The taste is layered: tannic from the black tea, brightened with sweetness that softens the edges. Brewed right, and not too long, it’s smooth and deep, not bitter.
In many Southern households, it’s considered bad form not to have a pitcher ready if company stops by. Sweet tea is what you drink with fried chicken, at baby showers, after church, and on porches as the day cools. Sweet tea is Southern hospitality in a glass. It inspires connection.
The Story of Sweet Tea
The story of sweet tea is steeped in land, labor, and love. Its roots run deep in the South, but the tea leaf’s journey starts farther away. Cultivated in China, traded through Europe, and brought to the Americas by colonists and immigrants, the tea plant (Camellia sinensis) is grown in soils shaped by centuries of climate, geography, and care. The land imparts its character into every leaf, giving the tea a depth that no amount of sugar could ever replace. The work of harvesting and drying the tea leaves into their many forms is deliberate and skilled, often learned over lifetimes and passed down through generations. It’s the quiet, unseen effort that turns the raw plant into something worth savoring.
In the 19th century, tea was an expensive import, often served hot—or with ice, in the rare case ice was available—sweetened to taste with sugar or syrups. Sweet tea—brewed strong, sweetened heavily while still hot, and chilled over ice—became a regional signature of the American South in the early 20th century as ice production and refrigeration became more common.
The classic sweet tea is sunlight caught in liquid. Hold it up and you’ll see warm amber in the middle, gold at the edges. The taste is layered: tannic from the black tea, brightened with sweetness that softens the edges. Brewed right, and not too long, it’s smooth and deep, not bitter.
In many Southern households, it’s considered bad form not to have a pitcher ready if company stops by. Sweet tea is what you drink with fried chicken, at baby showers, after church, and on porches as the day cools. Sweet tea is Southern hospitality in a glass. It inspires connection.
Sweet Tea With A Twist
For our first From the Source recipe, we’re starting classic and simple: a recipe born of memory with a tiny twist. We’re making sweet tea exactly as my grandmother would have made it and adding a subtle whisper of peach and mango—a nod to both my grandmother’s southern roots and the tropical fruits in the bodegas of the Bronx that have inspired much of my work.
It’s more than a drink. It’s a bridge between the South that raised my grandmother and the Bronx that raised me. Every glass carries the patience, the warmth, and the rhythm of home.
Deep South To The Bronx
Getting a recipe this simple to taste like home requires attention to the tiny details. We use Lipton tea bags, the traditional choice in my family and in the American South. The steeping time? Seven minutes so the tea is strong but not bitter; The sugar? The right amount to make sweet tea live up to its name (although you can adjust to taste). This recipe is an ode to a memory.
Ingredients
8 cups water, divided
3 Lipton black tea bags
3 Lipton Peach Mango black tea bags
1 ½ cups sugar, or to taste
Method:
Bring 4 cups of water to a boil. Remove from heat, add tea bags, and steep for seven minutes.
Remove tea bags. Stir in sugar while tea is still hot. Add the remaining 4 cups of cold water. Chill completely.
Serve the tea in a tall glass filled with ice. Garnish with a mint sprig or a wedge of lemon for additional acidity.
Note: For a classic sweet tea without our South to the Bronx twist use six black tea bags.
The Closing Pour
Sweet tea has traveled from the front porches of the South to the stoops of the Bronx, carrying the same message: You are welcome here. ***
