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It was a rite of passage for me, a maturing Southern child. I don’t recall the day I was promoted from a cup of milk to a tall glass of iced tea to go with my dinner, but it would have been a Sunday, the only day of the week that my grandmother fixed tea. It was sweet, of course, but she chunked the pitcher so full of lemons that it turned our tea as pulpy as fresh orange juice. I started paying attention to her tea-making ways when it became my job to fill our glasses with ice, gently so I wouldn’t chip the painted magnolia blossoms and swirling leaves.

The pitcher and the glasses. No one in my family ever owned a set of wine glasses, but by golly, we had all manner of iced tea paraphernalia. Even my mother, who favored instant Nestea stirred up with an equal measure of sugar, had more than one matching set of glasses and long-handled spoons. She held the belief that one should stir quietly to avoid any indecorous clinking on the glass. My aunt’s set included glass straws, ridiculously fragile things, but sipping through one felt like borrowing Cinderella’s slipper.

The sound of ice clinking in glasses like the Whitehall cubist goblets, made popular in the 1960s and ’70s, is almost as satisfying as the first sip. photograph by Tim Robison

I recently prowled through a fancy tag sale in Wake County that included an entire room devoted to vintage iced tea sets. The Whitehall cubist footed goblets in clear, avocado green, and harvest gold stopped me in my tracks, like marveling at stained glass windows in a hometown church. Everyone had a set of these when I was growing up. Seeing them swept me back to the kitchen tables of old neighbors and friends, their names returning easily, along with a few landline numbers.

It left me newly sentimental over how something as simple as drinking glasses elevates the enjoyment of iced tea. Then again, I contend that we can infer the specialness of dishes and drinks on a North Carolina table by whether they warrant dedicated serveware.

I still brew iced tea for myself, but I drink it from a quart Mason jar fitted with an adult version of a sippy cup lid. My car tea rides around in an insulated mug so voluminous that it ought to have wheels and a trailer hitch. Yes, I registered for tea stuff that time I got married back in the mid-’90s. It’s all, well, it’s somewhere.

I once made 32 batches of tea in one long day to suss out the best method.

My shoddy self-service belies my pickiness about the tea itself. I once made 32 batches of tea, all in one long day, with a single variable of difference to suss out the best method, for me at least. I like tea strong and dark enough that I can’t read through it. I compared brew times, brands, and sweetening and icing strategies. My biggest aha moment was adding a pinch of baking soda to combat cloudiness and bitterness. I believe I make good tea, yet high on my list of fantasy purchases should I win the lottery — my slim odds made even longer given that I never play the game — is to have a commercial tea machine installed in my dream kitchen.

I won’t risk iced tea in a restaurant that doesn’t understand an order for half-and-half. I recognize leftover stale tea on the first sip and judge harshly the places that run their tea through the coffee machine. It’s like being served a glass with someone else’s lipstick still on the rim.

In this era of countless beverages, including our blessed abundance of drive-through options for righteous iced tea, it’s among the few we still make at home. It’s inexpensive, easy to make, and somehow crosses cultural, religious, and economic lines. Tea has never been a viable large-scale North Carolina crop, but the heart of our iced tea is homegrown. I reckon I should hunt for my worthy glasses, pitchers, and those extra-long spoons. Come over. I’ll pour you some.

photograph by Tim Robison

Peach Tea Granita & Cream Parfaits

My favorite fruit to add to sweet tea is peaches. Making a granita transforms that fruity tea into icy crystals. Although it’s tempting to eat the granita straight from the freezer, one raked-up bite after another, it’s prettier to assemble these easy parfaits. The granita will begin to melt quickly, especially on a hot day, but rather than resist, just stir the layers together to make a refreshing slushy. I grab both a long-handled iced tea spoon and a straw before I tuck in, to make sure I don’t miss a drop. To amplify the fruit flavor, use peach-flavored black tea or begin with your favorite bottled peach tea.

Yield: 4 to 6 servings.

4 cups strong sweetened tea, chilled
1 cup peach nectar
½ cup whipping cream, chilled
2 tablespoons brown sugar
½ teaspoon vanilla extract
½ teaspoon almond extract
1 container (5 to 6 ounces) peach yogurt
2 ripe peaches, pitted and diced

In a shallow glass or metal dish, stir together the tea and peach nectar. Freeze for 2 hours. Break the mixture into clumps with a fork. Freeze for 2 hours more.

In a chilled glass or metal bowl, combine whipping cream, brown sugar, and vanilla and almond extracts. Using a hand mixer on high speed, beat to soft peaks. Add yogurt and beat to firm peaks. Use at once or cover and refrigerate for up to 2 hours.

To assemble, rake the surface of the frozen tea with a fork to form large, icy crystals of granita. Layer the granita, cream mixture, and peaches in tall glasses, and serve at once.