In my mother’s family, a guest is asked if they’d fancy a cuppa. If no, no beverage is served. But if yes, a weak brew is made in a pot, poured into cups and served with milk. The milk is presented in an elegant little jug if you’re lucky, or out of its 2 litre bottle fresh from the refrigerator door if you’re ... really lucky?

Common visitor comments:

This tea is as weak as piss. Did you forget to put the tea leaves in the pot?

In my father’s family, as soon as a guest walks through the door, tea is served — whether they like it or not. It appears black, in a glass and pre-sugared using the following equation:

The greater the volume of sugar = The greater the love for the tea drinker.

(My aunty, who I love — and who is loved dearly by her family — has diabetes.)

Four dessertspoons of sugar in one glass is too much love for me. Once I asked my cousin if I may have teh tawar. I could see the idea physically pained her — what if word got out she served sugarless tea?!

Eventually she agreed — but proceeded to fill the glass with two heaped spoonfuls of the sweet granules.