I met the author of this book after a press event that involved Morimoto, the Hudson River, and a schooner. For some reason I became convinced her book was all about opium, and spent the whole night pestering her about inhaling research in China. Probably because I was drunk. The book's actually about tea, specifically Robert Fortune (real name), the Scotsman who stole the secrets for it from the Chinese, so that the British wouldn't be screwed if the Chinese legalized opium and quit accepting it as contraband payment for Camellia sinensis (tea).
I went to a kind of crappy rave in Expo Park, Dallas back in 2000 or so. Elliott Smith was randomly sitting in the corner with his record-company handler, an attractive funky-for-Dallas chick. My friend Jeff Biehler (above, in Maleveller), who at the time was kind of a giant Oklahoma glam-deathmetal cowboy, got really nervous and started talking about how much he admired Smith's guitar work. I told him to go talk to the guy. I mean, what was Elliott Smith going to do? He was tiny. We walked up, Jeff fumblingly expressed the admiration, Elliott Smith thanked him with a nervous sweetness, and then Jeff clammed up, also with a nervous sweetness.
Not knowing where to take the non-conversation, Jeff said, "They're selling opium upstairs. Do you want to go do some?" Elliot Smith tittered. His handler tittered. Apparently Elliott Smith was off the drugs at the time.
For some reason, I used to think opium made people do crazy shit like stabbing themselves in the heart. Probably because I've never done opium. I probably should.
And I should probably drink more tea. Fortune favors those who get their RDA of antioxidants.
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