It’s not fancy. It’s not served in tall glass mugs with artful foam. It usually comes in small metal cups, clay kulhars, or scratched-up glasses with uneven rims. But it’s unforgettable. The warmth. The aroma. The tiny jolt of ginger. It stays with you.
I started drinking masala chai during my first trip to northern India, up in the mountains. I asked a vendor if he sold “instant masala chai in packets” — and he nearly fell over laughing. Rightly so. There’s no shortcut to proper chai. You don’t just open a sachet and hope for the best. It’s a drink that insists on your time, attention, and a bit of spice under your nails.
Later, a family I met in Manali taught me the basics. We sat on the floor. Someone grated ginger straight into a dented saucepan. Someone else crushed cardamom with the bottom of a glass. That was the first time I understood: masala chai isn’t just made — it’s passed down.
What’s in a cup of real masala chai?
There’s no single recipe. Every family has its version — more ginger here, less pepper there, a bit of fennel if it’s cold outside. But here’s a simple base to start with:
- ½ cup of water
- 1 cup of milk (whole milk works best)
- ½ teaspoon of strong black tea
- Sugar to taste — cane sugar if you can
- A small stick of cinnamon
- 2 whole cloves
- 1 crushed green cardamom pod
- ½ teaspoon of fresh ginger, grated
- ½ teaspoon of black pepper, roughly ground
Optional: a pinch of nutmeg or a sliver of star anise. Some even add basil or bay leaf. But don’t go overboard — this tea likes balance.
Brewing It Right
- Heat the water in a small saucepan. Add the spices and tea, and let them simmer gently.
- Add the milk and sugar. Stir once or twice — and keep an eye on it.
- Let it rise to a boil. Watch for that moment when the foam creeps up the sides. Just as it threatens to spill — take it off the heat.
- Strain into your favorite cup. Sip slowly, while it’s hot and fragrant.
I’ve bought ready-made masala chai blends before — sealed in pretty packaging, with words like authentic and handcrafted. But they sit on the shelf. Something’s always missing. The scent fades. The flavor flattens. Fresh spices, even just crushed a minute ago, make all the difference.
The beauty of making it at home is this: once you’ve done it a few times, your hands remember. And before you know it, a cold afternoon turns into something warm and grounding. You don’t even need a reason.
Just a little milk, a little spice, and ten minutes of your day.
