Chai z Chebretsiu (чай з чебрецю, thyme infusion)

Dried chebrets looks like a handful of dusty twigs until hot water wakes it. Then the whole pot opens: bees, sun-baked grass, a little bitterness at the edge, the smell of rain hitting hot steppe soil. The color is modest, amber-gold, but the smell walks into the room before the cup does.

This is the tea you make when someone has a cough, when the day has been too long, when there is no money for drama and plenty of sense in the cupboard. My Aunt Nadia wrote only, "cover it, don't let the strength escape," and she was right. Thyme's volatile oils are the point, so you don't boil the herb like punishment. You pour hot water over it, cover the pot, and let the smell change from dry hay to honeyed resin.

Honey goes in after the cup cools a little, so it keeps its own voice. Lemon is a bit more modern and welcome if your throat wants it. Make a pot, not a lonely mug. There is no tradition of a small one.