An Unnecessarily Extensive and Exhaustively Pedantic Consideration of Constant Comment Tea

It is, perhaps, one of the lesser-recognized yet paradoxically omnipresent truths of the American grocery aisle that among the seemingly infinite variations of tea—black, green, oolong, white, herbal infusions, spiced blends, and flavored permutations thereof—there exists one particular brand, or more specifically one particular product line within one particular brand, which not only distinguishes itself by its organoleptic properties (that is, its capacity to excite the human senses of taste and smell), but also by the sheer audacity of its name. I refer, with intentional repetition, to Constant Comment®, a product of the Bigelow Tea Company, that long-standing purveyor of steepable infusions headquartered in the United States since its mid-twentieth-century founding.

Now, to begin even a cursory—let alone a gratuitously extended—discussion of Constant Comment, one must first pause to consider the name itself. "Constant Comment”: two words, each in its own right unremarkable, perhaps even mundane, but when juxtaposed and pressed together in typographical intimacy, they form a phrase that oscillates between metaphor and literalism. The implication is that this tea, upon being brewed, consumed, and shared, will provoke commentary—constant commentary, ongoing remarks, unceasing dialogue, chatter without respite. The humor, subtle though it may be, lies in the meta-textuality of it all: the tea is not merely to be consumed; it is to be discussed, and the discussion itself is branded into the product’s identity. Thus, to speak about Constant Comment at length is not simply an indulgence—it is, in a sense, a fulfillment of the tea’s destiny.

On the Origins of the Blend

Let us step backwards, historically and genealogically, into the annals of American tea culture. In 1945—note the year, situated at the cusp of postwar optimism yet still in the shadow of global conflict—Ruth Campbell Bigelow introduced to the marketplace a novel blend of tea that combined the traditional robustness of black tea leaves with an aromatic mélange of orange rind and sweet spices. The precise list of spices is, to this day, treated with a certain amount of corporate discretion; one may reasonably surmise cinnamon, cloves, and perhaps nutmeg are present, but the exact proportions are guarded with the kind of secrecy more often reserved for state intelligence dossiers or the formula of Coca-Cola. This origin story is important not only for historical accuracy but also for the ritualistic air it confers upon each cup brewed: to drink Constant Comment is to participate in a tradition nearly eight decades old, to align oneself with generations of tea drinkers who likewise wondered, "What, precisely, is in this blend?” while simultaneously realizing that not knowing is part of the mystique.

The Pedagogy of Packaging

Another topic deserving its own chapter, if not its own monograph, is the packaging of Constant Comment. Each tea bag is individually wrapped in a foil pouch, ostensibly to preserve freshness, but in practice also to elongate the ritual of preparation. Unlike the unwrapped tea bags of lesser brands, Constant Comment demands a preliminary step: the crinkling tear of foil, the small hiss of air as the seal is broken, the faint but unmistakable waft of orange-spice fragrance that escapes even before the bag touches water. Thus, each cup is not simply brewed but unveiled, as though one were unwrapping a tiny present, a micro-Christmas in the palm of one’s hand.

Brewing Instructions, or the Theatre of Steeping

Brewing Constant Comment is both straightforward and, if one wishes to be verbose (and I do), an elaborate theatre of hydration, infusion, and diffusion. The package typically recommends boiling water—specifically, bringing water to a rolling boil, a phrase which itself warrants lengthy consideration. What does it mean for water to "roll”? One may argue that the rolling is metaphorical, that it denotes a vigorous bubbling sufficient to indicate a temperature proximate to 100°C at sea level. Having achieved such rolling, one pours the water over the tea bag, which must be situated in a cup or mug of appropriate volume. Then comes the steeping—three to five minutes, according to the manufacturer. Less than three minutes risks insipidity; more than five minutes invites bitterness. And yet, each tea drinker negotiates these parameters with the seriousness of a philosopher deciding between rival schools of thought.

On Flavor and the Epistemology of Taste

Let us now dwell—at some length, unnecessarily but intentionally—on the flavor profile. Constant Comment is, at its base, a black tea, and thus carries with it the tannic structure and caffeination one associates with Camellia sinensis. Yet overlaying this structural foundation is a citrus note, courtesy of orange rind, and an aromatic top-layer of spice. The experience is thus both grounding and elevating, both earthy and ethereal. To say "it tastes like orange spice” is true, but woefully insufficient, in the same way that to describe Shakespeare’s Hamlet as "a play about a man who can’t make up his mind” is simultaneously accurate and a grotesque understatement.

The Social Dimension

One cannot ignore the sociological component. To serve Constant Comment to guests is to invite not only consumption but, as its name insists, discussion. "Ah,” the guest might remark, "this tea has a distinctive aroma.” And you, the host, may then recount—perhaps at unnecessary length—that it was first blended in 1945, that Ruth Campbell Bigelow crafted it in her kitchen, that it has been a flagship of the Bigelow line ever since. In so doing, you fulfill the prophecy of the name, for the comment becomes constant, and the constant becomes comment.

Redundancy as a Feature, Not a Bug

At this juncture, the reader may have noticed a tendency towards repetition. Let me acknowledge, therefore, with deliberate self-awareness, that the repetitive act of describing Constant Comment again and again, layering observation upon observation, is not merely a stylistic indulgence but rather a faithful performance of the tea’s essence. If one were to speak of it briefly, succinctly, with economy of words, one would, ironically, betray the product’s identity. To comment constantly is to comment redundantly, repetitively, and indeed pedantically.

Conclusion (Which Is Not Really a Conclusion)

In conclusion—though to conclude is antithetical to constancy—Constant Comment tea represents not merely a beverage but a linguistic paradox, a historical artifact, a sensory experience, and a social catalyst. To drink it is to steep not only leaves in water but oneself in discourse. Each sip begets a remark; each remark begets another sip. And so the cycle continues, without end, without silence, with constant comment.

drink it

Commentary.

Not comment tea.

We fought a war for this.