Ah, rooibos tea, my dear friend and occasional lifesaver. I could draft an epic poem about you, but for now, let me limit myself to a chaotic and slightly humorous ramble through your history, your essence, and why you, dear rooibos, deserve more love than you get. The poem can come later when I decide how to write it.

To begin, let’s set the scene it’s South Africa, a place bursting with biodiversity, dramatic landscapes, and what I can only imagine were some very thirsty indigenous Khoisan people. These fine folks, who lived in the Cederberg region of the Western Cape, are the original discoverers of rooibos, long before any colonist or hipster decided it was trendy to drink something non-caffeinated. The Khoisan people, being the clever and resourceful lot they were, figured out that the Asphalathus linearis plant the botanical name for rooibos could be harvested, fermented, dried, and steeped into a lovely reddish-brown brew. And thus, the humble beginnings of a globally adored tea began.

Rooibos is Afrikaans for “red bush,” though if you knew what it looked like before it’s processed, you’d probably call it “meh bush.” It’s lanky, a bit scraggly, and quite unassuming. Not the kind of plant that screams, “Boil me! I’m delicious!” But appearances can be deceiving. When the Khoisan started brewing it, they didn’t just discover a pleasant drink; they tapped into its medicinal properties, using it for everything from stomach issues to soothing skin irritations. And let’s be honest, if your plant can multitask as medicine and tea, you’ve already won in the botanical Olympics.

But of course, as history tends to go, the Khoisan people’s achievements were largely overshadowed by European colonists making big dramatic entrances with their ships and flags. Enter the Dutch settlers of the 17th century, who poked their noses around the Cederberg region and decided to stick around. Rooibos was still a local secret back then, but the settlers were too busy obsessing over regular tea imported, expensive, and basically the 1600s equivalent of showing off your new iPhone.

Fast-forward to the 18th century, and rooibos starts peeking its way into more mainstream colonial culture. But it wasn’t until the early 20th century that things really got spicy. Enter Benjamin Ginsberg, a Russian immigrant and aspiring tea trader. Ginsberg took one look at rooibos, gave it a solid sniff, and said, “Why not?” He popularized it as a cheaper alternative to the imported black teas that were draining everyone’s wallets. Rooibos lovers today owe Ginsberg a solid thank-you for his marketing skills. The man knew a good thing when he saw it.

Now, here’s where things get even more charmingly chaotic: rooibos’ popularity skyrocketed during World War II. Why? Because importing tea from Asia became difficult, and people were desperate for their daily cuppa. Rooibos, the underdog, finally got its moment to shine. It became the tea of the people affordable, local, and shockingly delicious. If this were a rom-com, this would be the makeover montage where the nerdy underdog suddenly becomes prom royalty.

By this point, you might be wondering what makes rooibos so special. First, let’s talk taste. Rooibos has a naturally sweet, nutty flavor with hints of caramel and a whisper of earthiness like a warm hug in a cup. It’s caffeine-free, which means you can drink it at 2 a.m. without regretting your life choices. And it’s rich in antioxidants, which, according to health enthusiasts, is basically code for “drink this and feel superior.”

But the real magic lies in rooibos’ versatility. Feeling fancy? Add a bit of honey and a splash of milk. Feeling adventurous? Brew it with spices to make a rooibos chai. Feeling like you need to impress your guests? Use it as a base for cocktails rooibos martinis, anyone? It even finds its way into skincare products because apparently, your face deserves rooibos too.

Ah, but let’s talk about the art of brewing rooibos tea—because, my friends, it is an art. You don’t just toss the leaves into hot water and hope for the best. No, rooibos deserves a little more care, a touch more ceremony. First off, you need boiling water, and I mean boiling, not that lukewarm nonsense that barely steams. Rooibos is tough, robust, and unafraid of heat. It thrives in a rolling boil, where the water opens up its flavors like a symphony warming up before a concert.

I measure the leaves generously—about a teaspoon or more per cup. Rooibos isn’t the type to get bitter if you overdo it; in fact, it rewards you with richer, earthier notes. I pour that glorious boiling water over the leaves and let them steep. And here’s the secret: patience. Rooibos laughs in the face of those flimsy “steep for two minutes” recommendations. I let it sit for a good five to seven minutes, sometimes even longer if I’m feeling indulgent. The color deepens into a vibrant, almost jewel-like red, and the aroma? Absolute heaven. Sweet, nutty, and just a little smoky, like a campfire story told by your favorite relative.

Once it’s brewed to perfection, I strain it. Some purists prefer it as is, and I respect that, but me? I like to dress it up. A dollop of honey for sweetness, maybe a slice of lemon if I’m feeling zesty, or a splash of milk when I crave something creamy. Rooibos is a blank canvas, ready for your creative whims. And if I’m in the mood to channel my inner alchemist, I’ll add a pinch of cinnamon or a dash of vanilla. It’s like creating a potion, only this one keeps you cozy instead of turning you into a frog.

Now, the first sip that’s the moment of truth. It’s warm, soothing, and impossibly smooth, as if the tea itself is saying, “Relax, I’ve got you.” And the beauty of rooibos is that it stays delightful even as it cools. Hot, warm, or iced, it’s the tea that keeps on giving. I’d say brewing rooibos is less about following rules and more about crafting an experience, one cup at a time. It’s a small ritual, a pause in the chaos, a reminder that even in a busy world, you can always take a moment to steep and savor.

Historically speaking, rooibos hasn’t just stuck to being a beverage. It’s gone on to represent South African heritage on a global scale. In 2014, rooibos received the status of a geographical indication, which is basically the tea world’s version of getting a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. This means that only rooibos grown in the Cederberg region can officially be called rooibos, much like how champagne must come from Champagne, France. Fancy, right?

But rooibos hasn’t had an entirely smooth ride to fame. Its production is finicky; the plant only thrives in the unique soil and climate of the Cederberg region. Too much rain? Disaster. Not enough rain? Also, disaster. The farmers who grow rooibos are practically climate magicians, balancing the whims of nature to ensure we get our delicious tea.

And let’s not forget the legal drama! In the early 2000s, a company in the United States tried to trademark the word “rooibos,” which led to a big international kerfuffle. Imagine trying to trademark the name of a tea that’s been around for centuries! Thankfully, the trademark was nullified, and rooibos remained a free agent, much to everyone’s relief. Mine especially when I discovered this detail.

Today, rooibos enjoys global stardom. It’s loved in Europe, North America, Asia, and of course, its homeland, South Africa. You’ll find it in swanky cafes, grocery store shelves, and Instagram-worthy kitchens. It’s brewed hot, iced, spiced, and even infused in desserts. If rooibos were a person, it’d be that friend who’s inexplicably good at everything and still humble about it.

So, there you have it the history of rooibos, a tea that went from obscure bush in the Cederberg mountains to international superstar. It’s a tale of resilience, clever marketing, and a bit of luck. Rooibos isn’t just a drink; it’s a story steeped pun fully intended in history and culture. And if you ask me, it’s proof that even the scruffiest plant can change the world, one cup at a time.

Do you like rooibos tea? If so what flavor combination do you tend to enjoy?