‘Muscovites drank tea in the morning, at noon, and always at four o’clock. At this time in Moscow samovars were boiling in every house. Teahouses and taverns were full, and for a time, life would freeze. They drank it in the evening; they drank it when they felt sad; they drank it for no particular reason, ‘just because.’ They drank it with milk, lemon, jam, and most importantly — with pleasure, and the Muscovite loved tea that was strong, infused and hot, so that he could burn his lips. When ‘Moscow could be seen’ through the liquid tea, the Muscovite delicately refused and could not stand to drink it from the teapot… … But when he, having tipped the glass upside down, put the rest of the sugar on it and thanked it, it meant that tea drinking was over and no persuasion would help. During the tea drinking, the Muscovite watched closely as the tea was poured to him. If the glass was not poured to the top, the guest immediately asked to top it up so that life would be fuller. If the samovar, with its crackling coals, ‘sang songs, ” the superstitious Muscovite rejoiced: this is good. If, when the coals were burnt out, the samovar suddenly began to whistle for no apparent reason, the Muscovite would grab the lid in fright, cover the samovar with it, and start shaking. Having muffled the whistle in this way, the Muscovite was then in anxiety and expectation of all kinds of trouble for a long while. It was considered the worst omen if the samovar broke apart or came “unsoldered”. In this case, one must be sure to expect trouble.’