Zavarka is usually prepared in a teapot ("chainik" in Russian) made of some sort of ceramic or glass. In either case, the inside has to be hot at the moment you put the leaves therein. Usually, this is achieved by steaming (on the inside), but rinsing with hot water does the job equally well. Russians disagree as to whether the pot should be wet or dry. The followers of the latter opinion wipe it dry with a cloth or a napkin after steaming. In my experience, it makes no difference. Hence, I stick to the minimum-effort approach and leave it wet.
Once you put the leaves into the pot, close it, and let them warm up and release some of the volatiles. It is essential that you keep the pot closed at this time; otherwise, you risk losing aroma. After 5 to 10 seconds, you should pour hot, boiled water onto the leaves, and close the pot again. When all the leaves sink, the zavarka is ready.
It is strongly recommended that you keep the chainik warm by covering it with a cloth, a knitted cap, or the skirt of a special doll ("baba"), which is the traditional Russian way. Warming the chainik with steam is allowed, but never boil the zavarka inside. Warming after it has cooled down is meaningless. Either keep it warm, or let it cool down. Once it has cooled, you best leave it that way.
The canonical chainik has a circular bottom and a circular top
hatch. Moreover, these two circles are of identical diameter (8 centimeters),
so that they fit into the crown of a standard (GOST 7400-75
) samovar.
Cheap chainiks are available in the Chinese markets.
If you have to make tea for a crowd -- say, at a LUG meeting -- regular chainiks can prove to be too small. In this case, bigger teapots of glass or metal can be utilized.
In any case, you might want to filter out the tea leaves, since they are claimed to cause cancer (like everything else in this world) if swallowed directly. Russians use a special hemispheric metallic net for this purpose ("sitechko"), which is hung from the spout of the pot.
In case of emergency -- say, if your chainik has broken into a thousand pieces -- zavarka can be brewed in an ordinary mug. This procedure, however, requires skill and care. First off, you'd have to find some way to cover the mug in order to preserve the aroma. Secondly, pouring the right amount of zavarka out of an ordinary mug without a spout is a task very far from trivial. You have been warned.
Let us begin with the etymology and the morphology of the word. The Russian prefix "samo-" is somewhat similar to Latin "auto-" and English "self-". The second part of words beginning with the "samo-" prefix usually derives from a verb. Thus, "samolet" (literally: flies by itself) means aircraft, "samokat" (literally: rolls by itself) means roller, and "samogon" (literally: self-distilled) means illegal whiskey. The "-var" part derives from a verb meaning both brewing and cooking. Therefore, the proper literal translation of "samovar" would be "autobrewer" -- a device that brews tea automagically.
However, samovars are not fool-proof, self-reliant devices; they require care and attention, which they pay off with years and decades (if not centuries) of reliable and faithful service. Furthermore, we never brew anything inside the samovar, although it is true that the samovar might serve as the only source of energy in the entire process of tea-making. All steps of Russian tea-making with a samovar involve some operation with this truly wonderful machine. Therefore, its central role is unquestionable.
In short, samovars are fit for the following tasks:
In a broad sense, all utensils capable of the above operations could be samovars, though in general, we call so only those consisting of a brass boiler with a faucet near its bottom, steam-holes and a teapot socket at its top, and some heating device inside.
At this point, I would like to emphasize that the samovar is not just an ordinary item in the household, but also a hallmark of the Russian way of life and hospitality.
When Americans were busy dumping tea into the dark waters of Boston harbor (late eighteenth century), a Russian gunsmith, Fedor Lisitsin, set up a small workshop south of Moscow, in the city of Tula, the heart of the Russian defense industry. Lisitsin and his two sons were laboring in their time free from making arms and ammunition for Mother Russia on a rather unusual device, which had been hitherto handcrafted by individual craftsmen in the Ural region solely for personal use: the charcoal-burning samovar.
Lisitsin's workshop was the first to produce samovars industrially and had tremendous success. Due to the blessed lack of IP law enforcement in Russia, which endures to our days, competing samovar-factories sprang up in Tula like mushrooms after the rain. By the thirties of the nineteenth century, Tula established itself as the capital of Samovar-making.
During the nineteenth century, samovars gained increasing popularity in major cities, such as St. Petersburg and Moscow, and became inseparably bound to the Russian way of life. Classics of Russian literature, like Pushkin, Gogol and Chekhov, regularly mention samovars in their works. Anton Pavlovich Chekhov has even coined an idiom, which stands for an utterly wasteful effort: to take one's own samovar to Tula. This phrase is still understood and occasionally used by most Russians (even on Linux-related mailing lists). You know, it's like writing a new C compiler for your project, instead of using GCC.
In the second half of the nineteenth century, samovar manufacturing took root in Moscow, St. Petersburg and some industrialized parts of Siberia and the Ural region. However, Tula retained its leading and standard-setting role in this trade. By that time, four shapes of samovars became traditional: cylindric, egg-like, spherical and the most beautiful of them all, those resembling the ancient Greek vase called crater.
The beginning of the twentieth century has been marked with various attempts at innovation. The traditional heating method has been challenged by gasoline, petroleum, kerosene, gas, and other means of heating at that time. However, these models proved unpopular, due to the repugnant odor of the fuels and the dangers of inflammation and explosion.
Railroad companies in Russia recognized the practicality and popularity of samovars and fitted long-distance sleeping cars with them. Luxurious cars of the Trans-Siberian railroad were first to adopt this custom. Today, all sleeping cars from second class up are equipped with a samovar at the end of the hallway, next to the conductor's closet. Just in case you need some hot water during your journey...
During World War I and the subsequent turmoil of revolutions and civil war, the design and the production technology of samovars were largely simplified and made fit for the military. It was during that time that huge samovars holding dozens of liters of water became common. Roughly welded cylindric samovars devoid of decoration are characteristic of the period.
The late twenties and early thirties saw Stalinist collectivization and industrialization. Small samovar-making workshops were integrated into vast factories or disbanded. Quantity took priority over quality. However, it was during this period that the largest samovar-manufacturer of the Soviet Union, the "Shtamp" company, was founded. In Tula, of course.
During World War II, factories of the defense industry -- and samovars have always been byproducts of military production -- were moved from the European part of the Soviet Union to behind the Ural mountain range, out of the reach of fascist intruders. Thus, skillful samovar-manufacturers and essential equipment were saved, despite the Nazi occupation of Tula.
The fifties and sixties brought significant changes. Ground-breaking technologies provided mankind with wondrous inventions: space travel, nuclear powerplants, supersonic jets, and the nickel-plated electric samovar.
The hitherto undisputed reign of the charcoal-burning samovar came to an end. The gentle flavor of smoke proved to be insufficient in the face of such benefits as the ease of use and convenience, reduced tea-brewing time and the ease of cleaning, let alone the longevity provided by the nickel-plating that protects brass from corrosion. Catering facilities and households embraced the new technology swiftly; Only the railroads remained faithful to the smoky, charcoal-fueled, traditional samovar.
The period of Brezhnevian stagnation did not leave any marks on the samovar. In fact, only the Olympic games of 1980, during which an incredible amount of samovars were sold to visitors from abroad affected the samovar: it gained international recognition and became a symbol of Russia.
While the samovars on the railroads resisted electrification, the other prerequisite of communism postulated by V. I. Lenin, ceased to exist in the nineties: the soviet power. The second dawn of capitalism in Russia brought the samovar industry back to its original shape. Recent spin-offs of the Shtamp corporation are competing for their share of the samovar-market with newly founded businesses.
A Tula company, no matter whether it produces radars, guns, refrigerators or armored vehicles, must have a samovar workshop. Thus, if you're seeking venture capital to start an ISP or a software development company in Tula, don't forget to mention samovar manufacturing in your business plan.
What does the future of samovars look like? Will the twenty-first century bring internet-enabled computer-controlled samovars that guide us through the tea-brewing process in the language of our choice? Certainly not. Two engineering principles, often overlooked by western engineers, became second nature to their Russian colleagues due to the stormy history of Russia and the constant need for working, mission-critical technology in extreme or downright hostile environments. First, we keep things as simple as possible: "the more complicated, the sooner dead" as the proverb goes. Second, one must not fix what works. During the above outlined process of evolution, the samovar achieved technical perfection: nothing to add, nothing to take away. Like a good UNIX utility, it serves one purpose, and serves it well.
The parts of the samovar beginning from the bottom up are as follows:
Rather than enumerating all the parts of the electric samovar, we just highlight the differences from its smoke-puffing predecessor.
The first -- and most important -- difference is the look and the purpose of the thicker part of the neck: instead of ventholes, you'd find one big electric socket on its perimeter; In the place of the empty ventilation chamber of the charcoal-burner, the electric samovar has a packed electric compartment.
The most apparent difference, however, is arguably the lack of the characteristic tube. A huge spiral of an electric immersion heater is what occupies the tube's place.
Inside the ventilation chamber, which you can access by unscrewing the nut at the bottom of the samovar, you will find the connections of the heating coil. The coil itself is insulated from the spiral's body (and thus the samovar itself) by a set of ceramic rings. The coil with the white insulator rings resembles the backbone of some fish, if you pull it out of the heater.
In order to unscrew the nut (with a metric M6 thread, in most cases) at the bottom, you will need a metric wrench (usually a 10mm one). The one used for your bike or your car would do. Do not apply your swiss army knife, though. The refined Swiss tool is just not appropriate for the rugged Russian machinery.
The last important distinguishing feature of the electric samovar is the position of the steaming holes; The lack of the tube allows for a more convenient place right at the center of the kamforka.
Some samovars have a special floating device near the heater, which turns the latter off, if the water in the tank does not engulf the spiral entirely. This design, however, did not prove very popular, since it has an additional moving part, which, in turn, constitutes yet another point of failure. Thus, it caused more problems than it solved, so Russians chose to look after the simpler samovars. Generally, Russian technology assumes dumb machines and smart humans, not the other way around.
Don't complain about the missing switch -- just pull the plug, if you want to turn the heating off; the only moving part in a samovar should be the valve of the faucet.
Charcoal-burning samovars are strictly outdoor equipment. Even today you can encounter them at rural garden-parties in remote, cozy dachas, where laptop computers run on batteries and the only access to the Internet is a satellite link.
The first thing to do with a samovar is to clean it thoroughly and fill it up with water through its open hatch. A samovar shining bright in the sunlight is a sign of hospitality and good manners of the party's host.
Now, it is time to load the device with fuel. Instead of charcoal, Russians often use dry pine-cones. Cones add a hint of resin's flavor to the tea, which is especially precious to hardware hackers, the Knights of the Soldering Iron.
No matter whether you use charcoal or pine-cones, you've got to ignite the fuel somehow. The traditional way is to use pieces of bark from a birch-tree. In the soviet era, we used Pravda, the newspaper of the Communist Party. Proprietary software licenses work just as well.
As soon as the igniting substance and smaller pieces of the fuel catch fire, you need to pump on the upper end of the tube, in order to help the fire burn. The canonical pumping device is a Russian infantry boot. Finally, attach the chimney extension and wait until the water boils.
Controlling the oxidation process is somewhat simpler than controlling a nuclear reactor, though the principles are similar. In order to abate the fire, put the cap on the tube instead of the chimney. If, however, you want to stimulate the heater, apply the pump.
When the water boils, cover the tube with the cap, and steam the chainik with the steam coming from dushinki. Then prepare zavarka as described in sections How to make it and The zavarka pot .
Put the zavarka pot where it belongs: onto the top of the kamforka. It will keep it warm.
You shall dilute the zavarka with kipyatok poured from the samovar.
Electric samovars can operate indoors. Their operation is much simpler, since the only thing you need to do to start one heating is to plug it into the AC outlet. To stop it, you, respectively, pull the plug out. Always make sure that the heater is fully immersed in water, when turned on.
In North America, charcoal-burning samovars can be used exactly the same way we use them in Russia, except, perhaps, that you should warn each participant of the garden-party, preferably in written form, about the dangers of scalding themselves. Otherwise, some ignorant bastard might sue your pants off, should s/he touch the samovar in the wrong place.
The operation of Russian electric samovars is somewhat more involved, given the differences in the AC grid. First off, the frequency differs: as opposed to the Russian 50 Hz, North America operates at 60 CPS (unit conversion: 1 Hertz = 1 Cycle Per Second). This difference does not affect the samovars in any way.
The difference in voltage is more salient. Recall Ohm's Law: R=U/I and the definition of electric power: P=UI.
>From these two equations it is apparent that the heating power of the same resistance at half the voltage is one fourth of the original value. Assuming the samovar's heating coil linear and the losses negligible, it would take four times as long to boil the water in the same samovar in America than it took in Russia. Fortunately enough, non-linearities work to your advantage.
The last obstacle is the difference in connectors. You can overcome
it either by replacing the plug with an American one, or by utilizing
a so called "outlet adapter" (Radio Shack part #273-1406D
).
Don't forget the grounding!
The brave and impatient can hack up the samovar to operate just as fast as it does in Russia. In order to achieve the same power at half the voltage, you'll need one fourth of the resistance. Now, recall the definition of resistance in terms of dimensions: R=rl/A, whereby l denotes the length of the resistor, A its cross-section and r is a constant that depends on the properties of the material. The volume of this resistor would be V=lA.
In order not to affect the longevity of the spiral, you'd better preserve the volume of the heating element, while decreasing its resistance. If you take a look at the two above formulae, you'd notice that halving the length and doubling the cross-section would achieve exactly the desired effect. So, pull the spiral out, remove the insulation, fold it in two, and stretch it to the desired length before putting the insulation back. If you cannot stretch the spiral without risking its integrity, you can prolong it with a thick copper-wire.
In this section we will review some gadgets that come handy when you need boiled water "out there". That is, usually far from your home, on the move, etc. It does not cover the entire range of waterboiling devices available in the stores, since their usage is straightforward and well documented in the accompanying user's guide. Rather, I will focus on simple, practical devices popular among hackers and ordinary Russians (and ordinary Russian hackers) that can help one out under most unusual circumstances.
One of the most cost-effective ways of obtaining boiled water is to place a metallic boiling pot with a whistle onto the stove. It whistles when the water is boiling inside and if the hatch is closed. So, don't forget to close it.
Always direct the spout toward the wall, in order to avoid injuries caused by the hot steam. Moreover, it is much more convenient that way. Some models are prone to shoot the whistle off after a few seconds of whistling. Be extremely cautious with those.
This is a propane-buthan canister integrated with a stove. For outdoor use only. Great in winter; makes kipyatok out of thawed snow. Handle with care.
The immersion heater (Russian term: "kipyatil'nik") is one of the most frequent reasons for expelling hackers (esp. Russians, since many of them are notorious tea addicts) from dormitories for fire safety violations, second, perhaps, only to the soldering iron.
It is an extremely simple device that boils water when plugged into the AC outlet. You can make kipyatok practically in any fire-proof cavity (no plastic or impregnated paper cups!) that can sustain boiling water. Make sure that the immersion heater is totally immersed in the water when you turn it on, when you turn it off, and all the time in between.
Never leave an immersion heater unattended. As soon as the water boils, pull the plug. Even the unplugged heater is very hot for a relatively long period of time. Excercise caution when dealing with such a beast! And do not forget to hide it well in the meantime...
In a well-kept household, there's always a saucer ("blyudce" or "blyudechko" is the Russian expression) beneath the cup or the mug, whenever we pour anything thereinto. It is a wise custom, for it saves you from many inconveniences resulting from spilled zavarka or kipyatok.
If you have enough of them, it would be a manifestation of your good manners to serve tea with a saucer under each cup, so that your guests can put their wet teaspoons there.
Furthermore, it makes a lot of sense to keep an additional saucer under the samovar's spout in order to save the table from dipping hot water.
Finally, as seen in many Russian paintings, kids often drink tea directly from a saucer. The reason is the following:
The pace of cooling is roughly proportional to the surface of the liquid over its volume. Therefore, tea cools much faster if served in a saucer rather than in a cup. Now, Russians prefer to drink their tea hot, while children can easily scald their lips or tongues with such a hot liquid. However, tea drinking is a community rite, so it would be inappropriate to let the juniors wait until their tea cools down while the elders drink. Hence the saucer.
The podstakannik is basically a -- usually metallic -- holder with a handle for handleless glasses. It is much easier to wash a plain glass than a mug. Thus, such a device is just the right choice for a practical hacker. Many think, that it is the traditional Russian way to serve the tea, but in fact it is neither traditional nor Russian; First podstakanniks showed up on German railroads, exactly for their above mentioned practical value. However, as it often happens with customs adopted from former adversaries (see also the Japanese Matryoshka doll), it gained extreme popularity throughout Russia and gradually became characteristic of Russia. Someday, even "beysbollka" might become a traditional Russian headgear. Who knows?
If you decide to purchase a podstakannik, pay attention to the material: although the most expensive and decorated ones are made of silver, I would not recommend them (except for showing off your wealth and ignorance); the heat conductivity of silver (approx. 420J/mKs) is too high, thus the handle becomes unbearably hot in a very short time. The best choice is stainless steel (50J/mKs) or brass (90J/mKs). Plastic? Please...
The metric unit for heat conductivity is the Joule/(meter*Kelvin*second), the imperial unit would, therefore, be something like calories/(foot*Fahrenheit*hour) or horsepower/(inch*Fahrenheit); the conversion is left as an exercise to the reader.
Most Russian-made podstakanniks are decorated with some theme. A hacker's choice could be the one commemorating the greatest hack ever: the 1957 launch of Sputnik-1, the first artificial satellite of our planet.
Aside from protecting your hands from the heat and alleviating the burden of dish-washing, podstakanniks contribute a great deal of stability to the glass. Therefore, Russian railroads serve the tea in glasses with podstakanniks, and so do the operators of ferries and luxurious liners. And so does our Navy, of course.
You can sample the best railroad tea in Russia on the Krasnaya Strela (Red Arrow) train that connects St. Petersburg, the capital of Russian hackerdom with Moscow, the city of Tetris (and the capital of the Russian Federation, by coincidence). This is a nightly train with very comfortable sleeping cars, where you can fix those last two bugs in your project, while sipping on delicious tea.
Finally, it is worth noting that aside from samovars, some beautiful podstakanniks are also manufactured in Tula. Check, for example, those from TCW (Tula Cartridge Works, http://tcwammo.tula.ru). If you need a few dozen extra slugs for your AK-47M, they can probably help you as well.