Necessity is the mother of invention, or so they say, and who am I to argue with that?

A while ago my current Ikea Upphetta French press that I use in conjunction with the business end of my Samadoyo pot bit the dust and joined the teaware collection of the choir invisible.

It was the usual procedure – a careless nudge from an elbow saw it plummet from our kitchen worktop and a fraction of a second later have a brutal introduction to the kitchen floor, something it neither enjoyed nor survived.

Normally this would have entailed a quick trip to Ikea to purchase a replacement, but unfortunately the only person in our family with a driving license, Teaist Junior, was at that precise moment gallivanting around Northern Italy with her mother and grandmother.

Public transport would have been an option if I’d have been willing to sacrifice most of the day to the task, and although cycling there would have been considerably quicker I was still feeling a little under the weather, so ruled that out, too.

Then I remembered that I had seen a similarly sized French press for sale at our local supermarket, so when I was out and about getting some shopping in I found one, and dropped it into my basket. The quality wasn’t as good as the Upphetta, and the price tag significantly higher, but beggars can’t be choosers, and all that.

I was in for a bit of a surprise when I got it home, however. Its capacity was actually 350 ml compared to the Upphetta’s 400 ml, and this resulted in it being slightly too small to safely and comfortably accommodate the Samadoyo. Bah, etc. Note to self – read packaging more thoroughly in future.

I’ve still found a use for it, however. Despite its smaller size it still takes Cilia tea filter bags and their support ring, meaning it’s just as useful first thing in the morning and last thing at night, when I want quick and easy one shot infusions of Bai Mu Dan and shou pu-erh respectively.

That did still leave me with the problem of using the Samadoyo though. Surely something in my teaware hoard was suitable.

I then began the tedious task of pulling everything out of cupboards and drawers, and offering the Samadoyo up, looking for even a half-decent fit. Everything was either way too big or far too small, but then came the turn of a small kyusu I rescued from a charity shop in town.

I’d purchased it in August of last year, but then taken it home and more or less forgotten about it as it languished at the back of a cupboard, hidden behind the third-string kit. All that was about to change, however…

The little kyusu and the sharp end of the Samadoyo came together so well that you’d swear blind that they were manufactured for that very purpose. I gave the kyusu a quick rinse out, and got the kettle on.

The kyusu / Samadoyo pairing passed the audition with flying colours. The kyusu nicely takes a double cargo from the Samadoyo, retains heat better than the Upphetta, and has a smoother, cleaner pour, too. From zero to hero, teaware style.

For all that, I still think I’ll end up buying a replacement Upphetta, though. That kind of casual, absent minded brewing simply invites accidents, hence the number of those Ikea pots I’ve gone through – 8 and counting – and that sweet little kyusu is just too darned nice to gamble with.

It’ll still see action, however, whenever I want the convenience of the Samadoyo, but still have sufficient time to step away from the kitchen counter top for a while.

So, next time you see an interesting bit of kit in a charity shop, buy it. Sooner or later you’ll be able to put it to good use.

Just might take a while, though…