"Have a seat, tea's on its way," announced Navid as we entered his carpet shop in the busy bazaar off Esfahan's Imam Square, leading us to the cozy corner with four rickety stools and a tiny wooden table he had set up within a colorful expanse of folded Persian rugs to welcome his customers. In Iran, no business, trade or anything worth discussing can start without a cup of strong black tea.

My introduction to Iranian tea culture took place much further north, right where the precious leaves are produced and harvested, in the Caspian Sea-lapped Gilan region. Arriving from the neighboring Ardabil province, you know you are in Gilan when you plunge into a cloud-wrapped lowland at the mercy of the winds blowing from the Siberian High, the Alborz mountain range and the Caspian Sea, conspiring to produce heavy rains, high humidity and an endless stretch of lush greenery.

A crucial stop along the Silk Road, Persia eventually gave up on coffee and made tea consumption part of its social habits around the 15th century, mostly inspired by the Chinese and the Indian traditions. Native production didn't start until the beginning of the 20th century, when a young officer of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs on duty at the Iranian Consulate in Bombay came up with the idea of establishing the first tea plantations in his own country. Mohammad Mirza Kashef al-Saltaneh, the future mayor of Tehran, was only 30 years old at the time and today, Iranians owe to his enterprising zeal the introduction of what quickly became the nation's favorite drink.

Waking the first morning in Lahijan, I was met not only by the inevitable fragrance of fresh tea brewing in the kettle that in Iran is traditionally left steaming on the stove, but also by the lavish and verdant view from my friend's house, the kind of epicurean land that evokes a life of opulence and earthly pleasure. "Welcome to Gilan, tea's almost ready," her mother greeted me, clearly proud of having access every year to the first harvest of the locally reaped black tea.