Chamomile is the dullest tea in the cupboard. It looks like something you would find in a ditch, and it often tastes like it too.
That last part you can actually do something about.
Why most cups taste like hay
Two things go wrong.
The water boils hard. The volatile oils in chamomile are what give it that honeyed taste. Boiling water drives them straight into the air. Let the kettle stand for half a minute after it boils.
The cup sits uncovered. Everything you smell rising off a cup of tea is flavour leaving the tea. Put a small plate over it while it steeps. It sounds fussy, but the difference is obvious — this is the one thing I want you to try.
And use enough flowers. One tea bag in a big mug gives you coloured water.
What we actually know
Chamomile is in an unusual position here: there is a trial on the tea itself, not only on capsules.
In 2016 researchers in Taiwan followed 80 new mothers who were sleeping badly. Half drank chamomile tea for two weeks, the other half had their usual care. Those who drank the tea reported fewer of the physical symptoms that were wrecking their sleep, and fewer low mood symptoms.
Then comes the part that rarely gets quoted: four weeks later the difference was gone. The effect lasted while they were drinking the tea, not afterwards.
That is roughly how I would like you to understand this cup. It helps tonight. It is not a cure.
There is also an American trial from 2009 where chamomile measurably reduced anxiety in people with generalised anxiety disorder — but it used concentrated extract in capsules, at doses far beyond a cup of tea. Do not let anyone sell you a tea bag on the strength of that study.
When in the evening
Half an hour to an hour before bed. That way you also get the other half of it, the part no study measures: that you sit still with a warm cup and do very little.
I usually bring the knitting. Two rows and a cup, and the body is a little more willing to agree that the day is over.