That Moniker's Blog

Dong Ding Cuisson Traditionelle - 2011 from Cha Yi

2012-01-19T22:38:00.000-05:00

Tea: Traditionally roasted Dong Ding oolong from Cha Yi (English), a well roasted green oolong with surprising vivacity for its relatively low-altitude origins (roundabout 700m, if I remember correctly).

A review on this tea is long overdue, but first a few words about the teashop from which I bought it. I'm a big believer in supporting good local sources of tea for the simple reason that there's no better way to learn about what you're drinking than by buying your teas in person from someone who really knows their product. This Gatineau teashop located just across the river from Canada's national capital has been open for a little over a year now, and by the looks of it will be around for a little while yet. The service is friendly and the staff knowledgeable (Daniel, one half of the couple who currently run the shop, worked for Camellia Sinensis for five years, and through this association now offers some of their teas in the Ottawa area). Though I've limited my sampling to their selection of oolongs, I've been entirely satisfied with all my purchases so far, and the lower priced teas don't seem to suffer the plunge in quality common in some other local teashops.

Short version of the above: If you're in the National Capital Region, stop by 61 rue Eddy in Gatineau. It's nice.

I'm a big fan of roasted Taiwanese oolongs of all stripes, but I also have frequent cravings for the creamy vegetal freshness of gaoshan oolongs. This tea satisfies both needs, but without the hefty price tag that frequently accompanies hung shui type oolongs. Though certainly not a substitute for this highly acclaimed genre, this tea carries a level of roasting and freshness not commonly found together in 'lower range' teas.

Having by now enjoyed this tea on more than one occasion, I know this tea performs best with a bit less leaf than other teas. If made more concentrated, the roasting characteristics overwhelm the others in the first few infusions and render the brew excessively dry. I pour the requisite amount of small, tightly rolled green balls into the bottom of my teapot and lift it up to my nose for a sniff. Straight away the dry, roasted character of this tea kept subdued by its refrigerated storage wakes up and fills my sinuses.

I pour hot water quickly from high up to help open the leaves and decant the infusion directly into two of my porcelain singing cups. The hot liquor is deeply satisfying and slightly warming; the chaqi goes straight to my head in a pleasant head-rush type sensation. The roasting has left the liquor feeling slightly dry, but the tea is still fresh enough that it sloshes around and coats my mouth in the manner of any good green oolong. The roasting also dominates the taste at this point, with a dry caramel sweetness accompanied by fruity floral undertones. It's in the aftertaste that the green-ness of this tea is most apparent, with an oily and slightly vegetal finish; a subdued version of what I expect from gaoshan. The empty cup bears similar notes, but with a refreshing lightness, rendering the whole experience heady but not overpowering.

In subsequent infusions the balance shifts away from roasting and more towards the light vegetal notes, obviating the thick and slightly oily mouthfeel for a time before a dryness begins to creep onto the tongue. When I was sold this tea, Daniel told me one of the things he likes about this tea is the way this roasting gradually diminishes and gives way to other, equally pleasant characteristics. Unlike many low quality teas, this tea evolves from infusion to infusion rather than simply peaking then tapering off, and it's this sort of endurance and complexity that led me to believe that this tea was from a much higher elevation than it is.

The finished leaves are dark green, tender, and very springy. Fresh, roasted, and all around very nice.

Teapot also from Cha Yi, bowl by Petr Novak featured here

When the leaves finally do start to give up the ghost, make one last long cool infusion and use it to deglaze a pan of sautéed onions for quiche. Chop of a couple of the more tender leaves and mix them into the filling as well. The tea seems to lighten and freshen up the dish a little bit, while adding a touch more savouriness. A delicious way to squeeze those last bits of goodness out of an already delicious tea. (Apologies for the lack of a picture, in all the excitement I got distracted and forgot. I'll be sure to post one the next time I make this dish, perhaps the subject of its own blog post.)

Music and Tea

2012-01-16T22:36:00.002-05:00

The pairing of music with the preparation and consumption of tea seems to be fairly commonplace, but not too often discussed among drinkers of tea. I think this is perhaps simply because of variation in individual musical tastes, but surely these tastes merit as much discussion as preferences for styles of teaware or genres of tea? Background music seems to be everywhere nowadays, whether it's coming from a myriad of speakers in a department store, or from two tiny ones nestled in your ears during your morning run; this omnipresence suggests to me that any music accompanying tea (or the necessarily deliberate lack thereof) becomes a de-facto mood-setter for the session. Today I'm breaking the silence about music and giving it the pride of place it deserves as part of my experience with tea!

The choice of a beautiful set of antique teacups or the clean, simple lines of an unadorned and expertly crafted yixing teapot are something any tea-drunkard like me will have some level of appreciation for, but unless you happen to have heaps of money to acquire a range of them (which I don't), it's difficult to use such elements to incorporate much-needed variety into your tea drinking routine. A good friend of mine known to some as Biblical Jon is a master of the art of using small details to ensure that no two sessions are quite alike, even if they involve the same tea made in the same teapot and poured into the same cups. He also happens to have fantastic taste in music. Whenever he hosts tea, he reliably pulls out his phone and starts playing whatever strikes his fancy, instantly setting the tone and creating a calm atmosphere as he goes about the process making tea.

As much as I feel music is an integral part of a tea session and not to be ignored, I also don't think it should be taken too seriously. I don't concern myself with sticking to music with shared origins to my tea, though from time to time I do find myself wanting to listen to Krishna Das alongside a cup of tea (it's the right sub-continent, at least). So long as the music enhances the overall experience, it's done its job in my book, whether it may be Alexi Murdoch, Mogwai, traditional Nankuan music, or Nine Inch Nails. Sometimes you just have to throw things at the wall and see what sticks, and that, for me, is what tea is all about.

With that in mind, I'd like to hear from anyone reading this blog about what you listen to when you drink tea, or if indeed you listen to anything at all. What do you think the choice of auditory ambience brings to the experience? Is it something you find worth paying attention to, or is music just a distraction from the tea itself? Please comment and let me know.

Da Yeh Oolong - Summer 2011 from Teamasters

2012-01-11T21:46:00.000-05:00

Tea: Da Yeh Oolong. Another sample courtesy of Stéphane. His notes on this tea can be viewed here.
Origin: Taiwan's east coast
Harvest: June 26, 2011

An intriguing tea to say the least, courtesy of its complex origins: an oolong cultivar grown on the Pacific coast of Taiwan with its leaves bitten by insects (in the manner of Oriental Beauty), then fully oxidized and roasted. The result is a red tea which is tricky to place in terms of characteristics, but all the more enjoyable for it.

The warmed leaves in my gaiwan release an aroma more or less typical of a red tea, somewhere along the lines of ripe fruit. However, much like in the dry leaf, sweet roast undertones and, perplexingly, fresh, almost creamy notes are barely detectable to my nose. Unsure of just how to go about brewing a tea labelled "Red - Da Yeh Oolong", I opt for a hybrid of my standard methods, incorporating very hot water and a high pour without too much force to help the leaves open up while emphasizing their finer characteristics. The brew darkens quickly and in no time at all I'm inhaling deeply from my fragrance cup. The aroma is thick and sweet with a caramel note that endures in the bottom cup for as long as I'm willing to take another whiff. It's clear that the aroma has just begun to open, and expecting a similar impression from the tea itself, I take my first sip. Wow! The liquor gives an impression of fullness far beyond what I'd expect from a first brew during which the twisted leaves have barely started to uncurl.

In qingbai (left) and white porcelain (right)

In the second infusion the aroma becomes even more powerful, with a strongly acidic citrus note dominating the complex mix of smells. Trying to make sense of it all leaves me pleasantly lightheaded. The drink embodies the fullness of a red tea combined with a degree of complexity I normally associate with oolongs, perhaps because of this tea's unconventional processing. Typical red tea flavours combine with a dry sweetness and citrus notes, with particular tastes receding and being replaced by an aftertaste which is both sweet and fresh. Though this tea is 100% oxidized, it has somehow managed to retain a subdued, but still distinctly present, feeling of green-ness in the aftertaste. Perhaps this results from the fading of a combination of the sweetness and citrus fruit characteristics noted earlier, but no matter the source it presents a pleasant surprise as I finish the infusion.

I've made a habit of not bothering with fully oxidized teas because I generally find them to be one-noted and possessed of some unpleasant measure of astringency and a healthy dose of bitterness when brewed strongly (or when not brewed very lightly after the first couple of infusions). In my book, a good tea, regardless of genre, ought to be full of texture without having to be brewed to the point of the liquor being sullied by unwanted roughness. From long-jing to pu'erh, the best teas I've tasted have always been pleasantly tactile, but when it comes to red teas I haven't quite been able to strike the right balance, at least not beyond a couple of infusions. Until now.

Even as I write this post I continue to sip this delicious tea with only traces of a not unpleasant dryness. Its endurance and enduring balance have made this tea something quite special, and something I thought was worth sharing.

Much to my regret, this blog has been on an unplanned and unwanted hiatus for the past few months. I've carried on drinking tea (though, with my class schedule, admittedly not as much as I'd like), but have been finding it difficult to muster the motivation to dedicate a full session to the note-taking and photographing followed by the couple of hours of writing and formatting that all go into producing a post for this blog. Producing quality content for this blog is something I take pride in, and for that reason I won't force myself to write or take pictures if I'm just feeling uninspired. My intention has always been to post when I have something I can feel good about publishing, when I feel that by adding my voice to the tea blogosphere I can make a positive contribution. I can't promise new content with the kind of clockwork rhythm of other bloggers, but I promise to publish only content that is true to the spirit of what I'm trying to achieve, so check back; I've got a few things up my sleeve yet.

A First Attempt At Pottery

2011-10-05T22:23:00.001-04:00

I admit I haven't got much here to share, but as the results of my "bisque firing" (read: drying in a 400F toaster oven) of this little coil pot are in and much better than expected, I'm a bit excited by what right now seem like nearly endless possibilities for future exploration. This little jar no more than ten centimeters tall is made of local clay I dug out of a wet, marshy area near my neighborhood a couple of weeks ago. Given that I have no real knowledge of pottery, let alone experience of any kind, I'm quite enthused to have produced something from this field mud that will stand up on its own. Currently it's still very rough, but my plan is to put a clay slip on it to smooth out the surface and fill in some small cracks before firing it (a bit more) properly. The end goal for this pot is to use it as a short-term storage jar for tea, using its unglazed walls perhaps to tone-down the fire of over-roasted oolongs, or mellow out musty pu'erh. Just how different teas will really react to it as a storage environment, however, remains to be seen, and that I will eventually find out relies heavily on the assumption that the clay will stand up to further processing, something I can hardly be sure of. Needless to say, there will have to be more trial and plenty of error, but this small success has left me feeling encouraged and optimistic towards finding out what can be done with basic, backyard pottery methods.

Aged Hualien Oolong - 1987 from Camellia Sinensis

2011-10-02T19:16:00.000-04:00

Tea: A low oxidation oolong aged for nearly a quarter of a century from Camellia Sinensis

Origin: Hualien, Taiwan

Year: 1987

Today I tasted a sample of one of Camellia Sinensis' aged oolongs generously provided to me by Director's Cut from a selection of teas he picked up on a recent trip to Montreal. Knowing that my brewing is generally better during solitary sessions when I don't have to worry about guests, he offered some of his aged oolong for me to try on my own. Today being one of those cool fall days that doesn't quite merit turning the heat on, I opted to treat myself to a session with something special (this is a sample I've been holding onto for a little while to do it justice) that would also serve the purpose of warming me up.

Thicker and juicier, thanks to just what I do not know.

Even in the cold autumn air the dry leaf exhibits an abundance of sweet perfume which only intensifies as it's tipped from my wooden tea-scoop onto the warm clay of a preheated yixing teapot dedicated to aged oolongs such as this. Steaming water soon follows, the gurgling of water jostling the leaves a gentle prelude to its transformation into tea. The infusion is poured out and the aroma spills over the rim of the faircup and makes its way to my nose. The concentrated aroma flowing up from the porcelain of my sniffing cup is immediately of sweet caramel, eventually acquiring a more floral character which, as the cup cools and becomes more refined, gives the impression of what candied flowers might be like.

The liquor is thick and syrupy with no astringency and little dryness in the first few infusions. Interestingly, this tea doesn't have any clear roasty characteristics in smell or in taste, but rather a remarkable clarity and balance. I can't seem to find any sore thumbs with this tea, even the aftertaste emerges gradually and smoothly, leaving a clean mineral feeling on my tongue.

The infusions pass with seamless and gradual gradations from one to the next; the tea's character slowly becomes subtler, thinner, and more homogeneous, though some of the tea's original complexity can always be recovered with an extra-long steep. As the aroma fades into imperceptibility and I become more familiar with the tea's characteristics, I begin switching out my set of porcelain cups for Petr's wood-fired teacup, finding that the latter lends an extra hearty roundness to the liquor. I've found that this is something this cup will do for any tea I've tried it with so far, proving to me the great effect the composition of even relatively non-porous teaware can have on tea.

Throughout the session the tea's warming chaqi from years of re-roasting builds in my centre, comforting me and making me comfortable on this cool fall day.

Finished Tea Table

2011-09-26T21:40:00.000-04:00

Behold: the finished and also completed table.

Following beta testing, I found that making tea using a surface elevated to exactly slightly over a foot above the ground wasn't as bad as I'd thought it would be. As it turns out, it's actually quite comfortable, and should I ever feel the need to occupy a slightly more lofty perspective over my teaware, I'll use a cushion.

The finishing process for this table was pretty basic: some sanding to smooth surfaces and round corners, one coat of stain (I like the relatively light and dark areas this gives me), and varying amounts of varnish. My primary concerns in building this table were practical, and for that reason there are three coats of satin-finish varnish on the table's most utilitarian surface to protect it from spills without making it look glossy. In contrast, the wax finish on my floor dissolves every time a droplet of water touches it, and as a result much of my floor has an interesting grey-speckled pattern thanks to a previous hobby involving misting a lot of plants.

Some of the rougher sanding has left criss-cross patterns in the stain on the table's surface, an effect I personally enjoy. This is a table I anticipate keeping for quite some time, and I look forward to the accumulation of dings, scratches, and other inevitable detrital markers left by the passing of time and tea over its surface. Much in the same way as I cultivate a patina rich in stains and drip lines on my teapots with simple and loving use, I look forward to the appearance of wear on this table in all its wabi-sabi forms simply as a result of, and as a reference to, its use.

Tea Table in Beta Testing

2011-09-17T19:40:00.000-04:00

For the past couple months I've been meaning to start and just not getting around to making a small tea table for myself to have tea at during the winter months. Over the summer the overwhelming majority of my tea sessions have been outside on my back porch, but when the mercury drops a layer of screen doesn't provide much insulation against your average -25C winter day. I usually solve this problem by having tea at the kitchen counter, but I've been in the process of developing a more quiet space to dedicate to tea, and now I've finally got around to building a simple table to facilitate making tea there.

Today following a trip to Home Depot I built the basic structure for the table, which is what you see here in beta testing. The table's surface is now at just over a foot off the ground, and after making a few rounds of TGY on it I'm considering lowering it by about an inch. I cut the longest legs the four foot piece of lumber I bought permitted (I'll let you do the math on that one), figuring I could shorten them if needed.

In its present state the table is entirely unfinished and a bit rough around the edges, a few rounds of sanding, staining, and varnishing are in its near future. Stay tuned for the finished product (no pun intended) in a few days time.

Wood-Fired Teaware by Petr Novák

2011-09-14T22:25:00.000-04:00

A package from the Czech Republic arrived at my door recently containing the wares I had ordered but a week previously from Petr Novák, a potter and tea enthusiast who has combined the two interests to create beautiful wood-fired teaware out of his kiln in, you guessed it, the Czech Republic.

Having recently started exploring tea away from the tea board (or tea sink, tea tray, tea boat, or any number of other terms) and enjoying the increased flexibility this affords me, I picked up this bowl and vase as well as a cup to add to my modest collection of tea wares.

The ribs which circle the outside of the vase are slightly unevenly spaced, betraying its handmade origins and adding interest to the piece (while the cup and bowl are by Petr, the vase is by Mirka and has the stamp "MR" on its underside). The texture is very rough, especially between the ribs, but the base is well made and the vase doesn't wobble. While the inside is glazed to avoid leaks, the clay on the outside appears bare. I'm not sure whether this piece was charcoal glazed or not to achieve its dark colour, but in any case the way the dark colour anchors the gaze and provides a stable and interesting root without drawing too much attention away from the flowers it's meant to display pleases me.

The bowl is similarly well made, with an even shape that highlights its finish. The glaze is off-white, thick, and bumpy on one side, gradually thinning and letting a carroty orange come through on the other side. Crackling in the glaze is most obvious where it's thinnest and will eventually accumulate seasoning as it's used, increasing contrast and slowly transforming the piece.

The cup comfortably holds a full infusion from the teapot pictured in this post (about 90ml) which cools to a drinkable temperature at a similarly comfortable speed thanks to its thin walls. The glaze covers the inside and extends to just over the rim, allowing its holder to feel and admire the clay from which it was made while providing a smooth surface from which to drink. The colour of the inside glaze is an off-white with a slight olive tint, attractively showing off the colour of darker oolongs such as the charcoal roasted Anxi tieguanyin I drank from it today. Intricate swirls of various translucent shades trickle down into the bottom of the cup from the rim; a treat for the inquisitive observer. The wood firing has caused the bare clay to become a significantly darker shade of orange-brown than the other, obscuring the small stones dotted throughout the clay.

A beautiful and functional set of wares, you can bet these will be featuring in future posts.

Some Fresh Yixing

2011-09-11T13:18:00.000-04:00

This is my new teapot. I like it very much.

Director's Cut recently made a weekend trip to Montreal and picked up this little gem (along with a bunch of tea, of course) from Camellia Sinensis. A couple of weeks and a dozen or so sessions later, he decided 90ml steeps aren't really his preference, so, figuring I could get better use out of it, he sold it to me. The clay is porous enough that it had already accumulated some cosmetic outside seasoning in its short stint with DC, so I figured it wouldn't suffer much of a setback if I got rid of said seasoning and gave it a fresh start.

Conventional wisdom says to never use detergent or a cleaning agent of any kind on a clay teapot, lest it should become impregnated in the clay and ruin it forever, but because MarshalN has been routinely bleaching his teapots now with no adverse effects that I can gather and because I've learned not to trust conventional wisdom when it comes to yixing (conventional wisdom often being profit-motivated and sometimes arbitrary from what I can gather), I bleached it. The pot and lid soaked in a dilute Javex bath for a little over an hour before being pulled out and rinsed again and again. After being rinsed in a half dozen baths of boiling water and subsequently soaked overnight in a bowl of hot water with some tea thrown in, the smell of bleach was gone. The first couple of post-bleach sessions with this teapot had a bit of roughness in the aftertaste usually characteristic of pesticides, but at the time of writing the pot bears no indications of having been bleached.

In order to better equip myself to decide which teas to make in this pot, I poured some 85C water through it just to see what the clay on its own will do. DC told me that this teapot is made of some great clay, and I'm inclined to agree with him. It has great energy and lends the water a very deep and full feeling in the mouth. The most notable characteristic seems to be a mineral aftertaste I normally associate with yancha, making this seem the most intuitive pairing. In practice, for whatever reason the way this pot renders yancha is unbalanced, and is actually much better suited to traditionally processed TGY. Surprisingly, despite the porosity of the clay, this pot is high-fired enough to produce an aromatic but also round and full baozhong.

So far, this teapot seems very versatile, but the degree to which the clay accumulates seasoning leads me to believe that I'll have to eventually settle on a genre. In the meantime, my plan is to continue experimenting and searching for that ideal balance between a tea that pairs well and a tea that will ensure the pot gets used.

Whoops: Competition Muzha TGY

2011-09-03T19:53:00.001-04:00

As it turns out, my assertion that the level of roast applied to the particular competition Muzha TGY mentioned in this post was unusually high was a bit misguided. In fact, the amount of roasting on this tea is more or less typical for an awarded example, it's just that roasted teas in general are not awarded quite so often. I've changed a couple of lines in the original article and added an addendum for the sake of accuracy.

If you're not too interested in the relative popularity of tea genres or associated bias in a competition environment, then I apologise for having wasted your time. Please accept this picture of a leaf in some water as compensation:

Competition Muzha TGY

2011-08-26T12:59:00.000-04:00

Tea: A high-roast awarded Muzha tieguanyin from Elliot Knapp

Origin: Muzha, Taiwan

Many thanks to Elliot for generously providing me with this a sample of competition TGY from his stash purchased from Houde. Elliot talks about the tea on his own blog here.

This tea is a rather special one in several ways, the first and most obvious one being that it's competition grade and will be my first taste of awarded tea. Likewise, I have yet to find out the effects of the Taiwanese terroir on tieguanyin oolong, a variety best known for its roots in mainland China. Probably the most interesting and particular characteristic, however, is the level of roast used on these leaves during processing. To paraphrase Elliot, though not a traditionally processed TGY (traditional processing being very high levels of roasting and oxidation, more or less the opposite of most TGY sold in shops nowadays), the amount of roasting this tea was subjected to is unusually high as compared to the kinds of teas which are usually awarded in competitions (judges with modern tastes are developing more and more bias towards greener oolongs).

What with all the unfamiliar territory, I was pleasantly surprised to find that this tea bears many similarities to an aged oolong. Upon bringing the aroma cup up to my nose my first impression was of caramel sweetness, doubtless a product of the roasting applied to the leaves. This scent then evolved into the domain of fruits and flowers (with a clear note of lilacs in the second infusion; something I associate with the very few examples of green TGY I've actually liked), and finally something resembling roasted coffee. The caramel and roast remain fairly constant throughout the first four or five infusions, though the scents gradually open later and later before disappearing altogether.

The taste of this tea is tough to describe, I think because it didn't seem to have any particular flavours which stuck out and thus were easy to identify. All aspects of the flavour profile fitted into each other so seamlessly that I didn't really notice any particular notes of dark fruit or roast that would be expected of a traditionally processed TGY (though the processing on this one is not quite traditional, it's my closest frame of reference). The overwhelming impression is of the mouthfeel, which was impeccably smooth. No roughness, no astringency, no sourness. No wonder it stood up in competition.

In his review, Elliot remarks that the tea doesn't show as much endurance as some of the other oolongs he's partial to, and though I eventually got a good number of flavourful brews out of it, the character of the tea went through a turning point around the fifth infusion and changes dramatically. Whereas in earlier infusions, the brew was incredibly well balanced with no flavours out of place, a distinct vegetal note first emerged in the aftertaste and then grew to fill the whole cup. Brewed a bit cooler and with longer infusions, I found this cool, green, and slightly sour taste refreshing, though perhaps that's because I'm used to finding it in an aged oolong that's on its way out.

On the whole, I thoroughly enjoyed exploring this unfamiliar territory and learning a bit about what makes a competition tea, albeit one which is less than standard fare. Variety is the spice of life, as they say, and I hope to see more not-so-green teas recognised in the future.

Edit and Addendum on September 2, 2011: As it turns out, my assertion that the level of roast applied to this particular competition Muzha TGY was unusually high was a bit misguided. In fact, the amount of roasting on this tea is more or less typical for an awarded example, it's just that roasted teas in general are not awarded quite so often. For the record, the roasting was electric.

Redressing the Balance

2011-08-18T17:22:00.000-04:00

The past few weeks for me have been quite hectic and, as far as tea goes, unusually characterised by a lack of meaningful experiences (hence a similar lack of posts). I've been seemingly chronically out of form and as a result the tea I've been drinking has generally not been as good (plagued by astringency, fragrances that never open up, and vegetal notes that used to and should be subtle sticking out like a sore thumb); a real shame as I've been sharing tea with friends old and new more than ever recently. Whereas a solitary, meditative half-hour (or hour when I could find one in which I'd be left undisturbed) by my kettle used to be a daily routine, since the end of July I've had only a handful of these sessions.

I've always found the tea that I brew for myself to be better than the tea prepared for a group tasting. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised or embarrassed by this; navigating the ever-changing subtleties of any social situation is a perennially downplayed and undervalued skill, add to that trying to feel your way through making a good cup of tea and all the variables associated with it without any instruments while always staying on top of the conversation, and you've got yourself a sizable challenge. The real world, as it turns out, is a rather messy place, and having been jolted out of the moment during private tea sessions by everything from the family dog barking at the mailman to an unexpected visit from my grandparents, achieving an atmosphere of quietude with the mixed gatherings I've been hosting in the past little while is a tall order.

Having tea alone has always been de-facto "me time", and not having it recently has left me feeling unbalanced. When I drink tea by myself I try not to do anything but enjoy the tea I'm drinking. I strive to appreciate the finer qualities of a tea as well as the ones I'm not so fond of. Rough or smooth, fragrant or muted, tea is what it is, and I try to do nothing more than experience the moment I'm in as fully as I can without passing judgement. Admittedly, I'm not great at it, but even in just making a stab at fully appreciating a tea, everything else gets put aside. The result is that for a little while I don't worry about school deadlines, work stress, social conflicts, or any of the other stresses of everyday life.

Out of all of this I take a lesson in the value of taking time for yourself, but especially in the value of spare and simple experiences in general, experiences which don't bombard you with so much information that has to be sorted and prioritized before the task of processing any part of what's been presented can be addressed, and instead feed only what can be processed in real time. In short, the value of being fully in the present moment. I've always enjoyed my solitary sessions, but thanks to the contrast a few weeks of switching them out for group tastings, I'll have a greater appreciation both for the tea brewed and the time to think.

Da Fo Longjing - Spring 2011 from World Of Tea

2011-08-01T14:51:00.000-04:00

Tea: Da Fo Long Jing from World Of Tea

Origin: Zhejiang, China

Harvest: Spring 2011

First off, I should point out that long jing (and, in fact, greens in general) is a genre of tea I know little about. When it was sold to me a couple of months ago by a seriously jet lagged Jean (one of the small shop's co-owners) just back from this year's Asiatic trek to buy a fresh supply of teas, I was told that this particular long jing was pretty good, but not the best. Never having tried a long jing before, this suited me just fine. What with this genre's reputation for being tricky to brew gongfu-style, I thought I'd give it a few practice sessions before posting some tasting notes and in the meantime keep it as fresh as I could by not opening it too often and storing it in the fridge.

As I sit down to start the session that will form the basis of this post I crack open the airtight seal on the bag of leaves and inhale deeply as is my custom. Because the leaves still cold from their refrigerated storage I can't smell much at first, but as the leaves warm up a little and especially with the aid of the heat from my gaiwan a thick, oily, leguminous scent is released; it's the kind of thick scent that reaches into the back of your mouth and tickles your salivary glands. I don't often feel like drinking greens, but when I do and I open up this package the need becomes strong.

I prepare the first infusion and the first thing that's apparent is the colour of the liquor: light translucent green. A top quality long jing should be more or less clear; this one isn't, but then it isn't a top quality long jing. To my unpracticed eyes, however, it still looks as though it's hardly been steeped.

Rolling the liquor around in my mouth, the initial pan-fried oily smoothness rapidly gives way to a semi-floral, semi-leguminous sweet character. The aftertaste is cooling and fresh.

I push the second infusion a bit farther, and in tasting it the results are obvious. A new sharp bitter note immediately surfaces and subsides just as quickly into a pleasant coolness. This tea feels great on a warm summer day, the cooling feeling in the mouth leads up to cooling chaqi flowing throughout the body and I notice that the air pushed over me by the ceiling fan on my back porch now feels a perfectly pleasant temperature. At the same time the yang qi trapped within the arrested growth of the buds blossoms inside of me, leaving me feeling fresh and awake.

This tea doesn't have the same endurance as the oolongs with which I am more familiar, taking a dive after about the fourth infusion, but considering that this is a green tea and not an oolong, I'm quite happy with its stamina and move on to inspecting the spent leaves. They're a little bit broken and there's the odd leaf floating around on its own, but in general this tea is made up of downy sets of two leaves and bud. Every time I scoop the tea out of its bag, the scoop comes back covered in thousands of tiny trichomes. That, to me, is a good sign.

In the end, I am most taken with this tea's vivacity. From the moment I open the bag to the last cup washing down my throat its qi is apparent. Though it lacks the subtlety or gentle qualities of other teas in this regard, I always end my sessions with this tea feeling calm, energized, and ready to start my day.

Trichomes

Oriental Beauty - Summer 2010 from World Of Tea

2011-07-27T20:06:00.001-04:00

Tea: Oriental Beauty (Bai Hao Oolong, Dong Fang Mei Ren, etc.) from World Of Tea

Origin: Northern Taiwan

Harvest: Summer 2010

For those of you who haven't already heard of Oriental Beauty, it's high time you did. Known by many different names, Oriental Beauty is often touted as Taiwan's most famous tea, and certainly ranks among its most special. Summer harvest oolongs are generally low quality, not being very fresh or floral by nature, but this tea somehow escapes the mediocrity it seems fated to. There are many different versions of just how Oriental Beauty acquires its unique set of characteristics, but I believe the most accurate (and certainly the most plausible) is that the leaves are repeatedly bitten by swarms of insects which resemble a small grasshopper. The tiny chunks taken out of the leaves stimulate the plant to send more tasty juices that way in order to heal. Because insect bites are an intrinsic part of making Oriental Beauty, the plantations that produce this tea are organic as a matter of course. These traits, along with the unusually high level of oxidation involved in post-harvest processing (putting it right on the upper limit of oxidation while still being considered an oolong rather than a red tea), are what give Oriental Beauty its unique character.

Oriental Beauty captures the warmth of the season in which it is produced, and as such is a highly satisfying warming tea with a good caffeine punch. Intuitively, this is a great tea for a cold, damp winter day, but it also works quite well in the sweltering heat my region has suffered from recently. This principle applies to warming teas in general; cooling teas should be drunk when it's warm, warming teas should be drunk when it's hot. The following exerpt from a recent entry on 五行雲 offers a great explanation of this principle:

Why take a hot herb at the most yang time of year I hear you say? Because in summer, all your yang is at the surface of the body, so logically it is not at your centre. You may feel warm (British summers withstanding) because your warmth is exactly where you can perceive it but inside you are stone cold.

I took advantage of temperatures in the thirties (nineties, if you use Fahrenheit) in the shade of my back porch to test this out for myself recently; what follows is from my notes on that session which took place on the seventeenth.

I scrape out some tea from the bottom of what was originally a 50g bag some months ago, and since there's hardly any left and I'm in the mood for strong tea I use a bit more than I normally would. Being from the bottom of the bag, the leaves are a bit more broken up than the ones I remember from a few months ago, but on the whole they're whole (pardon the pun). A good Oriental Beauty should have plenty of downy white buds, and this one does. While heating up the leaves in my gaiwan the ripe fruit smells characteristic of an oxidised oolong are evident but not alone in the complex aroma; dried apricots and faint citrus notes are also present.

After the first infusion passes, my nose detects a sweet floral aroma under the lid of the gaiwan. This sweetness intensifies and becomes almost like caramel in the aroma cup, a characteristic not entirely absent from the liquor. The tea itself is smooth both in taste and texture. In the following infusions I push the tea, and it maintains its sweetness as well as a pleasant roundness and full body while developing a slight cooling bitterness. At this point the tea is largely devoid of unpleasant qualities, with only a little bit of astringency marring the liquid.

Usually when I describe a tea as "silky smooth", I use silky as a descriptor to loosely qualify the extent of the smoothness, drawing more on the fabric's reputation for high quality rather than any particular characteristics of the actual product. In the case of this Oriental Beauty, I will again use the descriptor "silky smooth", but in a rather different way, distinguishing type of smoothness and not degree.

I can best liken the smoothness of a long jing or a really green baozhong to a kind of oily feeling. Thick, smooth, and pleasant, but still wet lubricant. To continue this metaphor, Oriental Beauty, being on the other end of the scale, is drier and thinner, yet somehow no less full, pleasant, and (you guessed it) smooth: Teflon. An odd comparison this may be, but it's the best I've got.

As it turns out my trial was a success. Though the warming energy of this summer oolong was obvious, it left me feeling far more comfortable in the sweltering heat outside, and with a substantial caffeine buzz to boot.

Fondue Fuel vs. Paint Stripper: A Tip For The Frugal

2011-07-17T14:30:00.002-04:00

If you use an alcohol burner to heat your water or keep it warm and find the price of fondue fuel a bit too heavily marked up, use paint stripper. The alcohol in the fondue fuel used for alcohol burners is generally methyl alcohol (also called methanol or methyl hydrate), and is highly flammable, highly toxic, and an excellent solvent. Because it's so good at dissolving all sorts of things, methyl alcohol is also commonly sold in big jugs as paint stripper or a heavy-duty cleaning agent at a much lower price (the other difference being that fondue fuel is sometimes dyed blue; the reason why is beyond me given that the stuff burns with a blue flame anyways). The trick here is first off to make sure your burner runs on methyl alcohol, and secondly to only buy paint stripper that is labelled as pure methanol/methyl hydrate/methyl alcohol. If it isn't methanol, or has anything in it other than methanol, don't use it.

Although burning paint stripper indoors to heat a kettle full of water to be used to make tea sounds a bit sketchy in terms of safety, remember that so long as you use paint stripper with methanol as its sole ingredient what you're doing is no different than if fondue fuel were to be used, the only differences being price and supermarket aisle. Methanol is actually quite safe as fuel sources go because it burns with a relatively cool flame and undergoes complete combustion which, if we remember our high school chemistry, means that the only things produced when it burns are water vapour and carbon dioxide. No smoke, no odour; just heat and a bit of CO2.

Methanol sold as paint stripper is generally sold in much greater quantities than fondue fuel, which means the initial investment will be higher (I paid a whopping $11 for about four liters), but it pays for itself quite quickly. Big jugs are also tricky to pour from without spilling, so I keep an old fondue fuel bottle topped up for day to day use.

Methanol, much like schoolteachers and
strong cheese, deserves your respect.

Obligatory warning and disclaimer: Methanol, fire, fondue fuel, and paint strippers in general are all dangerous. Methanol itself is highly toxic, and unlike its hillbilly cousin ethanol (found in red-faced men at bars), has a tendency to cause permanent blindness at very low doses and similarly permanent death at slightly higher doses. Don't put the liquid in your mouth, don't sniff the fumes. Fire is also dangerous for the usual reasons: burns, death, wholesale destruction and general nastiness, etc. All of the above should be treated with the appropriate caution and respect, so please don't do anything stupid. I take no responsibility for any loss of vision, unexpected departures from this mortal coil, sudden evaporation of water from living cells causing said cells to not be living anymore, wholesale destruction, general nastiness, tears, etc. which may ensue as a result of this post.

Jinxuan Oolong - Spring 2011 from Teamasters

2011-07-15T22:24:00.000-04:00

Tea: Jinxuan Oolong from Teamasters

Origin: Zhu Shan, Taiwan

Harvest: March 7, 2011

This tea was a sample generously thrown in by Stéphane as part of my last order, and today I took the opportunity to polish off a second (and final) helping from the small gold packet. In upending the bag over my gaiwan I ended up using a bit more leaf than is my custom, and some of the little green balls really were quite small (read: broken up), but nonetheless this tea performed well.

Opening the bag releases a smooth, fresh, floral fragrance which is joined by a waft of roast on being heated in my gaiwan. The stream from my kettle pushes the leaves in concentric circles and as they slow I pour out the first infusion. The aroma cup gives up hints of lighter floral notes which never really open up in this initial infusion. The green tinted liquor feels thick in the mouth like a dilute starchy broth.

On the second infusion the aroma becomes slightly more developed as a slight leguminous character emerges in the tea. The mouthfeel is thick but not oily, a testament to its oxidation and roast. It takes a third infusion before the tea's aroma really opens, likely a result of short steeps taking more time to open the leaves and expose the buds to the water of the infusion. When pushed the tea's aroma becomes sweetly floral while the liquor becomes at once more beany and fruity.

Not much is present in terms of lasting aftertaste, though a slight minty coolness is initially noticeable, but it easy outlasted by the aforementioned mouthfeel.

It's the little things...

From about the fifth infusion some astringency develops, though it's worth noting that the leaf fragments that are part and parcel with bottom-of-the-bag tea are a significant factor in this. Following the emergence of dryness in taste, the leaves begin to lose their vivacity. For the first few infusions the tea had a noticeable green tint, but as the session progresses this quality is lost, leaving behind only a golden colour. This in itself is not a problem, but it provides an illustration of the ebb of the tea's energy, a quality which transcends taste and smell. On the whole, this tea has good endurance, though certainly not that of a high-level gaoshan oolong.

Stéphane's notes describe this tea as a good tea for the beginner or the daily cuppa, a statement I fully agree with. A pleasant fresh taste and aroma make this tea thoroughly enjoyable, though it may lack the essential vivacity, the enduring chaqi that makes extended gongfu sessions dedicated to fully experiencing a tea so worthwhile (for me at least). To put things in perspective, this jinxuan is less than half the price of its gaoshan cousin grown at an altitude 1400m on Ali Shan. On grounds of both price and, well, ground it hardly seems fair to hold up this jinxuan against one from Ali Shan, and for that reason I am quite content today sipping this good, simple, Taiwanese oolong.

Pu'erh Tuo Cha - 1995 from Cloudwalker Teas

2011-07-11T14:58:00.000-04:00

Tea: Some sort of shengpu pressed into 95g tuos from Cloudwalker Teas

Origin: Unknown

Year: 1995

A friend who is relatively new to tea and is, like me, developing an interest in pu'erh paid me a visit recently and I took the opportunity to share a tea I hadn't yet tried: Cloudwalker Teas' 1995 Tuo Cha Pu'erh. Much like my aged oolong from the same company, I don't know a whole lot about this tea's origins, but also much like my aged oolong, I thoroughly enjoyed experiencing this set of leaves.

Due to the loose compression, a large portion of my sample is now in looseleaf form.

A typically shengpu woodsy smell of earth spills out of my teapot, filling my nasal cavities. I can feel the heavily yin nature of this tea's energy already just from the smell. This effect continues from the sniffing cup after the tea is subjected to a (remarkably clear) rinse followed by the first infusion. The aroma from the liquor takes on a slightly spicy character which leaves my face tingling pleasantly from the airborne chaqi.

As the first infusion is drunk the spices that were already evident in the tea's aroma reveal themselves to be the "slightly biting [character] due to it's relative youth" of which the description on this pu'erh's page on the Cloudwalker Teas website speaks. The overall impression is of a smooth roundness due to the broad, woodsy undertones punctuated by sharp upper notes which add complexity without detracting from the aforementioned smoothness of the tea.

It takes me a while to sort out a basic characteristic of this tea due to the interesting dichotomy between how it feels in the mouth and in the throat; I can't seem to determine whether the tea is warming or cooling in nature. Initially in the aftertaste, the mouth is subjected to a pleasant cooling feeling, but then the throat begins to exhibit a warmth which then spreads down and throughout my chest. In later infusions the source of the cooling sensation reveals itself to be a subtle bitterness, which, while thoroughly enjoyable, lacks the endurance of the warming chaqi, giving away this tea's character.

The session continues in much the same way, with yin characteristics becoming more and more prominent until waiting half an hour for a steep becomes merely a pleasant pause for thoughtful conversation.

Tea In The Out Of Doors

2011-07-02T22:17:00.000-04:00

With a roofed, screened in, and carpeted back porch I've been making tea "outside" on a fairly regular basis recently, since the weather is more or less always permitting there.What I've been doing less often is making tea properly outside, unsheltered from the elements in the wilds of my back yard. Sometime soon I aspire to make tea in a more natural environment, far from the conveniences of electricity and running water (a trip to the Gatineau Hills may be in order), but for now my back yard provides a perfectly sufficient break in the routine.

When making tea outside, a whole host of practical considerations seemingly spring into existence such as: How will I heat the water? Where do I put my wares and how can I arrange them so as to be comfortable? Where will all the excess water go? Finally, where do I sit? None of these concerns are really new, they simply require unfamiliar solutions when adjusting to any new environment.

Today was warm and sunny outside with a little bit of a breeze, so I chose a fresh and slightly cooling tea to go with it: this April's Semi-Wild Baozhong from Teamasters. Because my new ceramic kettle retains heat quite well, and this particular tea has shown itself to be amenable to a gradual lowering of temperature in the later infusions, the problem of heating the water and keeping it warm was relegated to heating it up on my kitchen stove as I usually do and mostly letting it cool on its own by my side.

I opted to arrange my main tools of the trade in a line in front of me, with the kettle off to one side near my right (dominant) hand and the cups offset to the left. I chose this arrangement because of practical considerations, but upon examination it also seems a logical choice based on the principles of yinyang and the flow of qi.

The kettle sits in a yang position on the right with the spout directing its energy towards the gaiwan where the tea is brewed. The faircup, which sits between the gaiwan (yang) and the teacups (yin), provides a place for the tea to rest in balance before being drunk. In this way the energy flows right to left and yang to yin in a graceful spiral towards the drinker where it is consumed. The positioning and orientation of the wooden tea scoop reflects the direction of the flow of energy and imbues it with the vivacity of the shrub from which it was made. The excess water and tea flow into the lawn where they return their energy to the surrounding environment.

Stepping from one set of esoteric considerations to another, making tea outside is, for me, an exercise in maintaining focus. As much as it feels great to be outside and immersed in life as I brew and make an attempt at entering into some level of harmony with my surroundings greater than quieting the mind in the quiet of my own home, there are a plethora of distractions between me and my journey of tea. From where I sit I notice how well the potted oxalis across from me has bloomed this year; an ant begins crawling up my leg and I stop to brush it off; I listen to hits from the seventies blaring from a radio a few houses away. A wide variety of factors come together to set the stage for what seems to be the perfect place to focus on anything and everything, which is hardly what I'm trying for.

This place could be regarded as a barrier, but I prefer to see it as an opportunity for growth. The real world is rife with disharmony, and the only way to find a niche of peace within it is to create one for yourself. Making tea on a flat rock in my back yard is a microcosm for any real-world situation. The goal is always to strive for the best; in this case the most peaceful and harmonious cup of tea. However, to actually experience pure peace and harmony in the real world is an impossibility, which is why the goal is simply to strive for it. Life is a journey, and a messy one at that, so all we can do is grow and learn as much as we can from our experiences, peaceful and harmonious or uncomfortable and scattered while always discovering how much more there is to learn. Sound familiar?

Slurp Your Tea!

2011-06-30T11:19:00.000-04:00

Slurping is a simple mechanism by which the drinker aerates the tea, a practice also common to wine tasting. The main difference here is that whereas in wine tasting the liquor is simply sloshed about inside the mouth, in tea tasting the liquor is slurped. Admittedly, some people do find the noise associated with the tea version bit unpleasant, but there is a purpose to it so bear with me.

Because slurping cools down the tea, it can be served and drunk hotter and faster. To me, however, experiencing the tea as fully as possible is always the primary consideration, and slurping works towards that as well. When tea is slurped, the aromatic oils it contains are sprayed all over the inside of the mouth, and while this may not provide a more fragrant cup per se, it noticeably alters the character of the liquor by emphasizing some characteristics and playing down others, sometimes dramatically enough to make what seem to be entirely new tastes emerge (depending on how much you choose to slurp). As an added benefit, I have found that slurping often mitigates the appearance of excessive bitterness or roughness in the aftertaste of many teas; useful for rendering an overbrewed cup more palatable.

These differences may seem fairly minor, but then to slurp or not to slurp was not the existential question posed by Hamlet. The tea experience is rich in subtle nuances, so slurp to explore (and once the tea has been swallowed, exhale deeply through the nose for a few more)!

Gu Zao Wei - Spring 2010 from World Of Tea

2011-06-23T22:43:00.000-04:00

Tea: Gu Zao Wei oolong from World Of Tea

Origin: Taiwan

Harvest: Spring 2010

I've often read about the profound effect the nature of the water used to brew tea has on the final beverage, and today I have a prime example. Gu Zao Wei is a tea that I used to think of as a pretty good example of a mid-roast, mid-oxidation oolong. A good all rounder to drink on a day-to-day basis, but nothing really special. This afternoon's was my first session with this tea using my new ceramic kettle, and it was a wholly new experience. The water coming out of the unglazed ceramic spout of my kettle made the tea come alive in a way I had never experienced with this tea before! This may be incentive to revisit some teas from The Before Time...

On to today's tea. The smells trapped by the airtight seal on the bag in which the leaves are stored are abundantly smooth and fruity-floral without too much evidence of roast; that particular character makes itself evident once the leaves are heated up.

The first short infusion doesn't release much in the way of aroma from this tea, but what little there is is pleasant. This may seem a strange thing to say, but the tea feels wet in the mouth. It's not the oily thickness of a very green oolong, but just a refreshing feeling which coats the palate. This makes for a very interesting overall textural profile as this tea has a tendency towards being very mildly astringent. When I say very mildly astringent, I mean that it isn't quite enough to actually register as astringency unless you're really looking for a word to describe that nice, slightly cooling feeling on the tongue and across the rest of the mouth.

To me, this is an all-weather tea: slightly cooling on the days which are a bit too hot, and slightly warming on the days which are a bit too cold. The roasted character starts to emerge on its own as an undertone in the second infusion but never really comes to the forefront, leaving flavours of ripe fruit to occupy the limelight. On some level this tea is slightly sweet, a characteristic which comes out more in the aroma from the liquor itsself and even more so from the aroma cup. Whereas this set of leaves is mostly all about fruit, the aroma cup gives up notes which are distinctively floral as it cools.

Brewing with water kept hot only by the residual heat in the kettle walls this tea has good endurance, with a more herbaceous flavour only starting to creep in as I approach the tenth infusion. This seems a little surprising as the liquor seems to have a fairly green tint right from the get go, albeit as a shade of bright yellow. Perhaps it's just my eyes.

Inspecting the leaves after my session there are few examples of stems at all, let alone stems with leaves attached. The leaves vary in size but are of a uniform dark green, and are fairly stiff and wrinkled in texture.

All in all, this is a good tea I've enjoyed for quite some time given new life by new water. If I'm honest, it's not a tea I'm passionnate about, but its vivacity made my day (which was mostly filled by two final exams) a better one, and surely that's why we all drink so much tea.

Dian Hong - Cloudwalker Teas

2011-06-22T17:20:00.001-04:00

Tea: Dian Hong (sheng pu'erh) from Cloudwalker Teas

Origin: China

Year: Unknown; its page on the company's website says it's three years old, but I'm not sure how recently the page was updated so it could be 2007 or 2008.

I've had a few samples of variously aged shengpu on hand from Cloudwalker Teas for about a month now, and this is one I somehow hadn't got round to trying until today during a visit from Director's Cut. According to the description on the company's website, this is supposed to be a good introductory pu'erh "processed similar to that of a black tea"; great for me as pu'erh isn't a genre I've had much chance to explore thus far. On the whole then, I don't really know a whole lot about this tea, but as far as I'm concerned a rose by any other name would smell as sweet so here goes.

The dry leaf in my preheated yixing teapot gives off a fairly typical aged pu'erh smell: wet wood. I quickly rinse the leaves, but the liquor looks too inviting to pass up so DC and I drink it anyway. For the first few infusions I normally use an aroma cup for pu'erh as I do with my oolongs, and the immediate impression with this tea is one of spice. There are undertones of smoother scents of mushrooms and wood, but they very much take a back seat for the moment. The liquid component of the tea washes over the inside of the mouth and down the throat, thoroughly coating my insides. An interesting contrast is created between the tea's warming action in my throat and the chaqi which leaves my mouth tingling.

Over the subsequent infusions the aroma evolves with a note DC likened to beeswax becoming more prominent while the spice which was initially so strong fades into a position parallel with the woody character, giving me the impression of a well loved and well seasoned kitchen countertop. Much to my delight, the beeswax note continued to sweeten, eventually acquiring a subtle floral quality much like the oolongs with which I am most familiar before subsiding alongside the rest of the aromas.

The tea feels thick and full of life, a characteristic which remains constant throughout the session as flavours come and go. The initial infusions are only slightly earthy, and over the course of the session this far from unpleasant quality eventually gives way to straw, grain, and abundant mouthfeel. In the middle infusions a wonderfully smooth cooling bitterness emerges, tickling the middle of my tongue before dissolving away.

The energy is noticeably relaxing, but not lethargic. A pleasant calmness envelops both DC and I as we drink.

The chaqi presses lightly on my glands and temples.

The spent leaves have a few twigs mixed in, but the leaves aren't very broken up and about half of them have acquired a definite green hue.

After eight or so infusions a very small amount of roughness started to appear at the back of the throat, but when I looked up this tea after the session and found out how young it is, I was astonished that there was so little in the way of unpleasant edges. This tea is wise well beyond its years.

Subtropical Forest Baozhong - Spring 2011 from Teamasters

2011-06-20T20:37:00.002-04:00

Tea: Subtropical Forest Baozhong (luanze oolong) from Teamasters

Origin: Wenshan, Taiwan

Harvest: April 22, 2011

Today I sat down to drink the last of the sample of this Subtropical Forest Baozhong that Stéphane so generously included with my last order. Well, let's not spend too much time beating about the bush here, this stuff is really good.

Today's was my last of three sessions with this tea, and despite it being with what is quite literally bottom-of-the-bag tea, it was the best. My first taste of this tea with all my friends who were around the day it came in the mail two weeks ago was thoroughly enjoyable, but getting to spend some real quality time with it today just hit the spot. When I tried this tea for the second time a couple days ago, however, I was really just having an off day. To begin with I didn't use enough leaf, and then part way through the session I reheated my kettle rendering the water far too hot and bringing out a nasty roughness that persisted at the back of my mouth for the rest of the session, not to mention the miserable effect of my lackluster timing when it came to actually steeping the tea. Today's session, however, went far differently, showing that with just a little attention, this set of leaves will give up something really special.

I neglected to take a picture of the dry leaf from this session, so these are the leaves from my previous session, the difference being the degree to which the leaves are broken up.

On opening the bag such a clear and thick oily scent escapes that I know this tea will leave plenty glossy residue on my teaware (if only I had a pot to consecrate to baozhongs). The odour is fresh and slightly vegetal, and only intensifies within the heated walls of the gaiwan. In using up the last of my sample, I found myself using a bit more leaf than I usually do, so the water flows out of my kettle making only a brief hesitation in the gaiwan before arriving in my faircup. Even so, the strong energy of this tea is immediately evident in its nose-tingling aroma.

As I don't usually rinse most of my teas (pu'erh being the main exception) this tea's character really opens up in the second infusion with strong floral notes under the lid of the gaiwan followed by a citrusy sweetness accompanied by wet nectarines and (sub)tropical fruit in the aroma cup. I spend such a long time marvelling at the strength and complexity of this aroma that the tea in my tasting cup grows cold and I have to pour myself a fresh one. A taste which initially gave the impression of a herbaceous take on sunflower seeds evolves through the second steep into something resembling the taste of stir-fried bamboo hearts. Stéphane was right to say that this is "a tea that mirrors its environment very well".

Because a picture of bag-bottom leaves isn't much use to
anyone, these are some of the leaves from a previous session.

The taste of this tea is more refined than that of its semi-wild cousin and overall seems more cohesive with less in the way of obtuse angles. This is by no means a slight to either tea; what I'm trying to express is that while both have complex flavour profiles, the cultivated tea's are more closely blended together rather than emerging as separate notes. It's because of this, its more cultured nature, that I'm not entirely surprised when a sweetness which is almost sencha-esque in character emerges in this tea.

In the fourth infusion an intriguingly distinct lemony note makes a brief cameo in both taste and smell, leaving behind a pleasant tingling sensation. It's at this point that the tea mellows out into a more conventional baozhong character. More bamboo hearts, less papaya.

Because of the degree to which the leaves were broken up in the bottom of the bag (which had settled to the bottom of my tea drawer with a few things on top of it; I really need to reorganise my stash), I had expected this tea to have a fair amount of bitterness and astringency, but over the course of my session very little ever came to bear. While drinking the seventh infusion I noticed some roughness at the back of the mouth emerging in the aftertaste, but considering the state of the leaves it really was negligeable. The more lasting impression of this tea in its more than ten infusions (which in all honesty could probably be pushed farther if I had the patience for adequately lengthy steeps; today I don't) is its cool mint aftertaste and mildly relaxing full-body chaqi.

An Incomplete Experience

2011-06-14T21:39:00.001-04:00

With all the buzz about pu'erh on the blogosphere these days it's a real challenge not to be tempted to at least try these teas, and admittedly not one I've made much effort to resist. To that end, this is what I had for tea today. It's an aged wild sheng pu'erh from Cloudwalker Teas, and my experience with it today was, to say the least, incomplete; happily, this doesn't seem to preclude it's interestingness, however.

Today has been "just one of those days" for me, and even the weather seemed confused with the morning being chilly and overcast and the afternoon clear, bright, and hot. When I woke up this morning I felt today was the day I'd been waiting for: a cold spell to enjoy some hot tea. Having tasted this tea before, I know its warming chaqi will heat me up from the inside out, so I'd been waiting for weather like this morning's to make the most of the tea, leaving me a little disappointed when the aforementioned climactic conditions changed for the better. In spite of this I decided to have some of the tea, but mixed up as I was I got up and left for dinner during the third or fourth steep. When I came back a little over half an hour later and discovered my teapot full of hot water I thought any future infusions would be bland at best given the length of the accidental steep. I was wrong. The following infusion was still quite tasty and surprised me by being no more rough than any other brew, quite a feat considering this tea has only a little rough dryness at the back of the throat in the later infusions when brewed more attentively.

This mistake is, I think, a great illustration of the appeal of aged shengpu: remarkable endurance and a tendency for flavours to gradually evolve over the course of a session rather than going through a short cycle in the first few infusions then tapering off as do many other teas. Although this may not have been much more than a double-take at what could perhaps be described as a more engaging version of the Energizer Bunny of tea, it was nevertheless an enjoyable one, and confirmation for me that this is a genre that merits further exploration.

Aged Oolong - 1988 from Cloudwalker Teas

2011-06-13T22:36:00.011-04:00

Tea: Aged Oolong from Cloudwalker Teas

Origin: Taiwan

Harvest: 1988

During the second part of my session with Director's Cut yesterday we tasted a tea with which I am very familiar: Cloudwalker Teas' 20 year old oolong tea. (Although the small company is physically located in Ottawa, it is run as a web-based operation with no storefront location. This may seem a barrier, but the customer service is excellent and I recommend checking them out if you have an interest in the kind of teas they have on offer. The company blog is located here.) Unfortunately, little is known to me about the origins of this tea other than it being some sort of Taiwanese oolong that's been aged for about twenty years; this tea is, however, anything but nondescript.

Upon being placed in my warmed yixing teapot the tea's most immediately obvious characteristic becomes even more apparent: its roast. Oolongs have to be re-roasted every few years as they age in order to dispell the moisture that soaks into the leaves from the air and allow the aging process to occur properly; as a result, aged oolongs are sometimes faked by simply roasting a new tea very heavily to imitate years of gentle roasting. Telltale signs of a forged aged oolong are hard, blackened leaves which don't open much over the course of a session and have an unnaturally harsh fiery nature. This is not a fake.

The real deal.

Holding up the teapot a powerful aroma of roast with sweet undertones bids farewell to the clay and greets rather than assaults my nasal passages. My note taking lapsed at this point barely into the session as hours of sitting with this tea resurfaced with the aroma and I got a little excited.

The incredible sweetness of this tea's aroma never ceases to amaze me, even after enough sessions to noticeably season the clay of my teapot (I tried brewing a medium oxidation/roast oolong in this pot recently and the tea felt muddied by some subtle textural interference). For the first few seconds very little emerges from the aroma cup, and then all of a sudden the liquor breaks open. An intense sticky sweet perfume of caramel and candied fruit rushes all the way to the back of the sinuses and just keeps coming. This smell, which DC likened to that of candied peaches and brie heated up together in the oven, endures with such strength that it seems it will keep on forever from the seemingly empty tiny porcelain vessel before gradually receding, leaving both DC and I with a pleasant lightheadedness. At this point, however, it proves difficult to mourn the passing of this exquisite odour as its liquid counterpart beckons from the table's surface.

Why yes, I think I will.

The liquor washes over the inside of the mouth and down the throat warming me as it goes. As someone with normally poor circulation in my extremities whenever I drink this tea in company I stretch out my arms in front of me and exclaim "Look! I have blood in my hands!" This tea has always had the remarkable effect of not only causing my hands to flush bright red, but also making the networks of veins in my hands and feet bulge as they seldom do. Needless to say, this tea has a strong warming chaqi that flows throughout the entire body. What continues to make this experience very pleasant to me is that the warm qi really does flow through the entire body, rendering this experience a gentle one more like to easing into a warm bed with crisp, fresh sheets after a long soak in a hot bath than to the harsher experience of sitting by a bonfire on a warm summer's night. Nonetheless, there is always a slight lingering warm dryness present at the back of the throat, but it fits so well into the tea's character and is so without the roughness that usually accompanies such astringency that this is one of the very few times I would call such an aftertaste to be an asset to the tea.

Even as I lengthen the infusions a little bit more than necessary the tea exhibits an uncommon absence of harsh characteristics. The tea has a feeling of roundness and of being full of depth in the mouth, one that is certainly displayed to an advantage by the teapot in which it is brewed, but gaiwan brewing in the past has proven to me that this tea has a thickness all its own. The textural fullness of this oolong is quite unlike the creamy or oily thickness of greener and fresher teas, and is one that I suspect comes quite simply from an abundance of maturity. As I drink I develop an impression of dry old timbers, like those forming the outside wall of a barn exposed to the elements for many years rather than the wet wooden notes familiar to those who drink pu'erh.

As I lift the lid in between infusions I'm always tempted to lean in and give the tea a sniff, and the odour there is one that, for me, is at once good and bad. Good because if there ever was any doubt as to the tea's age, it's now been erased. Bad because it's a sour and slightly tangy herbaceous smell that I don't particularly like, but because it doesn't appear to me in any other instance with this tea, I just take it as a sign of being the genuine article and move right along with my brewing.

During one particularly long infusion, a hint of the sweetness that was so obvious in the smell crept into the liquor itself, but as I timed the infusions more appropriately this note disappeared. It was only in the last few very lengthy infusions that the roasted taste began to give up ground to this sweetness. For the very last infusion, I simply poured more water into the teapot, replaced the lid, and walked away. Some time later I came back to my tea board, having completely forgotten about the infusion I had started some time ago, and was delighted to find that the teapot was now full of tasty tea! This last brew was surprisingly smooth and left a sweet memory lingering pleasantly in the back of my throat, a fitting end for one of my very favourite teas.

Re-learning Temperature

2011-06-12T17:50:00.002-04:00

One of the most basic and most emphasized aspects of brewing tea any more seriously than from a bag with a yellow label is water temperature. Plenty of people adhere to stringent guidelines requiring temperature to be measured precisely with a thermometer to ensure it's always at just the right temperature to infuse x kind of tea. I'm not one of those people.

I may have no use for a thermometer in my daily brewing, but that's not to say I don't pay any attention to temperature. In general, I brew my greens cooler (65-80C depending on how tough or delicate the individual tea is), my oolongs warmer (80-90C), and my pu'erhs hot (+95C), but really I'm all about brewing tea by intuition. If I think a tea can take it warmer or needs it cooler, I adjust accordingly, and in general I find measuring and re-measuring the temperature of the water being used is more of a distraction from the tea making process than an aid to it. Admittedly, it doesn't work out every time, but even then I look at it as an opportunity to learn more about the tea I'm drinking and about how I can adjust my brewing style to compensate for unwanted characteristics such as excessive bitterness or astringency. However, as much as I may learn a lot from tea brewed at a less-than-ideal temperature, the goal is always ultimately to make a better cup of tea, so at the end of the day the reason I do what I do is because it works for me. Or worked.

...and now.

Then...

Ever since I started drinking hot plant-based beverages I've been relying on your average plastic household kettle to heat the water. You know the type, they've got a metal coil element to heat the water, a plug for the wall, and a spout so large that it's difficult to hit anything smaller than a kitchen sink with any kind of reliable accuracy; on the whole not great for gongfu cha. For that reason, I've been looking for a better kettle for a while, and this past Monday one finally came in the mail. It's a ceramic kettle, stand, and burner set from Teamasters, and it's an excellent product. It heats water reasonably quickly (fifteen minutes to a boil from warm tapwater), pours a fine and accurate stream, and even noticeably improves the mouthfeel of the water put in it. In fact, the part that really lets this product down is the soft fleshy bit attached to the bamboo handle. My plastic kettle may not have been ideal, but I habitually estimate the water temperature based on the size of the bubbles that are coming off the element, and with practice I got to be quite good at it (during an experiment comparing my guesses to simultaneous readings taken using a meat thermometer I came consistently within a few degrees C of the actual temperature). With a new kettle using an element-free design, I need to re-learn how to estimate water temperature.

The dual prongs of bitter defeat.

Although I am usually loathe to use a thermometer as an aid to brewing tea, in this case it was necessary. For science (ah, the sweet allure of that quintessentially available justification...). I preheated some water in the plastic kettle and poured it into the ceramic one which then got placed on the burner. After playing the waiting game for a little while, I opened the lid and saw a handful of small streams of bubbles perhaps a few millimeters in diameter, the appearance of which I thought would signal approximately 85C. As it turned out, the actual temperature was 95C! No wonder the first tea I drank with this kettle got massacred.

My notes on the signs of reaching different water temperatures show that steam will probably be most practical indicator of water temperature, with light and heavy wafts from an open lid indicating 75C and 85C respectively. For my pu'erhs, I think I'll just continue to rely on the bubbles and the audible 'tinks' they make as they burst into existance. In the meantime, I've resigned myself to using a digital meat thermometer for occasional temperature checks to prevent the slaughter of innocent leaves. Although this has so far been successful, I do look forward to once again casting off this crutch.

(Note: I started writing this post this past Friday but waited until today to put it up to allow the inclusion of photos and better data, so everything since then has been brewed using temperature checks including the sessions that formed the basis of reviews.)

Alishan 1 - Spring 2011 from World Of Tea

2011-06-12T16:19:00.006-04:00

Tea: Alishan Oolong from World Of Tea
Origin: Alishan (1,400m), Taiwan
Harvest: Spring 2011

Today I sat down with Director's Cut to try a couple of different teas, the first being this fresh gaoshan oolong from World Of Tea, a relatively new brick and mortar shop located in the national capital's Westboro village.

As this tea has a very low oxidation level I brewed it quite cool (and a bit too light in the first cautious infusion), and as a result very little in the way of aroma greeted us from the sniffing cups. The mouthfeel, however, was instantly smooth and coated the whole inside of the mouth just as a drop of soap diffuses across a layer of water covering it completely. Having been gently woken by the first infusion aromas of mango and papaya reached us revealing what little oxidation this tea had undergone during processing. Looking at the leaves in the empty gaiwan this was very apparent; they were of an incredible rich green!

Someone left emeralds in my gaiwan...

This tea really seems to be all about mouthfeel rather than the intense fruity and floral qualities for which more oxidised and roasted oolongs are known, and in this respect it really excelled. The mouthfeel was consistently smooth and had a pleasant cool and minty huigan which only lasted longer as we progressed through the infusions. However, this is not to say that the flowers and fruit of other oolongs are completely absent. After the third infusion very clear and distinct floral notes bloomed beneath the lid of the gaiwan letting us know that this was indeed an oolong. In later infusions the tea developped a light sweet note which DC described as being closer to the sweetness of caramelized onions than the honey-sweetness of the senchas with which he is familiar. This sweetness continued to evolve throughout the subsequent infusions eventually concluding with a note most like some sort of candied fruit.

One subtle but at the same time powerful characteristic of this gaoshan tea was it's trademark high-mountain chaqi. While the cooling properties were duly noted early on during the tasting, it was only towards the end of the session that a remarkable calmness became more obvious. The qi was never overpowering or in your face as it can sometimes be with other genres, but rather has a more subtle centering effect on the drinker. As this tea was provided courtesy of DC's personal stash, he was able to relate previous experience with this tea illustrating this effect: at the end of a hectic day the tea left him with a feeling of calmness, providing an interesting contrast to today's lazy Sunday session which managed to dispell a feeling of lethargy stemming from not doing anything all day up until then. However, this is not to be mistaken for an energizing, early morning tea as it clearly did not have this effect on us.

Looking into my tea strainer the quality of the leaves that make up this tea is obvious: barely anything's been filtered out. The tightly rolled leaves are whole almost without exception, about two thirds of them being three leaves to a stem (rather than lone leaves). As World of Tea's mid-range (or better yet, mid-mountain) Alishan Oolong, at about $20 for 50g it is a thoroughly enjoyable and economical way of exploring gaoshan as a genre.

Co-authored by Eugenius and Director's Cut

Introducing Director's Cut

2011-06-12T14:55:00.003-04:00

Well, it's only been four days since this blog went live, and already this blog has acquired an extra part-time set of taste buds! A friend of mine who I drink tea with fairly often expressed an interest in the blog, but he lacked a suitable pseudonym for the purpose. To that end, he shall hereafter be referred to as Director's Cut (or DC for short) for his intermittent habit of providing a running commentary on passing events (a real-time equivalent of the director's cut of a movie, or so the joke goes). So, be prepared to see some of his input in future posts from shared sessions (and perhaps even some original content on occasion).

Semi-Wild Baozhong - Spring 2011 from Teamasters

2011-06-11T21:46:00.004-04:00

Tea: Semi-wild Baozhong from Teamasters
Origin: Wenshan, Taiwan
Harvest: April 24, 2011

A beautiful day for a beautiful tea. Today was warm-ish outside, so this afternoon before the gentle rain started I decided to pair the wonderful atmospheric conditions with a gentle, slightly cooling tea: a baozhong. Specifically, this is the semi-wild baozhong I received earlier this week from Stéphane Erler; safe to say this is not my first session with this tea. It is, however, the first session that will form the basis of a "review" for this blog. Here goes nothing!

I brewed this tea with a relatively small amount of leaf in a 100ml porcelain gaiwan. My initial infusions were quite short, but in spite of this a smooth, creamy fragrance opened itself to my nose followed by a somewhat more leguminous beany note in the aroma cup from the first infusion. The second infusion held a small amount of the floral notes common to more oxidised oolongs, but these notes were fleeting. In the next infusion the aroma peaked with fruity rather than floral notes trapped under the lid of the gaiwan which left behind a pleasant tingling sensation. In subsequent brews the aroma continued to diminish and I focused more on the taste and abundant mouthfeel of this tea.

For the most part the aromatic qualities of this tea were echoes of its taste and feeling in the mouth which I can only describe as silky smooth. The tea coated the inside of my mouth and left behind a fresh and sometimes minty feeling which lasted longer and longer as I made my way through the infusions. Over the first few infusions a flavour profile developed which was strikingly similar to sunflower seeds; this flavour seemed to originate from a blending of the initial creamy taste and the emerging leguminous note which never seemed too prominent.

Leaving the lid off resulted in a cooler brew.

As I focused less on my note taking and more on simply drinking the tea hot and fresh out of the cup the chaqi became much more apparent, stimulating my salivary glands and leaving my mouth tingling lightly. It was at this point that a dryness began to emerge in the tea's finish which was at first not unpleasant but later became accompanied by a feeling of roughness in the back of the mouth which acted as an unappealing anticlimax to the tea's otherwise unblemished smoothness.

As I took the above picture the tea continued to steep in the lidless gaiwan, and when I finished drinking the resulting infusion I noticed that the roughness and astringency in the aftertaste was gone! In the next infusion I experimented with leaving the lid on as I usually do, and sure enough this resulted in a rougher cup. In each of the infusions that followed I left the lid off and each brew was perfectly unblemished into the double digits. I suspect this is due to the water cooling off more quickly once poured in, resulting in a gentler and therefore smoother infusion. Although this was never a problem before because my old plastic kettle cooled down fairly quickly and made progressively cooler infusions unless I made a point of reheating the water, my new ceramic kettle holds heat much more effectively rendering me in charge of ensuring that the leaves in question receive increasingly gentle treatment as they lose their robustness over the course of a session.

Upon examining the spent leaves noticing an abundance of twigs is inevitable. A byproduct of this tea's semi-wild nature? Perhaps. In any case, the last long, cool infusion of this tea gave up the ghost with a creamy mouthfeel, a tingle on the tongue, and a hint of bean. Delicious.

Addendum on June 19, 2011: On revisiting this tea with more leaf all aspects of the tea were amplified, which proved very satisfying as far as the taste and aroma were concerned (this time strong floral notes emerged in the aroma, peaking in the third infusion) but also brought out the persistent roughness that this time I was unable to successfully manage as I had before. I suspected that the stems were the source of this unpleasantness, so I picked through my gaiwan and removed them in between infusions, saving part of the last infusion for comparison, though as it turned out this was hardly necessary. Along with the twigs the roughness made its exit from the brew.

Endings and Beginnings

2011-06-09T22:55:00.003-04:00

With the last steeping of a fresh baozhong from Stéphane Erler today came what is, in short, an idea. Where exactly this blog will go in the future (or if it will go anywhere; I hope so) I can't say for sure, but I do have an inkling. This will be as much for me as for you, whoever you may be. This will be a place for me to accesibly organise my own tea journey, and hopefuly connect with others on theirs. Will I review teas, ware, and other such mundane material things? You bet. Will I time my steepings and precisely measure the thickness of my teapots? Absolutely not. I don't claim that my way is the right way or even a particularily good way, it's just what I'm doing and what I'm learning, and as such even the things that I post here as "reviews" will be more my own thoughts than any kind of arbitration on quality. To me, tea is a way to escape the confines of the idea that there is such a thing as a "right way" to do things, and to get closer to the idea that all of life is an exploration. It's an opportunity for me to de-stress and think in solitude or talk and laugh in good company. In some ways I view tea as a microcosm for life in general, and so I look at it as being as much of a philosophical experience as a gustatory one. If that seems far fetched, then I hope you'll stick around because in a some ways it does to me too, but it's an idea that intrigues me and one I intend on exploring with as many people as I can. This is a journey of good tea and good thought, so, dear reader, you down for some cha dao?

Spring 2011 Semi-Wild Baozhong from Teamasters (tasting notes to follow)