Category: Tea Features Page 23 of 26

I don’t call these tea reviews, but rather tea features. Reason being, I don’t devote insane amounts of effort to negativity.

That and life is too short for a bad cup of tea.

Into the Wild…Arbor

By lazyliteratus

On September 19, 2013

In Tea Features, Tea Musings

I’m still in the midst of a bit of an oolong kick. It “mostly” started because I was attempting to whittle down my backlog of unique teas. However, for some reason, the oolong-ing just…stuck. I do have my guesses. They make me feel really good.

Chip

And not just “ZOMG-IMMA-CAFFEINE-MACHINE!!!” good – like, “Zen” good. A coworker even remarked that I had an unusual spring in my step one day. I never have a spring in my step; it’s more of a subsistent shuffle.

My only response to them was, “It’s the oolong.”

“Long what now?” was the almost-inappropriate reply.

One of the culprits for my recent bout of “good-mood-itis” was an offering from a new operation called Tea Setter. A few weeks ago, I watched one of Tea For Me Please’s podcasts. She was interviewing the purveyor of Tea Setter – one Matt Kitchen.

(Sidenote: Great name, dude. Seriously. You must be a foodie girl magnet. The tea biz is just icing on the cake.)

Around the same time, I noticed Matt had commented on one of my blog entries. See, vendors, that’s how ya do it. Engage the communi-“tea”. Ego boosted, I decided to peruse his start-up’s site. Given my current penchant for all things oolong, that was the section I went for. He only carried oolongs and pu-erhs. (Edit: And soon, green tea.) Hardcore.

Then I saw it…like some kinda dark, leafy beacon. Four words gave me an instant tea-boner. Too inappropriate? Who cares! It’s true. Those words: “Wild. Arbor. Oriental. Beauty.”

Alright, a bit of a history lesson.

ludwig

Oriental Beauty (or “Dong Fang Mei Ren”) is a style of oolong originating from Taiwan. The leaves for this type are allowed to have bugs – known as leafhoppers – attempt to pick at the leaves. For protection, the leaves take on a bit of a characteristic change to deter the pests. However, as a result, the flavor profile of the leaves also change…for the awesome!

Oriental Beauty also goes by the more common name of “Bai Hao Oolong”, which was the first way I ran into it. It is probably my favorite type of Taiwanese oolong, with Ali Shan-produced ones rounding a close second. So far, I’ve tried several from Taiwan, and a variant from Fujian province, China.

The one on Tea Setter’s page…was from Yunnan. Wu Liang Shan, to be precise. Instead of a smaller leaf – like with its Taiwanese forbearer – this one utilized a larger tea leaf cultivar (or group of cultivars) known as “Wild Arbor”.

This is a fuzzy term referring to cultivated varieties of tea trees that have “gone feral”.

TreebeardatIsengard

Not quite like that…but close.

In China, it is not uncommon to find tea plantations abandoned for centuries. Of late, these have become a treasure trove. Many of the once-cultivated tea trees have returned to their more natural state, and – thusly – their flavor profile is affected…for the awesome!

Teas made from truly wild (or “ye sheng”) tea trees fetch a pretty high price. Wild Arbor teas go for much less, but – in some cases – taste just as good. Such tea trees often produce exquisite pu-erh-ready leaves. I tried a few in my time. I even notched off a few wild-crafted white and black teas. An oolong, however…

That was something new and weird.. And – as this blog indicates – I’m all about the new and weird. I even zapped Mr. Matt a message wondering how he came across this variant. He said:

“We offer a small variety of hand selected teas that I have chosen from dozens and dozens and dozens of tastings. And that is how I came across this Oriental Beauty. From a large group of oolongs that my distributor had to sample. I kept getting dark oolong after dark oolong that was just too intense and I know wouldn’t appeal broadly and then I cam across this and it was like a breath of fresh air. Sweet and crisp, a little bite, and the grilled peach notes were subtle to intense depending on what infusion I was on. I actually had to email the distributor to make sure this tea wasn’t artificially flavored.”

I dug into it about a couple of days later.

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The leaves themselves were long, twisty, with the occasional tippy piece in the fray. There wasn’t much of an aroma to speak of, alas. So, I had no idea what I was getting into. For the first infusion, I did what the instructions told me to. I steeped the leaves in a gaiwan for twenty seconds. The second time around, I added…uh…I forget how many seconds. I think it was thirty. Third time: About forty-five. The results were strangely staggering.

First infusion (twenty seconds): The liquor was yellow-gold without much aroma. However, the taste was straight fruit – tart and sweet all at once. Very much like I expect from an Oriental Beauty – variant or no.

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Second infusion (thirty seconds-ish?): Bolder notes of…bergamot? How odd. Definitely a citrus lean. The darker liquor was also a shocker – more mahogany than gold. There was also a mineral note to the end, not surprising from a Chinese oolong.

Third infusion (forty-five seconds): Still strong on the fruit notes, but with the added verve of a roasty appeal. Just a shade darker than the second infusion. Mineral and earth still showed up at about the mid-point yet were quickly pummeled by a feeling of “plum”.

I kept steeping this until I forgot how many infusions I was at. The fruity lean never let up until the very end (whenever that was). Any notes I would’ve had on the successive sips were lost amidst groans of tea drunk delight.

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This was one wild oolong.

But I’d at least buy her dinner first.

Chip off

I Can’t Believe It’s Almost Not Oolong

By lazyliteratus

On September 10, 2013

In Tea Features

Norbu Tea has been one of my go-to hookups for weird teas for – well – almost as long as I’ve sipped. Greg Glancy seems to have a palate similar to mine, or at the very least an unrelenting geek-ish lean for teas with stories behind them. I finally had the pleasure to meet the man behind Norbu at World Tea Expo in June. Finding his booth was like hunting down a Wonderland rabbit-hole, but once I did I was glad for it.

Greg in garb.

One of the strange, new items I picked up from the Tsou-Vayiyana booth he was co-hosting was something dubbed, “Ali Shan Hong Cha”. It already had my attention for having my favorite Taiwanese tea mountain – Ali Shan – in the title. The leaves were ball-fisted like an oolong but darker in appearance. The aroma it gave off reminded me of unsweetened chocolate and oak barrels.

It was one of the first teas I tore into when I returned home.

Without exaggeration, it was unlike any black tea I’d ever tried. When I brewed it Western-style, the first characteristics that emerged were malt and (the aforementioned) unsweetened chocolate. With further infusions, the sweetness kept creeping up until it was indistinguishable from a black tea from that region. A bit of oolong minerality showed up by the third steep. Yes, this lasted three strong, Western-style steeps.

I also found that the longer I steeped it for, the sweeter it grew. Even more so than a Ruby 18. There were quite a few times when I infused this sucker before taking a shower, came out fifteen minutes later, headed off to work, and it was still good. Nary a tannic overtone.

Western-style

Something was amiss about this so-called “Hong Cha”.

Greg informed me via Twitter that he and the growers had agreed to redub the tea “Ali Shan Red Oolong”, and asked for my thoughts on it. I put my teasnob cap on (more of a metaphoric fez, really), and asked if it was fully oxidized…or only mostly oxidized.

Max

He informed me that it was the latter – 90% oxidized, just shy of being a “Hong Cha” of its prior title. This prompted me to experiment with it some more. I had yet to wrongfu the heck out of it.

One particularly low-key and experimental day, I decided to do it “gongfu-ish”-style to see what would happen. I dusted off my ol’ gaiwan, took about a teaspoon of the ball-fisted leaves, boiled some water (then let it sit for a minute), and played with multiple infusions.

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Done this way, the oolong-ish characteristics really showed through. Not in a typical Ali Shan-ish sorta way, though. Far from it. A first infusion gave a medium-to-full-bodied brew like a brandy oolong, while further infusions darkened, felt roastier on the mouthfeel, and developed an alternating palate of wood, leather and…well…more dark chocolate.

If I were a choosing man, though, I would say I preferred the Western approach. It was just dark enough to handle the longer steep times, and more of the flavor was imparted per cup. That…and it handled lazy brewing perfectly.

My kinda tea.

Teapot Image Mooched from Yanko Design

It’s a “Dog-Drinks-Darjeeling” World

By lazyliteratus

On August 28, 2013

In Tea Features, Tea Musings

The time? April or May-ish. Weather? Typical for Oregon – wet. My mood: Panicky.

My one solace between an impending move, a dreaded upcoming vacation, and a soon-to-be-havoc-y work schedule were tea deliveries. A few vendors were contacting me early to get their early Spring wares featured. I was still determining what my blogging focus was, nor had I decided if I was a “tea reviewer” or a “tea feature writer”. Or just some schmo with a tea blog that everyone’d heard about, but no one actually read.

In the interim, teas sporadically arrived at my doorstep. Over the course of this particular week, I was expecting three different deliveries. I had no idea what would be arriving first, only that something would be arriving soon. On this particular day, I was still in my out-of-season holiday pajamas, slippers and “Pot Head” tea-shirt – mug o’ black in hand.

My brother’s dog waited expectantly to be let outside for his morning “constitutional”. I opened the front door, checked to make sure that the gate was locked, let him loose, and went back inside to nurse my tea.

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Then the doorbell rang. That shouldn’t have happened.

Anytime the doorbell rang, and the dog was outside, it usually meant he’d found a way through the gate and was pooping all over the neighborhood. This had happened four or five other times, hence the need for a preliminary “gate-check” before letting him out. While he was friendly – and incredibly stupid – he was also very large. A rampaging Saint Bernard is a scary sight even if he is just pooping…then molesting hapless passersby with doggie kisses of death.

I answered the door, once again expecting a beleaguered neighbor with one hand around the large dog’s collar. Nope, it wasn’t that. It was a short-haired woman in mailman blues with a really guilty expression on her face.

“Um, here’s your package,” she said.

“Thanks?” I said, not even looking at it.

“Um…your dog?”

I narrowed my eyes. “What about him?”

“I…accidentally let him out,” she stammered.

If she wasn’t so Gidget-ly adorable and pathetic, I would’ve decked her with my half-finished tea mug.

mailmare2

“Which direction did he go?” I asked.

Before she could answer, I saw him two houses down. I cursed, went back inside, and dug around for a pair of shoes, and the dog leash. In the meantime, the mail-Gidget had gone on ahead to track the dog down. I came out, still in my PJs, dashing for where the mailwoman had gone. It was a sad sight. Me, that is.

Mailgal successfully cornered the Saint Ber-doofus in a neighbor’s yard across the street. They had gates like ours, and she shut them behind her – keeping him nice and corralled as he urinated on every protruding object.

I called his name, “Abacus!”

He tried to run away, and went into the neighbor’s car port. I held my hand out like I had a snack and knelt down. The dumbass fell for it, and galloped right up to my hand. After getting a grip on his gargantuan head, I snapped the leash around his collar and towed him back to the house.

I gave the mailwoman a stiff, “Thank you.” Then went back inside. The dog loped over to his usual area, then sat down – staring at me.

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As if to say, “Gee golly, Geoff. That sure was fun! What’re we gonna do now?!”

My attention, however, was on the package that just arrived. It was from Happy Earth Tea – an outfit out of New York I’d done “business” with in the past. (Dwarven business.) I tore it open without a second thought. Inside were five teas from the 2013 first flush Darjeeling harvest. I went with the one I recognized best and went straight to brewin’.

Risheehat.

While there was an Arya Black in the package as well – smelling like a typically lovely first flush with all its spicy verve – I was more drawn to the Risheehat’s uniqueness. There was a nuttiness to the aroma of the dry leaves, as well as a subtly herbaceous lean. The only time I ever ran into that combination was with a Chamong estate first flush. So, naturally – given that it’s, well, me – uniqueness won out.

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Brewing this up wasn’t much of a chore. I used 2 tsps. of the green-leaning leaves for a pints-worth of a brew – 205F water for a three-minute infusion.

The liquor brewed up bronze with aromatic steam reminding me of Spring (in a good way). On taste, it was toasty, nutty, with a minor vegetal presence on the finish. And, boy, did the caffeine hit quicker than I thought. Definitely not a tea to have on an empty stomach. In the end, I think I was just about panting. Like a Saint Bernard.

In a Dog-Drinks-Darjeeling world, I’m wearing milkbone pajamas.

Moonlight Tandemonium!

By lazyliteratus

On August 23, 2013

In Tea Features

It all seems to come back to World Tea Expo, doesn’t it? Well, here’s another one. But let’s start from the beginning before the beginning – i.e. pre-Expo.

Several months ago, the follicly-blessed Jo Johnson talked about a tea from a company called Wild Tea Qi. I’d never heard of them, or their wares, but a scant glance at their website made my geek vein pulsate. The particular tea Jo pointed at was a white tea that’d been pressed somewhat like a zhuan cha, only more reminiscent of a candy bar. That is, several tiny squares segmented and attached at the hip like a Snickers. Win-win, right there.

IMAG1089

It was dubbed, “Ancient Moonlight White Bud Bar”. Just by the title alone, I don’t need to even go into why I wanted it. Ancient tea trees: Check. White tea: Check. It had the word “bar” in it: Check. The only parts that had me worried were the name “Moonlight” and the price tag.

Yunnan whites and I have a rather interesting history. The first Silver Needle I could boil the s**t out of was from Yunnan – assamica leaves, no less. Some non-sinensis var. sinensis leaves also made for a pretty mean white tea variant. There was one white tea I was hit-or-miss with, though. The Chinese-y name for it was Yue Guang Bai, and of all the white teas I ever tried…it was like hay. Sometimes good hay, sometimes bad hay, but always hay. The name loosely translated to “Moonlight White”.

From what I read on the Wild Tea Qi profile, this was similar to that white, only from much older trees. And more artisanal; if that means anything. All said, though, I passed it up because of the price, and I didn’t feel like playing the “blogger card” to acquire it.

Time passed…

Then World Tea Expo happened. Wild Tea Qi had a booth, and I frequented it on my…second day? Heck, I can’t remember. It’s all a tea-drunken blur. Point being, I tried some of their aged wares, and noticed they had the Ancient Moonlight White Bud Bar on sale. I let that sink in for a day before I firmly lost out to my (lack-of) impulse control.

I bought it on my last day.

For a couple of months it stayed in the bag of new, yet-to-be-drunk teas that I had backlogged. In the interim, I moved, I wrote, I worked…and I completely forgot about it. Then the plucky-‘n-preggered Rachel Carter chimed in on The-Plus-That-Is-Google with a suggestion for our next “Tandem Tea Tasting”.

You guessed it.

At first, I didn’t commit to the tasting. My work schedule over the Summer (thus far) had been unpredictable at best. I couldn’t firmly agree to the 6PM Pacific e-meet-up time. However, when the day-of came, I was off by 5. I mad-dashed it out the door. Got home in forty-five minutes, and got to brewin’ shortly after.

Directions on the website said to use water between 180F-200F. I went the lazy route, boiled the water, and let it stand for a couple of minutes. The true challenge was chiseling a chunk off the tea bar itself. Luckily, I’d purchased a pu-erh ice-pick-pokey-thingy at Phoenix Teashop some weeks back.

Now, one would think the best way to go about cutting this up would be to merely cut one of the square pieces off. But ooooooh no. I had to stab at it like some sort of impatient monkey. Or 1990s Sharon Stone.

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Proverbial mess made, I took my tablespoon of leaves, put ‘em in a Ceylon steeper cup, and brewed them “wrongfu”-style for thirty seconds…-ish.

The liquor was pale yellow like a white tea should be, and it tasted like Yue Guang Bai. The “good hay” kind. Not much in the way of nuance, though. Before the start of the tandem tasting, I was already two mini-steeps in. Rachel was the first one there, Jo followed suit, Nicole “Tea For Me Please” Martin logged in next, followed by Darlene Meyers-Perry.

And that’s when my phone decided to crap out.

During the entire chat, I was limited to texting my notes and odd idioms. The results were…um…

monkey_and_typewriter

Yeah.

Over the course of that hour, the girls made it to steep three-to-five. I was on steep – oh – fourteen before the event closed off. The final verdict was – if I can put it inappropriately – that the Ancient Moonlight White Bud Bar was like an expensive date that wouldn’t put out until the third-to-fifth outing.

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Not being one to Friend Zone this tea just yet, I gave it another go the following day, while writing tandem blogs about Earl Grey. This time, though, I brewed it Western-style, and lightened the water temp to that of a standard white tea – roughly 175F.

The results were MAGIC HAY!!!

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Really good, like on-par-with-any-Chinese-white-tea good. It held up for a whoppin’ three steeps that way, too. Yielding strong brew after strong brew. Well done, Moonlight.

You saucy minx, you.

For Nicole’s take, go HERE.

For Jo’s take, go HERE.

For Rachel’s take, go HERE.

(I’ll be updating the other tandemer articles as their written.)

Tea. Earl Grey. Burnt.

By lazyliteratus

On August 21, 2013

In Tea Features, Tea Musings

I’ll start this off by saying: Never before have I encountered an Earl Grey origin story like this.

But I’m getting ahead of myself…

Sometime back in Spring, I started yacking with a blender in Montana (of all places) via Twitter – one Gary Robson. By sheer appearances and demeanor, he didn’t come across to me as your typical tea person. He came across as very…mountain. No seriously, this is the blender in question.

Mountain

Not the type of guy that screams, I like tea. Then again, I’m not either. (Oh, who am I kidding?)

I perused his blog, which inevitably lead me to explore his website. The man was an author (his Who Pooped in the Park seems brilliant), ran his own bookstore (Red Lodge Books & Tea), and in the last few years added a tea bar to it. He was living my dream! What I found even more surprising was the quality of teas that he carried. Sure, there were blends present, but his line of single estate offerings was also quite extensive.

The true test of a tea bar, though, was there white tea section and – inevitably – their Earl Grey. Rule o’ thumb, you can guess the mettle of a tearoom based upon the Earl Grey they carry. Kinda like judging a dictionary by whether or not it has the word “etymology” in it, or a Bible that uses “Nephilim” instead of “giants”. (Whoah, that analogy was obscure.)

My eyes bee-lined to one Earl Grey in particular – Mr. Excellent’s Post-Apocalyptic Earl Grey. After reading the ingredients, my jaw dropped. It was a Lapsang Souchong variant of the age-old formula. I immediately private messaged Gary to inquire further. By happenstance, he was Vegas-bound in the next month for World Tea Expo. And so was I.

Yes, I had to use this picture again.

We encountered each other on the Expo floor, and he ran down the history of the blend. Gary had made a post on the Straight Dope message board about Twinings changing their signature Earl Grey recipe. The conversation did what most dialogues on the Internet did, it gravitated to flights of fancy. One participant – dubbed Mr. Excellent – made passing mention of not liking Earl Grey, rather preferring Lapsang Souchong. However, the idea of a bergamot-laden Lapsang appealed to him.

Gary ran with it. He mentioned to Mr. Excellent that he was going to toy with that very concept. Mr. Excellent added the phrase: “Post-Apocalyptic Earl Grey” to a post of approval. And so, it was conceived. Via the Internet.

While certainly not the first to think of a smoky Earl Grey, he wanted to be the first to perfect it. The main problem was finding a balance between the bergamot and the pine-smoked black. When a suitable balance between the flavors was maintained, the blend needed to be cut with the right base. Given that Lapsang is from Fujian province, China, initially, Robson went with a Yunnan Dian Hong as a comparable foundation.

After reaching the right combination of tastes, Gary Robson announced via the same message board that “Mr. Excellent’s Post-Apocalyptic Earl Grey” was ready for the masses. Mr. Excellent chimed in with a, “Tea. Earl Grey. Burnt.” And that cascaded into a brief conversation about zombies and their fear of bergamot oil.

Eight months later, Gary commissioned an old college friend of his son’s – Brandon Pope – to create a logo for the blend. The lad came up with this. Gary touched it up with some ghastly font, and it was ready for website whoring.

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I received the blend in July on behalf of Gary Robson’s minions. It came in a bag that could best be described as radioactive. It practically glowed when I put it on my black-corduroyed lap.

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When I opened the bag, what amazed me was how balanced the smell was. Smoke was there in spades, but so was the citrus-sour rind aroma of the bergamot. Both tangoed with each other, rather than tangled in a death match for supremacy. Both shared the aromatic luster with equal aplomb. Like a gentleman’s agreement.

Brewing was simple enough. I treated it like any other Western-style black – 1 tsp. per 8oz. of boiled water, and a three-minute steep. Of course, I did it by the pint.

The taste was a slightly different experience. Pine-smoke clearly took point, followed closely by the citrus. It would seem the gentleman’s agreement could only go so far. Something had to dominate. However, they both wove interchangeably in the middle and trail-off. Balance was still maintained.

IMAG1085 A less sophisticated part of me almost wished there was more smoke and more bergamot. If that were the case, though, I don’t think the palate response would’ve been nearly as even. With the balance struck as it was, both smoke and citrus exhibited their strengths – like teamwork against an approaching zombie horde.

Needless to say, this has become one of my go-to teas for on-the-go. I could even give it a neglectful, “forever steep” while taking a shower, and it would still come out perfect. Hearty enough to take whatever fallout I dished it. My next mission: To finally visit Red Lodge Books proper…and acquire this by the pound.

Y’know…for the bunker.

dogfort

A Korean Tea Coin and a Firepit

By lazyliteratus

On August 16, 2013

In Tea Features, Tea Musings

A Korean Tea Coin and a Firepit

A “steep story” by Geoffrey F. Norman

Dokk-cha (or “Tteok-cha, as I like to call it) is a type of pressed tea from Korea. If you’ve been following along in my latest exploits, you will recall I made mention of it in my Canadian-Burlington tea-picking adventure. Pedro Villalon of O5 Tea was kind enough to gift me with one of these coins. Learning what to do with it was going to be a challenge.

Image Owned by the Cha Dao Blog

I first learned of dokk-cha through the ever-resourceful Gongfu Girl blog. They’d had an experience with some of these tea coins at the Phoenix Tea shop and provided an anecdotal how-to on their preparation. In addition to that, she provided another article posted in Cha Dao (written by Steven Owyoung) about the history of dokk-cha. The word “dokk” is actually an onomonopia referring to both the compression technique used for the tea leaves involved…as well as the sound they make.

Many foodstuffs used to be duly…uh…dokk’d, besides tea leaves. Rice was a common one back in the hither and yon. The making of dokk-cha, unfortunately, fell out of favor during and after the Japanese occupation of South Korea – until recently. Monks, tea farmers, or anyone with a wacky idea have been reviving the age-old technique.

The process for making dokk-cha – unlike other compressed teas like pu-erh – is labor intensive but rather simple. Tea leaves are steamed in an earthenware pot, then taken out once softened. Then they’re given a beating via a mortar and pestle until they become a nice, green paste. Said mulch is then pressed (or dokk’d) into the shape of a coin, or whatever the presser wishes.

The ideal way of brewing a pressed tea coin is to lightly roast it over burning olive pit charcoal. Such specialty charcoal is hard to come by outside of Asia Major, but any ol’ charcoal could be substituted. The roasting takes fifteen minutes, or until the coin is pliable. After that, you place the coin in a pot of water over a stove (on a low simmer), and brew it for three-and-a-half hours.

I didn’t have olive pit charcoal. Or a charcoal stove of any sort. Nor did I have chopsticks, tongs, or whatever else to hold the coin in place. What I did have was a brother…

Who made his own firepit.

FIRE!

Close enough.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have any chopsticks to use as a pair of tongs. However, the substitute suggestion was far better – skewers! I asked him what the skewers were used for prior to fitting the coin on one.

His response was, “Uh…tofurky?”

I left that alone.

Over the course of fifteen minutes, I sat in a chair as my brother added whatever kindling he could to the pit. For a man about to get married, he had quite a bit of wood in the backyard to provide for said cause. Ever the do-it-yourselfer, my brother.

As I waved the coin over the flame, there were a couple of times where I didn’t watch what I was doing. Flame occasionally licked the coin itself. I’d heard that was supposed to be avoided. Once fifteen minutes had passed, I looked at the coin. Part of it was lightly smoking. Oops.

Roastin'

I took a whiff.

For lack of a better comparison, all I can say is that it smelled like a reefer madness. Roasty, yes. But very cannabis-like. I gave a nervous smile and motioned us over to the second phase – the simmering and long wait. Bro took out a pot, and put the stove on the lowest setting. I plopped the coin in and monitored the progress of the brew every forty-five minutes or so.

On a couple of occasions, I took the lid off the pot to get a good look-‘n-sniff. The water was darkening nicely – a very even, broth-like darkness. The aroma was…hard to describe. At one moment it reminded me of a roasted Dong Ding. On another, later whiff it resembled a Ti Kwan Yin. Very peculiar.

Almost ready

In the interim, my brother and his fiancée were entertaining guests. I tried to stay out of their way as my experiment manifested. They did, however, coax me out of hiding with a sweet potato veggie burger and gelato. I can never say “no” to gelato.

At the three-and-a-half-hour mark, I turned off the simmer, and – with my brother’s permission – poured the soup-like liquor into his French press. The liquor was very shou pu-erh-like in appearance, but the aroma reminded me of a very ancient Taiwanese oolong.

French press

The entire time, my brother kept the firepit stoked. We all gathered around it – them with their beers and juices, and me with my unusual tea. I sipped it gingerly. That aged oolong comparison? Even more accurate in the flavor. This tasted like a tea decades beyond its years – medicinal, kinda floral, mildly roasty, and with maybe a hint of fruit. Somewhere.

Cheers!

Did I do the process correctly? Did it taste like how it was supposed to? Heck if I know.

As my brother said, “It’s good…but not three-hours good.”

I flatly disagreed. I felt like a fisherman, and the flames of the firepit were my sea. And all I had for bait was a very unusual tea.

Gone fishin' in flames

Tea and a Tea Garden

By lazyliteratus

On August 14, 2013

In Tea Features, Tea Musings

One might recall – if they actually read this blog – that I made an impromptu trip to Eugene, Oregon…for a beer. An oolong beer, to be precise. While there, I also stopped by the shop that provided the oolong – J-Tea International. It’s a great little shop situated in the ‘burbs run by Josh (the titular “J” in the name) Chamberlain. While I was there, I was treated to an experiment of his, a black tea made from leaves grown in Oregon. An outfit called Minto Island Growers, in the state’s capital of Salem, had a half-acre plot of garden set aside for tea bushes.

The tea in question was exquisite, very much like a Taiwanese Ruby 18 only – well – ‘Merica. Deep, medium-bodied and slightly fruity. Color me shocked several months later when I saw a photo of Josh shoveling a bunch of black tea out of a cooker.

Josh and his tea pile.

More Minto Island black, to be clear. I salivated on my keyboard. Apparently, this time ‘round, he’d acquired enough leaf to make a product out of it. Well, of course, I was going to buy a tea grown in Oregon! And buy I did. On my phone. As I was stepping out of a fast food joint.

It arrived a week later, and I paid it as much fanfare as one could a new baby or puppy. Y’know, skipping, dancing, hooting and hollering; things a thirtysomething-year-old man shouldn’t do unless he intended to scare children. I tore open the bag to get a good whiff. By sight and smell, I could tell this was already going to be a different beast than the Minto Island Black Mark-1. Instead of a Ruby-ish smell, this resembled…maple? Very wildernessy.

When I brewed 2 teaspoons of leaves per pint of boiled water for five minutes, I was shocked by how light it was in color. That said, it still tasted damn good. Instead of a solid Ruby through-and-through, this was more…Li Shan black by way of a Nuwara Eliya Ceylon. High-altitude in character, floral on taste, with trickles of fruit notes interspersed throughout the flavorful experience.

Oregon-brewed

I finally read the description on the J-Tea site and found out why it was so different. The leaves were first flush. Not sure what the Mark-1 leaves were, but my gut tells me they were later. This did have first flush written all over it in both appearance and appetite. Light but with a kick. By sheer negligence, I also learned it could take a punishment of ten minutes or more with barely a tannic tickle.

However, a part of me kept egging me on, insisting that my experience with this tea was far from over. I’d had an urge to visit Minto Island Growers’ tea plot for over a year. If my experience at Sakuma Bros. had done anything, it was to instill a sense of, “Just f**kin’ do it!” And so I did it.

I e-mailed Elizabeth and Chris Jenkins to see if I could stop by and photograph the tea bushes for my blog. Elizabeth responded promptly, gave her consent, and followed that up with directions. The day I was to leave, I hadn’t intended to bring anything, but a last minute thought entered my brain: Brew a pint of Minto Island black and bring it with you!

I’m a “jeenyus”.

The trek was made that Wednesday. And, naturally, I got horribly lost before finding it. I found the Minto Island Growers market stand, and – by chance – got to meet Elizabeth. She pointed me in the right direction again, and – within a minute or two – I was standing in a tea garden again. A mere week after being one in Burlington.

I took my pint of Minto Island black with me. When I was about at the center of the garden, I began swigging. No words can describe what it feels like to drink a tea in the middle of the garden it came from. I could try, but my mere words would only act as a tribute. I now know how tea gardeners must feel.

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Steepless in Seattle; Tea Drunk in Burien

By lazyliteratus

On August 8, 2013

In Tea Features, Tea Musings

Prior to making the trip up to Burlington, I made secondary arrangements for the day after. It was never my plan to head directly home after the tea-pick-a-thon, but rather to bum around parts of Seattle. And by that, I should specify that my idea of bumming around involves drinking tea for four-plus hours. I had no desire to journey into Seattle proper. So, I intended to stick to a town I was comfortable with based upon my last trip out.

Burien.

The Phoenix Tea Shop was started by fellow tea bloggers Cinnabar GongFu (of “Gongfu Girl” fame) and Brett Boynton (“Black Dragon Tea Bar”), respectively. I’d visited the shop one other time with PDX Tea Dave – two years ago – and left completely wired on Korean greens. It was my goal to get equally tea drunk on various other things this time ‘round. I had roughly four hours to kill, and gave the two owners ample warning that I planned on loitering for that long.

phoenix-tea-storefront

Cinnabar was the one manning the station that day, and she gave me the affirmative. With the added stipulation that she intended to get me tea drunk. I’ve used the term “tea drunk” twice now; perhaps I should explain what that means. Yes, it really is a thing. Unlike with coffee – where you’d get exceedingly wired then sick if overdosed – having tea gradually throughout the day imparts an odd sort of euphoria. It’s hard to explain, and I can’t claim this as scientific proof. All I have is anecdotal evidence based upon the times I’ve hopped around on various cuppas.

The hostess first whipped out a Taiwanese black dubbed “Meishan Hong Cha” – named for the mountain from where it was picked. I thought I knew what to expect from a Taiwanese black, but this…whoah. It was oddly floral and sorta minty. Not at all like an Ali Shan black I’d tried, or the much-touted Ruby 18. At the same time, it was also…burly. Like a massage by a grizzly bear.

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Next on the docket were two other offerings from Taiwan – this time a tasting comparison between a Spring-plucked Li Shan oolong and a Winter. Li Shan was my second favorite mountain in Taiwan; Ali Shan still reigns supreme by a hair. While both did have the same heathery, floral character, there was a lot more going on with the Winter Li Shan. Not sure how best to describe it – details are fuzzy – but it was richer, more poetic somehow in the mouthfeel, if that makes sense.

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After that bit of high-altitude high-brow-ness, I decided to finally try one of their custom blends. I’d seen the tins for Cinnabar’s own concoction “Thyme Machine” before – a steampunk-inspired fusion of Keemun, Nilgiri and (of course) thyme. It was reminiscent of a masala chai on smell and taste, but noticeably calmer on the palate. I didn’t find that the thyme dominated, rather it let the tea base come through every once in a while. Was this enough to make me don goggles and a top hat…er, no. But I would gladly drink it again.

There were two other teas I tried in the interim…but I’m saving those for something “Beastly” in the coming weeks. Stay tuned. Yes, I’m a tease.

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After two-plus hours of tea-ing, I realized, Oh yeah, I need food. Cinnabar recommended a taqueria place just cattycorner to the shop. There, I ran into my first batch of fried ice cream. Exquisitely debauch would be an understatement . Moving along.

The final bit of awesome Cinnabar had to impart from the Phoenix archives was a zhuan cha…but not just any ol’ “brick tea”. This stuff was made of compressed yellow tea. I was a little worried when she mentioned that it was made of the Jun Shan Yinzhen type. But that fear quickly subsided when I tried it. Unlike any yellow tea I’d encountered. Calling it such might be doing it a disservice. Taste-wise, it came across like a Bai Mu Dan by way of an oolong. Very strange but stupendous.

Once that share was consumed, she finally me she had to kick me out. (“You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”) Politely, of course. I made a few purchases while I was at it, going only “slightly” over my allocated tea budget. When I settled out, she pointed me in the direction of a brewery where I was supposed to meet up with my old World Tea Expo compatriot, Lady Earl Steeper. Not that I needed it…I was “drunk” enough already.

But okay to drive.

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A “steep story” by Geoffrey F. Norman

Himalayan Gold and The Final “Frontier”

By lazyliteratus

On July 12, 2013

In Tea Features

It isn’t much of a secret that I’ve been without Internet for the better part of a week. I think I made that point relatively clear in several subtle ways via the social media sphere. Eloquently, even.

Okay, okay…I was a whiny little bitch.

pensive

I’ll start from the beginning. After the big move from the house that I’d called home for three years to…an apartment, I decided to go with a company my brother and I used before – Frontier Communications. What I failed to take into account was that the Internet option we used was a direct line to their fiberoptic network – FiOS. The result: Screaming speeds. I was a YouTube-devouring mo-fo for well over a year. Sometimes at the sacrifice of productivity.

At my new apartment complex, we were nowhere near any fiberoptic network. The only option was cable broadband – which I couldn’t afford – or…well, a bunch of other options I couldn’t afford. So, I backpedaled to DSL and hoped for the best. I didn’t realize how spoiled I’d become. Troubles started from Day 1.

First: When I signed up the new account, I didn’t make sure the information they took down was correct. They misspelled my name – horribly. I’ve seen and heard every permutation of “Geoffrey” there is…”Jeffery” was a new one. Not even the J-folk spell it that way.

Second: I failed to realize that our apartment complex had some sort of handshake deal with Comcast. The building’s wiring was tailored to suit their cable broadband. Hell, a Comcast Xfinity truck had a car port near mine – seriously. As a result, the DSL signal that Frontier piped to us got waterlogged.

Had it!

A really knowledgeable tech came out and jury-rigged something to get it working. All was well for about two days. Then the connection went kaput. I secretly believe it was because I used the word “throttle” on Twitter, and that pissed ‘em off. But that’s just paranoia talkin’.

After some attempted modem-juggling, I played phone tag with their tech support. They were about as helpful as plywood. I decided to call the technician directly, and he promptly forwarded the request for immediate assistance. Someone came out later that week, jury-rigged something again, and it’s been working well(-ish?) since. So, Frontier eventually did pay off.

The only reason I maintained my sanity throughout the blackout was…well…good black tea. Let’s face it, moving is stressful, inconsistent, and jarring. I’m a creature of habit, patterns, and highly resistant to change. When even the most basic routine is disrupted, the rest of my tenuous mental/emotional balance topples with it. In this case, regular access to whining about things in writing…on the Internet.

I kept my tea-ing consistent for the whole week. For the ordeal, I went with my trusty sample pack of Nepali Tea Traders Himalayan Gold. I didn’t think it would hold out for the long haul, but there was enough for two pints every morning. For six days.

The leaves were an interesting menagerie of browns, beiges, and charcoal. But the ones that stood out the most were the gold-tipped – true to the moniker. Their aroma was equally as golden – honeynut with a shade of muscatel character, like a Dian Hong fused with a Darjeeling. The liquor brewed up a rather light crimson with a bit of a sweet note on aroma. Taste-wise…I was a little shocked. This resembled a medium-bodied, low-altitude Ceylon – only more sweet than floral. It was definitely orange pekoe-ish through-and-through.

Image Owned by Nepali Tea Traders

The real joy of this Nepalese gem, though, was that it could put up with scatterbrained neglect. There were many mornings and afternoons – as I pondered a life without consistent connection to the e-world – where I forgot about the pint I was steeping. It held up to several ten-minute steeps, and infused a good two times after. Hearty suckers, they were.

As I write this, Internet has been restored. My fingers are still crossed. And I have a good two-pint stash of Himalayan Gold for the following morning. Things could be worse, but just in case…I have a flash drive and a flask for back-up.

n00b

Carried Away by Whiskey Tea

By lazyliteratus

On May 16, 2013

In Tea Features, Tea Musings

I was one of those kids that tuned out in English class. Several years later, I received my degree in English. That pretty much tells you all you need to know about me in two sentences. I never read a single book assigned in any literature class I was in. I relied on Cliff’s Notes, movies, and summaries on the Internet for any minutiae about the material. Anything to keep me from reading the actual book.

English class

Reason being? I was a slow reader. It took me over a week to get through one 300-page book. When the average book assignment turnaround was – oh – two days? That didn’t leave me a lot of time to catch up. That is, unless I wanted to devote whole days to digesting the books in bulk. I didn’t have that kind of time; I was too busy being a college student (i.e. partying).

The Great Gatsby showed up at least twice in my college “career”. The material didn’t interest me in the slightest. In summary: Blank-slate narrator has totally hetero fascination with his larger-than-life rich neighbor, who in turn has an interest in blank-slate’s second cousin. Grandeur, posturing and tragedy ensue. I’m not big on tragedies, and – aside from Hermann Hesse – I had no interest in non-sci-fi books pre-dating…uh…me.

When I learned that the flashy Australian director, Baz Lurhmann, was doing a version starring Leonardo DiCaprio as the title character, I took notice. Baz makes shiny movies, and I like shiny things. Moulin Rouge – to me – is still a wonderful, if flawed, musical masterpiece. His take on Gatsby seemed equally as glitzy. Granted both that and Moulin Rouge were tragedies at their core, but they were so on an epic scale. Almost Shakespearean in their gravitas. That I can get behind.

Gatposter

Early reviews poured in claiming that – while true to the source material – it was a flashy spectacle with very little heart. That didn’t dissuade me any. I saw it with friends this last Tuesday, and…

I dug the heck out of it. Sure, it was just as much a spectacle as was claimed. Granted, it probably had the emotional sincerity of a toaster oven. But, from what little I remember about the source material, so was the damn book. The story was supposed to be about the empty lives of the 1920s elite – all personified by a man (Gatsby) pretending to be something he was not. His motivations may have been pure of heart – “Wuv, twue wuv!” – but the role he chose to embody eventually consumed him. In that way, I found the whole affair – to coin a hipster adage – “meta”.

An odd thing happened, though.

I found myself relating way too closely to the narrator – Nick Carraway. His role in the book was mainly that of a cypher, a means for the audience to observe the events as they unfold. He has very little motivation himself. Even his surname states as much. Carraway…carried away, get it? Tobey Maguire nailed this role, and succeeded in giving the blank-slate some much-needed (if pathetic) characterization. The focus of his attentions is on that of the eccentric Jay Gatsby and his struggles of the heart.

Carraway

Like Carraway, I too am poorer than most of my friends, and oftentimes am swept away on adventures with their patronage. Some of my tastes may be sophisticated, but in the end my budget is too modest to experience them outright. If I had a “Gatsby” to emulate, it would be – not a person – but a thing. And that’s where tea comes in. Yes, this does (somehow) come back to tea.

Several months ago, I read an article about barrel-aged teas. Smith Teamaker’s Méthode Noir was front and center, but another company was also mentioned – Rare Tea Cellar. I’d never heard of this outfit before, but they had an entire product line devoted to barrel-aged teas. Including one I never thought I’d ever see mention of, a whiskey barrel-aged Lapsang Souchong. I’d mused on how wonderful that combination would be. Pine smoke and peat moss just seemed like a match made in heaven.

professional

Rare Tea Cellar’s Barrel Aged Forbidden Forest Lapsang Souchong was aged for six-to-nine months in a Willet rye barrel. I’d had many a fancy-schmancy whiskey, but I’d yet to try rye whiskey. Funny, considering how many rye whiskey barrel-aged beers I’d consumed. The problem was the price tag. A quarter pound was $40. Not the worst I’d seen for a rare type of tea…but well out of my budget.

That’s when I decided to play the tea blogger card. I don’t always feel comfortable doing so, but time and tea wait for no writer. I contacted RTC expressing an interest in doing a feature on the Forbidden Forest, weaving it into one of my usual quixotic narratives. They happily obliged the request. I received samples a few days later.

RTC samples

When I received it, the first thing I wanted to do was smell the bag. It’d been a long time since I beheld the hickory and campfire scent of Lapsang Souchong. I was like an addict in a fit of withdrawal. It was a very Carraway-esque reaction. I tore it open and whiffed smoke…and something else. The smoky aspect was there, but nowhere near as pronounced. Another aroma rounded out the olfactory sensation – peat moss mixed with…bread? The medium-cut, brown leaves had given me a mystery. A wondrous one.

The first time I brewed it up, I did 2 tsps. in a 16oz. glass of boiled water for three minutes – my usual start for any black tea. That…actually proved to be a little too light. While it had somewhat of a desired effect, it was lacking something. The second time around – a few weeks later, a mere day before seeing Gatsby – I went for a full five minutes. Let’s just say…

It brewed up brown-‘n-copper with a smoky/woody lean on the scent. As for taste, holy hell! It was all gentle Lapsang burn on the front, peat and smoke on the top note, and rye on the slide toward the finish. That and there seemed to be an oddly sweet underpinning throughout – maple-ish, even. This was the perfect sophisticated man tea.

Forbidden Pint

I was Carraway, and this tea was my Gatsby. Grandiose, sophisticated, and full o’ smoke. Unlike Gatsby, this was truth in a cup. And my poor-arse self was consuming it like a gentleman. Also, like Carraway, my first instinct was to write about it. I may be poor, humbled often, and lacking ambition…but that doesn’t mean my cup isn’t worth a thousand words.

carried away

(No, seriously, I just past the thousand word mark. Awesome.)

To buy Rare Tea Cellar’s Barrel Aged Forbidden Forest, go HERE.