Steep Stories – Page 42 – of the Lazy Literatus

Blending Tea and Dating

On September 20, 2011

This one is for the fellas.

About three years ago, I received an invite to go to a bar trivia night in downtown Portland. I usually got the call when a group of friends required a “guy-that-knows-useless-shit”; that was me. Need someone that knows the composer for the “Death of Optimus Prime” scene in the ’86 animated Transformers: The Movie? I’m your man. I am a fountain of frivolous knowledge.

Our track record this night was fairly steady. I was contributing answers to about a third of the more non sequitur questions – a little off my game but not too badly. A question came up that I wasn’t expecting, one that I thought I instantly had in the bag.

The Q/A emcee asked, “What group of people has better sex? Coffee drinkers or tea drinkers?”

Slam-friggin’-dunk.

My primary geek hobby – tea – started because of sex. There were at least three-to-four blends and tisanes I knew of that were beneficial for…er…”blood flow”. That and normal tea was a primary ingredient in many male enhancement products. (Don’t ask me how I know that.) Tea also made for a great conversation starter; plus, the rest of the world drank tea. It was a given.

The answer? Coffee drinkers.

I cost us the game.

How could I have been so wrong? All my perusals – scholastic and palate-related – pointed to tea as being the clear victor. How could the swill of Satan be the better boffing brew? The question plagued me on the drive home.

It hit me when I was in the shower the next day.

First off, tea was not a ubiquitous beverage in the United States, not since we dumped crates of it over a perfectly good harbor. Coffee dates were considered the universal icebreaker, almost to the point of cliché. If a guy wanted to get to know a potential…um…playmate, there were only two viable routes – coffee and alcohol. In some cases, both if the conversation went really well.

I looked back at my track record with tea dates. The first one I ever went on was with a girl from Craigslist. She was older than me by a month. Other than showing complete uninterested in me, she also related how she answered an ad to be an old man’s “sugarbaby”. In short, it was a bust.

The next – oh – several attempts ended one of two ways. The less common occurrence was that we hit it off in terms of conversation, trading barbs like old friends. But that was it, “friends”. Either one didn’t feel that mandatory “oomph” or the other – or both. The outing was so completely non-threatening and informal that any tension from the event was rendered impotent.

The more common outcome? The girl never showed up. Seriously.

A last attempt at a tea date was in March. I considered it the make-or-break for this anti-Friend Zone field test. In theory, tea dates should work, especially if one had some knowledge of the beverage prior. It was classy. Girls dug classy…right? Well, apparently not.

While it may be a sad conclusion – and one that most bros of brewdom don’t want to hear – tea dates don’t work. At least in my experience. It might be just an American conundrum; it may even be that I’m no good at dating in general. The simple summation is that tea and dating are a one-way ticket aboard the HMS Platonic. That isn’t to say, however, that there aren’t ways around that.

Just because you, fellow steeper, have this one peculiar hobby doesn’t mean you have to be ashamed of it. You can mention it in passing on a normal-ish date. Once an actual rapport and/or relationship are established, then you can let her into your wulong-rich world. A second – more lowbrow – approach would be to find establishments that serve tea-infused alcohol drinks. In my neck of the woods, I know of five. Can you think of a better gateway to “Awesome!”? I can’t.

I’m almost certain this entry will garner some amount of, “You’re wrong! My wife and I are the exception.” In statistics, you would be known as an “outlier”. For you to be an exception, there first has to be a general rule. Of course, I could be completely wrong on this. So, please, do relate your success stories if you have them. Prove me wrong, I beg of you.

And while you’re at it, kindly tell me where you’ve parked your unicorn.

Awesome Doodles by Aaron Grayson

The Sex Tea Saga

By lazyliteratus

On September 15, 2011

In Tea Musings

[This was the first tea blog I ever wrote. It was posted on Myspace in late ’07. (Remember that site?) The entry garnered 30+ responses over a week and even spent some time ranked in the Top 20 “Romance & Relationships” section. I have yet to top it, but I have also never revealed it to my tea circle. Until now.]

I’ve been asked on multiple occasions what started my unsurpassed obsession with tea. My leanings are neither hippie or New Age-y, and I shy away from most holistic approaches. The reason for my reluctance in relating this story is simple. It’s downright embarrassing. However, even I must acknowledge that it is a tale that must be told, and – so – here it is.

The origin of my fascination with tea.

It all started with a quest, a very manly quest.

It began in the fall of 2004, my first year back in Oregon. College was a somewhat distant memory, separated by summer’s lack of whimsy. Already, the four-year sabbatical to the desert state of Nevada had taken refuge in the recesses of my mind. The last six months were akin to a purgatorial nightmare. I was now home, back in the bosom of the Northwest. Real life – or so it felt – had just begun. The academic reverie was over. I was 27.

Changes occurred rather rapidly. My parents had moved to California and offered their three-story behemoth as a rental to my sister, her husband, and myself. Within a month, I was saddled with two jobs. In late-October I even landed myself a girlfriend. Quite quick indeed.

About a month into the relationship, it had reached “that stage” – the to-do or not-to-do dilemma. My experience level was infantile at best. College had trained me for many things, but I’d shied away from Hook-Up 101. Or more to the point, I think I fell asleep in class. Maybe it was geek thing, I dunno. Eh, we’ll blame it on that for now.

Our dates up to that point were mostly informal outings, occasional Blockbuster nights, a party or two, nothing grand. It was time for that next step: Inviting her to my place.

I made the necessary preparations:

Booze? Check.

Protection? Check.

Breath mints? Check.

Change out single bed for the guest room’s queen-sized? Check.

(Trying to explain the furniture move to my mother/landlord was a difficult task.)

The night was upon me.

She arrived with a batch of Coupling episodes she received from Netflix. We sat on the couch, popped the DVDs in, and cuddled a bit. Cuddling led to kissing then to the notorious “heavy petting” teenagers are condemned for. She whispered The Question as she straddled me on the couch. I cocked an eyebrow in confusion. She reiterated. I nodded.

Upstairs, we went.

Everything proceeded according to plan; the undressing, the massaging, the Trek-like exploration of vitals. Things were moving along like clockwork, textbook even. I caressed where I thought I should caress, kissed (and/or licked) where I thought I should lick. 80s sex comedies had trained me well, or so I thought.

We were go for Phase Two! That whole “unity” thing. But there was a problem. Nothing happened. The knight was suited, but for some ungodly reason…he’d forgotten his bloody horse.

My heart sank.

The mainsail hadn’t hoisted. The soldier didn’t salute. The batter never left the cage. The car wouldn’t leave the garage. Oh, hell, you get the point.

The night was officially a botch.

I drove her home. She was silent, and I was sullen. She may have put the blame on herself, as women often do in that situation, yet I knew where it lay- squarely on my shoulders. Something was wrong with me, and I didn’t know what. Everything had been perfect! The timing was right! Lust was in the air! Pheromones had fireworked! I had to learn what went wrong.

To the Internet!

According to various sites, the causes for impotence were innumerable. There was performance anxiety, reactions to medications, high blood pressure, obesity, illness, mental health, physical impairments – the factors were endless. I was stumped. Mr. Happy-Pants worked well enough for me during solo training, why the hell had it caved under pressure during the actual mission? (Maybe it was my terminology? Er…no.)

Eventually, I ruled out the physical causes. I wasn’t that obese, blood pressure was normal, and – for the most part – all my limbs were working. Well, except the bloody key one. That left the mental.

Only methods used to combat sexual anxiety were rigorous therapy, hypnotherapy, or resorting to the infamous “blue pill”. I really didn’t want to do that. To admit that I was under 30, moderately healthy and in need of boner-meds made my stomach knot. That left one other viable alternative. One I hadn’t ever dreamed I’d explore. It was notoriously out of character for me. I looked to male enhancement products.

Everyone has seen these big bottle-jars with names like Mega-X-Tone or Testost-X-Treme…or anything that had a bold-faced “X” in the title. They are a ghastly sight. Just looking at them makes one think they’re buying into the biggest scam on the planet. Not to mention even the staunchest atheist would think he was making Baby Jesus cry.

I read the ingredients. Some were elements in nature I hadn’t even heard of; herbs such as yohimbe bark, ginkgo biloba, kava kava, and…wait…

Green tea?

What the hell did green tea have to do with male enhancement?!

Each of the products I looked (or winced) at had one ingredient in common. Aside from the weirder African-sounding herbs, they all had a generous helping of green tea extract. I was no stranger to tea. At one time or another I’d partaken of Earl Grey or chamomile. The black teas tasted like smoky burlap, and chamomile knocked my ass clean out. Green tea was unexplored territory, and here I was seeing it on the back of a cheesy “X” label.

This revelation needed some back-up. My cousin’s girlfriend (at the time) was somewhat well-versed in the ways of green tea. She’d touted it for as long as I’d e-known her. While she couldn’t confirm the virility claim, she could attest to its other health properties. These were not limited to: weight-loss, lowered blood pressure, lowered cholesterol, increased immunity, the elimination of free radicals in the body, and increased blood flow.

The last benefit caught my interest. I won’t go into the inner workings of the male anatomy. If you don’t know by now, then there’s no hope for you. The Cliff’s Notes version being, erections rely on healthy blood flow. Hurray!

I started drinking green tea. To my surprise, I actually liked it. Grassy aftertaste and all. It was quite refreshing. Unfortunately, I didn’t notice any immediate “changes”. What can I say? I’m the impatient sort. As such, I browsed the tea aisle to see what different types of green tea were out there. One stood out above all the others.

Honey Lemon Ginseng.

When researching the herbal extract info on the aforementioned “X” varietals, I ran across mentions of ginseng. Panax ginseng, to be precise, was often touted as a sexual tonic in Asian cultures. This was news to me, so I bought a box.

The first test-drive was a train-wreck. It tasted good. Damn good. Lemony-green-ish goodness. I had five cups of the stuff in a two-hour sitting. Moderation? Who needed it! What I should have read more closely was that this blend was caffeinated.

Anyone in the herbal know is aware that Panax ginseng, while beneficial in some areas, is also a stimulant. Not as earth-shattering as caffeine, but rather one that is slow-building. The box even highlighted that the blend was for giving someone an extra kick in the morning. And kick it did.

The first day I tried it, I was jittery and buzzing. I went and saw a movie to calm myself down, can’t recall what. I called my Dad, rambling a mile a minute about feeling weird.

He said, “Maybe you should lay off the ginseng.”

I knew he was right, but I was stubborn. A part of me thought maybe this was its way of working. None of the other green tea blends ever made me want to run through walls while singing a merry tune. I gave it a second chance.

Day Two came around. My girlfriend and I were set to have dinner at her parents’ house. For the first time ever. I was another four-ish cups of Honey Lemon in, all jitter-buzz-a-go-go. Why four? I dunno. I thought we were going to do stuff later and wanted to be aptly prepared.

I had three mini-panic attacks during dinner. No one noticed, thankfully, but my breathing was fast and labored. My eyes darted from corner to corner. Sounds were sharper. Smells irritated my nostrils. I existed in a tunnel version of my own head.

She drove me home after. I went through some sort of Lamaze-style panting to keep from freaking out. Nausea crept up in me. She asked if I wanted to come over. I said I wasn’t feeling well. It was the truth, but try explaining that to a girlfriend convinced you weren’t attracted to her.

In a huff, she dropped me off. I went to the kitchen and threw away the lemony-goodness box, never to touch the stuff again. Back to square one.

December rolled around, and I made another discovery. I entered the world of herbal supplementation. My first foray was multivitamins, but on a whim, I purchased a bottle of ginkgo biloba. In addition to its X-pantheon tonic-like qualities, I also read it was good for memory and mental alertness. The extract gave me abdominal cramps almost instantly upon taking it.

I read the label after the fact and discovered that – in some rare cases – ginkgo could cause “gastrointestinal discomfort and irritability”. That was the same month I discovered I was sensitive to a lot of things. Certain health foods made me queasy, I couldn’t hold my liquor, I reacted quickly (and sometimes adversely) to certain herbs, and caffeine booted me in the head and gut at the same time. Reading side-effect information on anything became second nature.

Then I discovered a green tea online that had ginkgo and Panax ginseng in it! I read the label and ingredient information carefully. It was decaffeinated. I gleefully ordered a batch. It came in the mail about a week later. I poured myself a cup, nursed it gingerly, and waited for any adverse ginkgo-like stomach punches to occur. None did. It even helped in…uh…that area from what I observed.

Too bad it tasted like tree bark…and ass.

I tried to mix it with other teas to mask the flavor. Ginkgo has a distinctly tangy and leafy taste followed by a rough aftertaste, reminiscent of eucalyptus. It really is quite offensive to the tongue. The only other tea that would compliment it was a lemon-ish green tea blend that contained Siberian ginseng.

The potential horrors of Panax ginseng were firmly established, but I didn’t know much about its redheaded stepbrother, eleuthero (Siberian ginseng). I did some reading and learned that it had only mild stimulant effects, no sexual tonic properties, and mainly worked as a mental alertness enhancer, which was fine by me.

By the time I was ready to field-test the stuff, the relationship with my girlfriend had gone south. She was through waiting. This was a clear case of gender reversal. Instead of the girl being hesitant towards sex, it was me. I was the reluctant one. Part of this might have been due to our seven-year age gap or my continued anxiety, I dunno. We parted ways somewhat amicably.

Aside from a couple of dating stints here and there – one physical, others not-so-much, none long-term – sex had receded to non-issuedom. My tea habit hadn’t regressed, though. In fact, the addiction blossomed.

A love for green tea graduated into a love for white tea. A reverence for generic bagged teas grew into a quest for more esoteric blends. Eventually, I was ready for loose-leaf teas. I loved them. All of them. Black teas still hadn’t caught hold, but herbal blends, fruit fusions, and designer teas did. An amateur tea snob was born.

Work shifts without a cup of hotness seemed an irregularity. Tea became synonymous with, well, me. I would go to friends’ houses with a mug of some herbal concoction in hand. Often times, I would forget to take it with me. Proposed tea dates were my standard meet-and-greets with new women. While not a successful way to prove one’s self as more than a Friend Zone dweller, it did provide for a nice day out.

Knowing the locations of local teashops helped me broaden my leaf-like horizons. Beforehand, my knowledge of Portland and peripheral areas were limited to bars, clubs and tourist traps. The teashop quest allowed me to seek out odd-ended nooks and crannies of the surrounding area.

I also felt considerably better, rarely getting sick. And even if I did, the duration for the ailment was considerably shorter than usual. Colds were a rarity, flues were still commonplace but not as dreadful and bed-ridding, and stomach flues were cast aside after a day thanks to good ol’ Captain Chamomile. I was a proud herb-a-whore.

The ginkgo tea I took was the last vestige of my original purpose. Eventually, after further research, I learned that I was taking the medical equivalent to an Alzheimer’s patient’s dose per day. A normal healthy adult only needed, maybe, 120 mg of the stuff. The tea I drank contained over 600 mg. No wonder I felt surprisingly irritable. Like ginseng, ginkgo was also a stimulant. Sure, it helped in the one area I set out to improve, but in lieu of other health considerations, it had been rendered obsolete. By the end of 2005, I limited my intake to once a week, and eventually substituted it for it’s lesser ginseng-only cousin.

It wouldn’t gain favor again until February of 2006.

I won’t (i.e. can’t) go into detail as to the encounter, for I’m sworn to some amount of discretion regarding the finer points, but I will say that Ol’ Man Ginkgo came to the rescue. For a good three hours. Okay, yes, there were “union breaks”, but it didn’t take long to get back into the swing of things. The stuff really did work!

There was still the taste issue, however, even with the Siberian ginseng’d green tea’s citrus-y cover-up. Nothing could get rid of the tree-bark-ness of it, nor contribute to the virility issue. Er…not that anything really needed to top what was already included, but – hey – while your kicking ass, might as well jot a few names. Right?

The final breakthrough wouldn’t appear until February this year. Perusing a tea store – which was conveniently located in my stomping grounds, huzzah! – a fellow tea-nerd and I noticed a strange line of herbal blends. The cashier informed us that they were herbal fusions specifically designed to coincide with each of the bodies chakra points – all seven of them.

I bought the sample pack to try each one.

If you don’t know what chakra points are, well, I really don’t have time (or space) to go into the finer nuances of it. Just look up any yoga-related material on Google, or you can be extra nerdy and watch a couple of episodes of Avatar: The Last Airbender. Those will give you a basic rundown.

I digress.

The one that grabbed my attention was for Chakra #2, the dragonfruit blend. The bag and box describe it as vital for “tantra and sexuality”. Contained in the blend was an herb known as damiana. Further inquiries revealed that the herb was often used as a sexual tonic for women in Latin America. Studies regarding its potency were still in its infancy, but apparently it also worked on men. Hoo-boy, did it! I found out the hard way at work…pun quite intended.

The taste was also pleasant – light citrus, faintly tangerine-like without the tartness. Very pleasant and very subtle. So, I tried it with the ginkgo tea. The bark-ass taste was gone. No aftertaste either. I no longer felt like I was tasting tree! Victory was achieved.

Which brings us to the present.

I have yet to try my newfound Sex Tea blend in a practical setting. Not quite sure where/how that’ll happen in the near-ish future. But when it does…

And I do mean when…not if…

She won’t know what hit her.

Trippin’ on Moonlight

By lazyliteratus

On September 14, 2011

In Tea Features

Some weeks back, I got a message from my cousin. He made an outright demand for “ADVENTURE!” Yes, in all caps. At first, he had a hankering to go to the Oregon Coast, particularly a brewery (or two) we had stopped at before. I suggested something a little more approachable – an idea we’d discussed in passing, the Columbia Gorge. There was a brewery on the Washington side of the river we had yet to hit. He jumped on that idea like it was a trampoline.

Photo by Bruce Berrien

Before leaving for parts un-sober, we grabbed burritos for lunch and did a quick run to Starbucks. My cuz happened to be the customer of the month at this place. They even had his picture framed, knew him by name, and cracked barbs with him like he was Norm from Cheers. So, both he and the baristas kinda looked at me funny when I only asked for hot water rather than tea or coffee. Like a true pretentious douche, I brought my own tea leaves in a do-it-yourself baggy. Worse still, I was all shifty about it.

Once we hit the highway – and I’d timed the coffee cup steep at three minutes (yes, I do that) – I took a sip of the contents. I’m not sure what happened, but I had a full-body euphoric reaction. It was like a lazy man’s outta body experience…’cept no one went anywhere.

My cousin looked over and said, “Jesus, man, you look like you had an orgasm.”

In a tea-ist – almost spiritual (and less messy) – sorta way, I did. The tea in question was a second flush Darjeeling that was sent to me by a Twitter friend in Darjeeling – one Benoy Thapa of Thunderbolt Tea. Who is he? Probably one of the nicest fellows I’ve ever e-met. That and the only motorcycle-riding, tea-field-diving, ponytail-donning, camera-weilding family man/tea vendor I’ve heard about. It was thanks to him that I was finally exposed to real Darjeeling tea in the first place – not just the dust found in teabags.

He sent me a peculiar tea from the Castleton tea estate. Said garden was named for a building in the neighboring city of Kurseong that looked like a castle. The fields were first planted in 1885 by a Brit named Dr. Charles Graham. At present, the estate is 70% British-owned and quite known for its Chinese varietals that produce a world-renowned second flush product.

The one I had in my possession – and the one that caused the full-bodied teagasm – was a different sort of offering. Unlike the other OPs produced, this was technically an oolong. I even asked my Thunderbolt contact what type it was and he confirmed it, saying that was the information he received from the current owner.

This was unlike any other second flush Darjeeling I’d encountered. Okay, I’ve said that on other occasions, but I really mean it this time! The leaves were the color of…um…forest? Yes, a veritable bouquet of colors you’d associate with that image – root brown, soil yellow, canopied tree green, and sun gold. I had a little trouble finding a comparison. Its anomalous aroma didn’t help, either. The scent brought feelings of fresh water streams, wild berries, lemons and honey. I know, this is sounding more metaphoric than olfactory; I’m sorry. This was difficult to pin down.

There weren’t any specific brewing instructions for this on the Thunderbolt site. Mr. Thapa – as mentioned above – said this was an oolong. Granted, during the trial sip, I went lowbrow with a coffee mug. This time, though, I figured the best way would be to give it a traditional oolong send-off. And I bought a new gaiwan for the occasion. (It’s a he, and his name is Guy-1.) I heated some water to just under a boil, and prepped four successive infusions – two at thirty seconds, two at forty – with 1 heaping teaspoon of leaves.

First infusion (thirty seconds): The liquor brewed light amber with a malty nose. (Very Indian.) The flavor possessed an herbaceous front that transitioned creamily to a vanilla-dipped grape crescendo before tapering off gently. A damn good start, if I do say so.

Second infusion (thirty seconds): The soup infused to a prime-gold color with an amber-ish periphery. It was lighter but also…shinier. As for taste, the initial sip was crisper than before, followed by a bolder middle profile kicking with lemon and apple. Very cider-like, except – y’know – without the fizz or mind-numbing parts.

Third infusion (forty seconds): Yep, still gold. However, the steam aroma changed its tune to something creamy and sweet – like actual vanilla was in there. That didn’t quite translate to taste, but it was still wonderful with a floral aspect appearing alongside the citrusy lean.

Fourth infusion (forty seconds): This was the lightest of the four infusions, but it was also the most obviously “oolong” of ‘em. The foretaste was still crisp, yet there was a rougher, mineral-like transition to the muscatel middle. I likened it to a Formosa Alishan.

Two more steeps followed the initial four, but I didn’t take notes on them. Needless to say, they were nifty. While it held up to a gongfu(-ish) approach quite well, I think the Western way gave it a one-time punch of perfection. Like a liquid rendition of a one-night stand. That isn’t to say the four short steeps weren’t awesome; they just weren’t dipped in awesome like the A-MURR-ican mega-steep.

As luck would have it, I had an opportunity through another vendor to try the first flush Moonlight. I liked it quite a bit, but it had nowhere near the nuance of the summertime cup that nearly road-tripped my tongue to tea-ish ecstasy. Without exaggeration or pontification, this was the best darned Darjeeling I have ever had. Worth a howl or two.

To buy Thunderbolt Tea’s Castleton Moonlight (2011 2nd Flush) go HERE.

Missing the Forest for the Teas

By lazyliteratus

On September 9, 2011

In Tea Features

Photo by Rick Gutleber

Yet again, I journeyed to Hawaii. Okay, not literally but at least in tea form. I hope to get to those damn islands someday, but when your wallet’s a moth-colony, you have to settle on a cup of tropical tea instead. This marks the third Hawaiian-grown tea I’ve sampled. The first was a black tea that was wonderful, if unusual; the second was an oolong that lent well to a gaiwan/gongfu approach – loudly fruity, too. The existence of a Hawaiian-grown white, however, reached me a bit late.

Independent growers Eva Lee and Chiu Long of the Volcano Village estate grew tea plants at an elevation of 4,000ft., deep within the rainforest at the base of Mt. Kilauea. Both were also behind the big push for forming Hawaii’s first tea farming collective – The Hawaii Tea Society. While they offered four different types of tea, the Forest White was actually one they grew, dried and rolled themselves.

I saw rumblings about the Kilauea Forest White on Steepster. Many were singing its praises, but it wasn’t available for regular purchase. In the following months, I learned that KTeas – an internet-based “virtual tearoom” (as they call themselves) – had acquired some for sale. The titular “K” of that vendor op had a good eye for good tea and apparently scored some. Via Twitter, I “nudge-nudge-wink-wink”-ed about possibly reviewing it in the near-future.

Surprisingly, she remembered that nudge and – in no time at all – the Kilauea Forest White was in my possession. Yet another checkmark notched on my “Tea WANT!” list. (They’re falling like flies, I swear.)

The leaves for this were larger than most white teas I’ve beheld, ranging from light greens to dark purples in spectrum. It didn’t even smell like a white tea on first sniff, yielding an aroma of peppers, spice and charred earth. First impression, for me, would’ve been that this was a green tea – an unorthodox one at that. However, the leaves did have the mandatory downy fur that embodied most quality whites.

Brewing instructions on the sample bag recommended 3g of leaves (roughly a teaspoon) per serving. I assumed that meant an 8oz cup. Also puzzling was how one could measure out a teaspoon when the leaves were so bloody large. What really confused me further was the brewing temperature they recommended – 208F.

Now, sometimes I’m a bit of a simpleton in the steeping department, but I know for a fact that white teas generally require a lighter steep. Sure, there are some that can take boiling water – Assam, Darjeeling, and Ceylon whites come to mind – but rule o’ thumb is to administer a light touch. That and this stuff was pricy; I didn’t have a lot of it, either. Screw up a brew, and that’s two dollars down the drain. Literally. The KTeas site mirrored the prep with a three-minute steep.

Oh well, I risked it.

Even with the boiling water and lengthier infusion, the liquor only brewed to a pale gold typical of white teas. The aroma echoed another American-borne white I had – the Sakuma Bros. Sun Dried White. It was equal parts sweet, buttery, and grapy. Like a Bai Mu Dan by way of a Bai Hao oolong. As for flavor, the first thing to note was the fruity kick; it channeled tropical fruit and basalt on “tongue”-down. The middle was where it kept some of its white tea trappings – the nuttiness, melony lean, and floral texture – while the finish tapered with pleasant grassiness and a creamy trail-off.

I dared a second infusion at an undetermined steep time. In the interim, I surfed the web for cat pictures that made me giggle…and nearly forgot about the tea. When I came back, the liquor had darkened to amber-gold with a mango-sweet aroma, which was weird. This time ‘round, the flavor started with a creamy texture laced with fruitiness, transitioning to a top note of sour citrus that faintly reminded me of…bergamot? Quite bizarre but awesome.

It lasted one more indeterminate, “faint fruit” infusion before fading. I’ve gotta hand it to the grower, this is one badass leaf. It can take a boiled beating and yield some fabulous results. Even more surprising was the level of caffeine. This is not your usual, fluttery, cup o’ wussy white. I made the mistake of sipping this at midnight and have the jitters to prove it. Tread lightly with this not-so-light white…but do enjoy. I certainly did.

To purchase the KTeas Kilauea Forest White Tea, go HERE.

Iran So Far for…Tea

By lazyliteratus

On September 6, 2011

In Tea Features

Some time ago, I made a necessary pit stop to The Jasmine Pearl, a teashop owned by a very nice couple in Northeast Portland. I had been in before, and they were one of the few places I could pick up Yunnan-grown “Golden Needles” at a decent price. It was the perfect black tea, the shop was perfectly close, and I was perfectly broke; it worked itself out.

While conversing with the owners over a cup of GABA oolong, they made mention of a friend in Iran who was bringing back some Persian-grown tea. I thought they had said “pearls tea” at first. My ears burned when they corrected me. My “Tea WANT!” list wasn’t entirely in dire need of new additions, but the idea of tea from a growing region I wasn’t familiar with peaked my interest. Up to that point, all I knew about Persian tea was the way they served it – steeped in enough sugar to make a Southern belle blush.

When I returned home, I immediately went to digging up information about Iran’s tea history. My occidental notions of a backward country in the middle of the desert surrounded by rugs and dervishes were “a tad” inaccurate. Iran actually had a rather rich tea history, thanks to its close proximity to China – one that pre-dated European interest by a good 200 years. The town of Lahijan in the north even had their own Robert Fortune-type character. The biggest irony was that he stole seedlings from the British in India…who – in turn – had originally stolen from the Chinese.

Cultivation in Gilan province began roughly around 1900, while the first modern tea factory was built some thirty-ish years later. To this day, Iran alone produces 60,000 tons of black tea a year. The biggest tragedy, though, is that the U.S. sees nary a leaf of it. If it isn’t readily apparent to you, fair reader, relations between the United States and Iran are piss-poor at best. Reasons for this are quite valid, and I won’t go into any of that here. This is a tea blog, not a political soapbox.

It’s not entirely impossible to acquire Iranian-grown tea as an American, but chances are one would have to turn to an international site. And strong though my tea itch was, international shipping charges did much to quell the urge. That, however, didn’t stop me from posting several whiny forum queries wondering where I could acquire some without having to pound at an embargo.

Enter TeaGeek.net. Yet again.

Again, Michael J. Coffey – that sleuth of the steep – chimed in with a proverbial, “I got what’choo NEED!” (Yes, I can even hear him pounding the pavement with a pimp cane while saying that.)

Available exclusively to TeaGeek members was a tea gained through mysterious methods dubbed “Treasure of Persia”. He mentioned he’d received it in an unnamed plastic bag, and the route used to obtain it made some drug deals pale by comparison. That made this one-off sample all the more interesting.

The leaves for this were jet black, long, wide, and oozing with malt-scent. The aroma reminded me of chocolate covered berries mixed with dry smoke. In appearance, they resembled another TeaGeek score – the old-woman-handmade Georgian tea I had. They even smelled alike. For a moment there, I wondered if a fast one had been pulled on us. On close inspection, though, there were subtle differences. The cut of the Persian leaves were smaller, the rolling method seemed different, and the leaves weren’t as tippy as the Georgian. Strikingly similar, but still different beasts.

There weren’t any established brewing instructions for this, so I had to go with what I was familiar with. Like the Georgian, this looked strong enough to take a four-minute steep, but I wasn’t sure what leaf amount to use. I went balls-in with a tablespoon-worth steeped in 8oz of boiling water for the allotted four.

The result was an amber-ish liquor with a dry and smoky nose, not unlike Russian Caravan or a subtle Taiwanese Lapsang Souchong. They certainly had my attention with whiff alone. On taste, the impression shifted ever-so-awesomely to a sip with a nutty forefront. That was quickly followed up with a fruity segue to a malty middle. As far as the finish was concerned, it was all Cavendish smokiness that tapered off handsomely.

Do you know how this tea made me feel? Like I was sitting on a weather-worn rock bedazzled in jewels, silks, and gold-trimmed whatevers while Disney-esque Jasmine-like maidens fanned large feathers at me. Oh, and there was an elephant for shade because…well…all Persian fantasies require an elephant. This didn’t even need to be sweetened to death in the typical Persian tea style, but I’m sure the approach would work wonders. A very outstanding cup of U.S.-embargoed hotness.

For more information from the TeaGeek, go HERE.

The inspiration for the “punny” title of this blog can be found HERE. Don’t watch if you have no sense of humor.

From Georgia with Love

By lazyliteratus

On September 2, 2011

In Tea Features

I just can’t seem to get away from “Georgia”. It truly is a name that follows me wherever I go. I have friends that live in that accursedly hot state. My cat bears the name (one I didn’t give her). And women I try to avoid like the plague – but still haunt me – bear the moniker. The word is everywhere…and it all stemmed from a country’s particular love of a particular Saint George. What a way to start a tea entry, eh?

The country of Georgia has a very assorted, sordid, and peculiar history…none of which I’ll cover here due to self-imposed length-constraints and laziness. Suffice to say, it’s unique, its people are unique, and the region has a unique sub-history in the pantheon of tea cultivation. Tea was first grown and produced in the 1890s. The country possessed an ideal climate for Camellia sinensis (the tea plant to you noobs), and modernized farming practices made it a viable crop.

Given that Georgia was part of the greater Russian Empire at the time, it certainly needed to be viable. Russians downed tea as if it were caffeinated vodka. A ready supply from someplace nearby was a necessity. And for awhile, the Georgian tea industry thrived…until a certain neighboring nuclear power plant went critical. You all know which one.

Photo by Bo Nielsen

And there went the Georgian tea industry. Okay, that’s a bit of a dramatic generalization. Some of it also had to do with the mass production methods used in the ‘80s that cut back on quality. (Think: Nilgiri CTC-grade, only worse.) However, the meltdown didn’t help.

That didn’t stop individual farmers from continuing the art of handmade tea. Several areas – including the village of Nagobileui in Western Georgia – were upwind of the doomed power plant. Therefore…no radioactive-“tea”. (*Badam-tish*) In 2003, many of these tea families formed into their own collective, dubbed The Tea Producer Famers’ Association. Their goal: The promotion of Caucasus Tea. Their requirement of members: The tea has to be handmade. No machinery.

One of the founders – Natela Gujabidze – first started plucking tea leaves with her mother-in-law at the tender age of 17. She later worked in Soviet tea fields for 15 years. In 1977, she traveled to China to learn more about the nuances of tea production. The way she plucks, withers, and dries the ’em result in leaves with their own character. They are long, strand-like, gold-tipped, and oozing with aroma. How do I know this? Well…against all odds, I was able to score some.

The Natela-named GOPA was made available exclusively to TeaGeek members courtesy of Michael J. Coffey – probably one of the most resourceful tea educators I’ve e-talked to. Before he mentioned it, Georgian-made tea hadn’t even been on my “Tea WANT” radar. I buried my nose in the in the bag when it arrived in the mail and whiffed grapes, smoke, earth and caramel. This promised to be an interesting cup of somethin’ special. Or so I hoped.

I asked Sir Coffey [He of the Ironic Surnames} the best way to brew this; he said to brew it like any other black tea. A trial run with a unique and rare beverage called for some patience and precision. On my first attempts with it, I went with my Darjeeling-ish approach – 1 heaping teaspoon in 8oz. of water for three minutes.

The liquor I ended up with was far lighter than I expected from a former Russian territory. The tea infused to straight amber. If I was spotting it without context, I would’ve guessed I was looking at a cup of oolong at most. The scent even made it difficult to discern blindly. It was rich with different (yet still subtle) fruit notes. Taste-wise, I detected very little dryness or bitterness; neither were present on forefront or finish. Citrus and a mysterious nuttiness came through in the middle. Interesting, indeed.

Now that I knew that worked, I had to play with it a little. Given how light it turned out at the three-minute mark, I dared an extra one for s**ts-‘n-giggles. At four, the liquor was darker – beige-to-tawny-brown with a gold-trim to it, a very bright cup. The aroma this time matched some high-altitude Ceylons I’ve tried with a floral front and a little kick of astringency. That sensation was followed up with a delicate, slightly fruit-sweet middle and a finish of…malt?

Malt?! Seriously! Sure, there are plenty of black teas that have a malty character to them, but none actually finish on that note. Especially one as light as this.

Epilogue: This was worth the hurdles it took to acquire it. Even if the whole attempt was like a scene out of some drug deal. This fix was totally worth it. I wish Natela another hundred years of success. Someone give the ol’ gal an immortality pill, please?!

Special thanks to Michael J. Coffey of TeaGeek.net for the member sample. For more information on his site…er…just go to it. (Seriously, he has a self-made tea encyclopedia there.) Or follow his musings HERE.

Strawberry Jazz for the Soul

By lazyliteratus

On August 11, 2011

In Tea Features

Art by David Borzo

After weeks of pondering tea pairings – food, movies, books, etc. – it was only a matter of time before I had to muse on…well…tea and music. While I can say I appreciate many different types of music, I don’t have an affinity for it. I listen to CDs (yes, those ancient things) in the car as background noise for calm in rush hour traffic. I make it a point to discover one new band a year, but I sometimes lapse on that. So, you can imagine that I was overly thankful that there was a vendor that did the music/tea pairing job for me.

The Tea and Jazz House is a relatively new operation out of Baltimore, MD. Their mission statement indicates that tea blends should be unorthodox – just as jazz was (and is). As their musically-inclined site informs, they are in the process of building a teahouse devoted to underground jazz. The first step in that journey was putting out some appropriately named blends for palate perusal.

I chose to sample their one black tea blend dubbed “The McCrea” – named for…um…

To tell you the truth, I had no idea who it was named after. The only “McCrea” name I could find that might’ve fit was John McCrea, the frontman of Cake. Not sure I would consider him jazz, though. If I were to make a suggestion to The Tea and Jazz House, it would be to provide an artist bio on their tea profiles. If only to further cite the inspiration for the blend. (That and “Pureh” is spelled wrong.)

Well, if they intended to make a blend that was inspired by John McCrea, this certainly did smell like cake. Small-cut black tea leaves were paired with mixed berries, strawberry pieces and rose petals. I couldn’t make out any of the fruit pieces in the blend, but the petals were front and center. It was also a relief to see that said petals were the pink kind. Those were best for blending, imparting a sweeter, more subtly floral rose profile than their redder kin.

Brewing instructions on the site linked to a YouTube video about brewing. That was, frankly, far more time than I was willing to devote to brewing, other than the process itself. I went with 1 tsp. in 8oz. of boiled water for a steep of four minutes. My mainstay was usually three minutes (I’m a wuss), but since this was a blend, I risked the extra minute. I prepped it and cued up a YouTube video for Cake’s “Short Skirt/Long Jacket” to pair with the tasting.

(Sidenote: The song choice was oddly fitting for this blend because I found myself – of late – being enamored by blondes in sundresses with Stevie Wonder fixations…and a fetish for strawberries. This smelled like strawberries, and the girl in question had a “mind like a diamond”.)

The liquor brewed to a tawny brown with a strong berry nose. I would even say it was a bit tart. On a blind sniff, I would’ve guessed this had a smidge of hibiscus in it. There was a bitter forefront on taste, which made me think there was a Keemun/Ceylon base. The middle was a fair balancing act between sweet, berry-richness, light astringency, and floral notes. On aftertaste, it left a lingering profile of, thankfully, strawberries.

How well did it pair with Cake? Well, to be truthful, I’m not a fan of Cake – like, at all. John McCrea’s vocals, to me, were often gratingly monotone. “Short Skirt/Long Jacket”, though, was oddly topical, playful, and catchy. That and I clearly remembered the opening riff as the introduction to the TV series Chuck. I don’t know why it took this long for me to make that connection…over tea, no less.

So, end result: Listening to Cake while drinking a berry-blended tea made me want to date a girl in a short skirt that smelled like strawberries and rose petals. Is that a success? I have no idea. But the tea was good; that’s a start.

Addendum: The vendor finally informed me that the blend was inspired by Carmen McCrea…not John McCrea. So, the Cake really is a lie.

Addendum Two: After this writing, musician bios were finally added. So, there’s also that to look forward to on the website.

To buy The McCrea, go HERE.

For more information on The Tea and Jazz House, go HERE.

Tea from Tremalking

By lazyliteratus

On August 10, 2011

In Tea Musings

If Thirtysomething-ish Me could encounter Junior-in-High-School Me, I would assume he’d take a copy of Wheel of Time: The Eye of the World with him to said time-paradoxical encounter. He would look the zit-faced, sixteen-year-old in the eye and say, “Don’t you dare start this series until 2012.”

Younger Me would probably respond with, “But that’s twenty years from now!”

(Sidenote: Younger me sucks at math.)

Thirtysomething-ish Me would say, ” I know.”

“Surely, the series will be done before then,” Younger Me might whine.

“Trust me, it won’t,” Older/Maybe-Wiser Me would reply. “And don’t call me Shirley.”

(Sidenote: Love of The Naked Gun transcends time.)

What was the point of this little past-versus-future hypothetical? To emphasize a series that has been with me throughout most of my adolescence and into the present day, and it shouldn’t have been! To date the series is thirteen books long spanning over two decades. The original author of the series is dead, and the reigns have since past to another. Regardless of how frustrating The Wheel of Time books were, they are clearly a part of my life. They were my Gen X Harry Potter…minus the Hufflepuffs.

In May of 2012 – barring any further delays or deaths – the series will finally draw to a close. I will either heave a sigh of relief or shake fists at the “fires of Heaven” in frustration. Either way, I will remember the good points – including a nifty little detail that I never caught on to before.

In the story (which I won’t get to here, at all), there is an island called Tremalking. The inhabitants of the island are called the Amayar, a bunch of sea-hippies that follow something similar to Taoism. Like the aborigines of Australia, they also believe the world they inhabit is in a dream-state. A little lesser known fact about these fantasy sea-hippies is that they grow their own tea.

From the "Wheel of Time" Wiki.

So renowned is this tea that health benefits associated with it include relief of minor food poisoning, relaxation, relief from cramping, and other detoxifying effects. It is known to be a gentle – if bitter – beverage with a soothing character. Mentions popped up here and there in the series, but I never glommed onto them until the most recent volumes. I have two theories as to why this might be:

(1) I never noticed it in prior volumes because I had no interest in dead leaves steeped in hot water back then.

(2) The author that took over after Robert Jordan’s death was a tea drinker.

The mentions of Tremalking Black, and character references (and reverence) of it, seemed more prevalent when the narrative duties changed hands. I found this so fascinating that I wondered if other authors juggled tea in so subtle but subliminal a manner. At times, I find books that have mentions of tea, and – not surprisingly – some of the information is false. An odd occurrence if done poorly in a fantasy novel.

I guess that’s the sign of truly masterful prose – when an author describes a drink so often, and in so vivid a detail, that you actually want to try some. My own fictional pursuits of late have been clunky at best in trying to convey a love of tea with such verve and still keep the story moving. In that, though, I have a long way to go.

In the meantime, I’ll pretend that my spring-grown Ceylon was cultivated by sea-hippies.

From the "Wheel of Time" Wiki.

Awesome Assam is Awesome!

By lazyliteratus

On August 4, 2011

In Tea Features

Teas from the northeastern state of India called Assam are known for many things. First and foremost are their robust and malty characteristics. Second (and this is one I’ve noticed) is their lean towards – how to put it – tiramisu sweetness. Very odd. Part of their unique character comes from the varietal of tea plant used – one that is actually native to the region. Unlike Darjeeling, which uses Chinese cultivars, Assam has its own native bush, the Camellia sinensis var. assamica. Until the British came along, this shrub was only used for Ayurvedic purposes.

To me and a few others in my tea circle, Assams hold the honor of being the second manliest type of tea in existence. First place, of course, goes to the pine-smoked monstrosity that is Lapsang Souchong. I have since sampled quite a few single estate offerings – some better than others – and all have put a spring in my step thanks to the s**tstorm of caffeine they impart. But no one told me…

That there was a white Assam out there.

White teas are my muse. They started me on the path of tea exploration; they continue to haunt and heighten it. I have tried whites from China, Sri Lanka, Darjeeling, and even here in the Pacific Northwest. All were one shade of awesome or another, but I had never had a white Assam.

It’s white buffalo-esque existence came to my attention upon visiting a local tea shop. I was perusing the vast array of loose leaf whites when I came across it. So shocked was I that I could barely form the words, “I’ll get an ounce of this.”

The teller said, “That’ll be $15.”

Like a Tex Avery cartoon, my jaw dropped. I ended up leaving with just my do-it-yourself teabags. My quest was at an end by way of moth-wallet.

A year later, I received a white tea variety pack from Canton Tea Co. They always treated me super well. Of the unique teas in the batch, I expected the Darjeeling white, the Silver Needle, and the White Peony. (I adored all of ‘em.) Quietly tucked away in the mailbag, though, was something I wasn’t expecting. Scrawled in Asiatic-looking script were the words “Assam White”.

I shrieked. My brother/roommate jumped at the sound. His dog looked at me quizzically. My cat’s tail bristled in alarm. I tried to explain the significance of this one shiny, silver bag of “Awesome”…but it all came out like geeky sputters.

I brewed it up the next day.

The dry leaves looked like Silver Needle white tea by way of lawn-clippings – small, reed-like, and light green. The aroma also didn’t give off anything particularly extraordinary. It smelled like grass with a bit of a melon-mint profile – white tea-ish but not uncharacteristic. As a result, I brewed it up as I would any normal white tea; 1 heaping teaspoon in 8oz. of 165F water for three minutes. Big mistake.

I basically brewed…water. It had no character to speak of whatsoever. This being made from the same burly leaf Assam blacks were, though, I knew I’d done something wrong. I did it again, but this time I dialed the temperature on my water kettle to 180F. This was pushing it, but it was for science, damn it!

The results were pure…well..awesome.

Okay, if you want specifics, the liquor brewed to a transparent gold with a strong nose of parsley, sage, rosemary and F**KING AWESOME!!! It had the character of other white teas but with some of the malt that made Assam blacks so delectable. It was like someone said, “Melon meet Malt. Now…FIGHT TO THE DEATH!” Imagine a Viking in a tu-tu, and you’ll get the idea. Sure, he’s wearing a tu-tu, but you wouldn’t call him a sissy. This was no sissy white tea.

Further proof of its lack of sissy-ness arrived by steep five. Yeah, you heard right. Steep f**king five. This pitbull puppy of a tea lasted five infusions without letting go of its flavor. I only ran into one other white tea that lasted that long, and that was from the U.S. of A. Most taper off by steep three.

Canton Tea Co. mentions that this white tea is from the Mothola tea estate, one of the only estates in Assam to produce white teas. In other words, this was a rare pleasure indeed, and that sort of explains the high price tag for Assam whites in general. Still, considering how much bang you get for that buck (five steeps!), I’d say fork it over. This was not a white tea for wimps…even though I am one.

To buy Canton Tea’s Assam White, go HERE! (If you dare…)

Oolong Way from Gnome (Part 1)

By lazyliteratus

On July 15, 2011

In Tea Fiction

Gnomish Charcoal Sketch by Robert Norman

Thed was on a cloud…and he wasn’t happy about it.

Gnomes weren’t meant for flight, especially zooming over mountain ranges at wind-wispy speeds. Cloud-travel was air elemental territory – not for earth ones like him. Yet he found himself flying on a magic cloud with five unlikely companions. Three of them claimed to be demons. Two of them weren’t; one was a pig, the other a monkey with a staff. He had met “daemons” before. These were simple, magically-imbued animals with delusions of grandeur. But who was he to question their given titles? He was just a gnomish hired hand far away from home.

The third was an ogre, one of the lesser demon races. Unlike his Western kin, he was silent, stoic and serious. Such was the case with their fourth companion, too, possibly the oddest chimera Thed had ever seen – a dragon-scaled horse. Both were oddly resolute for so garish of beasts.

The source of his employ was the fifth occupant on the cloud – a quite, gold-hued man with his head shaved bald. He was unusual by human standards, but – then again – all humans were unusual to Thed. This one was fully aware of the magical world and seemed to revel in it, albeit tranquilly. When Thed had met him and his animal compatriots in India, the bald man had introduced himself as Tripitaka. It was a good, Greek-sounding name, and he had a trusting face.

After Tripitaka claimed he was a simple monk heading home, the poor gnome thought the golden man and his minions were journeying further West. Working for them seemed like a way to get a free ride back to Greece.

Wrong.

They were headed East…Far East. As far as Thed knew, no gnome had ever been to China. Given the different roles of magical beings there, he understood why. If mere animals were labeled as demons, what would they make of him?

He clutched a fist to his green, conical hat as another gust of wind threatened to part it from his head. It was precious to him. Granted, no Greek gnome wore such silly headware, but it was a present from a lady-friend in Germania. All Nordic-borne gnomes were fans of pointy hats. It was a rather odd distinction between them and their Greek cousins.

The three magic animals found the hat rather amusing as well. They often yanked it from his head, held it above him, and kept it from his reach – especially Sun Wukong. The Monkey King (as he was known) made sport of him the entire journey. Zhu Bajie, the pig “monster”, occasionally joined in and made lewd references, comparing the hat to a certain male body part.

These were his companions on the long journey back to Chang’an. And it was a very. Long. Journey. The territory between India and the Tang capital was wrought with danger. A day didn’t go by without the monk being threatened by some magical creature or another. Sun Wukong mentioned in passing that many of their assailants were after the monk’s flesh, saying it granted immortality to the eater. Thed rolled his eyes at that. Human meat, even a magus’s, didn’t grant immortality. (Although, according to some orcs he’d known, it did cause indigestion.)

Whenever they were attacked, Thed did what gnomes did best. He hid. At times, he would even employ an invisibility spell. His job was to guard the luggage, and guard it he did…but out of sight. No pay in the known world was worth the loss of hide nor hat.

Thed felt a poke against his shoulder. He ignored it. After a few minutes, he felt a second, harder poke. Again, he did nothing. A full five minutes went by before something cold and metal massaged his ear, followed by fits of high-pitched giggling. Thed had come to expect that from the Monkey King. He returned the effort with a glare.

Sun Wukong, un-phased, brought his staff up to the gnome’s nose and gently rubbed it against his nostril. Thed sniffed, wriggled his face a bit, but didn’t give the trickster “king” the satisfaction of a response. A reaction – any reaction – would be met with further taunting by way of staff. Today’s attempt was mild by comparison. Thed was used to this; he had fifteen brothers.

“As usual, you’re no fun,” Sun Wukong harrumphed.

The gnome merely crossed his arms, staring ahead.

“Perhaps he’s gone mute,” Zhu Bajie said with a snort.

The monkey beamed a grin, a mischievous one. “Let’s test that theory.”

Thed closed his eyes tightly, expecting sharp pain of some sort. He was used to it, even though it still smarted. The pain never came, however. A clanging noise was heard in its place. He opened one eye. A spade had parried Sun Wukong’s staff. The bearer of the weapon was the ogre – Sha Wujing – who glowered at the monkey and pig. He nodded at Thed before returning to his meditation, a free hand slowly stroking his ugly red beard.

“He’s no fun, either,” the Monkey King pouted, folding his arms in protest.

“Please, please, leave the help alone,” Tripitaka said softly. “Our journey is almost ended. Soon we will go our separate ways. Make our final moments together peaceful ones.”

Tripitaka was always like that. He would only intervene in a conflict after it was finished; imparting sage advice that largely went ignored. The true hand of discipline in the group was the river-ogre. Strange considering he was the roughest-looking of the bunch. The gold-tanned Buddhist never involved himself in the squabbles of the party unless it affected the outcome of his quest. Over his shoulder, he bore ancient scrolls that were kept in a magic ward-laden sack. What was on them, Thed could only guess.

They journeyed on in silence, puttering along on a fluffed-up pillow of a nimbus. Mountains unlike any Thed had ever seen came and went, transformed into valleys, and then spots of civilization. As the sky darkened, a large city came into view. The expanse of it was lined by a large rectangular wall. There were towered gates to the east, west, and south. They breezed over the southern gate, heading northward to another, inner-walled structure, which Thed could only assume was the Imperial palace. It was a striking city, well-fortified…and the citizenry appeared slightly alarmed that a giant cloud was flying into it.

Bells sounded off along with shouts. Thed peered over the nimbus and saw dots scrambling down below. Gnomish hearing was unusually sharp, and he thought he could make out shouts of, “Ready the archers!” It was times like these he wished he hadn’t chewed on glossolalia leaf to understand different languages. He was better off not knowing who wanted him dead.

Something whizzed past his graying beard. Another shape darted upwards to his right. Arrows – and more were coming.

“I thought you sent word to the Emperor,” Sha Wujing growled at the monkey as he batted an arrow away with his spade.

“Um…slipped my mind?” Sun Wukong shrugged nervously, withdrawing his staff.

Arrows ripped through the cloud with swarming ferocity. Zhu Bajie caught several with his rake weapon before they impacted Tripitaka, who appeared unmoved by the attack. He stayed sitting, lotus-style, but his grip on the magical sack with the scrolls had tightened. The dragon-scaled horse held vigil over him.

“We’ll be needle fodder in no time!” Zhu Bajie squealed.

“Quit your belly-aching, fatty,” Sun Wukong returned. “We’ve been through worse.”

“And just like those times, it’s your fault!” the river-ogre roared.

“Semantics,” the Monkey King waved the comment off, elongating his staff to double its length. He batted away an entire volley with one sweeping arc.

Thed – who until now used the party’s luggage as a shield – sighed and finally spoke up, “I’ll handle this.”

The gnome took a piece of flint, a few red leaves, and a round jewel from one of his many pants pockets. He sat down, placed the leaves on one knee, and rubbed the jewel and flint together. Violet sparks ignited. Instead of becoming flame, however, they swirled around the party like fireflies. When they reached the periphery of the cloud, they dissipated. In their wake, arrows bounced off an invisible barrier around the cloud.

Sha Wujing slumped his shoulders in relief. Zhu Bajie dropped his rake with exhaustion. Tripitaka and his weird horse still appeared the same, if a tad more tense. Only Sun Wukong eyed the gnome with suspicion.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” the monkey asked, eyes narrowing.

“It’s earth magic,” Thed replied. “All earth elementals know it.”

“What are you, some sort of Immortal?” Sun Wukong pressed further.

“There are no Immortals,” Thed stated flatly. “Only magic.”

That caught the ogre’s attention, “Blasphemy!”

“Not blasphemy,” the gnome said. “Truth.”

“Need I remind you, little goblin, that we were once Generals in Heaven?” Sha Wujing asked.

“No, you needn’t.”

“And yet you still don’t believe in the Immortals?” he queried again.

“No, I don’t.”

“Can we throw him overboard?” the pig asked.

“We’re here,” Tripitaka interrupted. “Thedaius, would you kindly remove the barrier?”

“As you wish,” Thed nodded slightly, tapping the jewel.

Air rushed back where the invisible enclosure had popped. In their heated debate, they hadn’t realized that the cloud had landed within the palace proper. Dozens of soldiers surrounded them at spear-point. Some commotion started at the rear and moved forward like a wave. Several of the spearmen bowed as a figure attired in yellow robes and – from what Thed could tell – a black hat came to the front of their quarry. Eastern dragons embroidered the upper and lower halves of his ornate clothing. An expression, equal-parts surprise and worry, showed on his face.

“Brother Xuanzang, you’ve returned!” the well-dressed (and slightly plump) man exclaimed.

The party dismounted the cloud. It vanished into the aether with a word from the Monkey King. Thed hadn’t been prepared for that, however, and fell with a resounding – yet tiny – thud. The monkey and pig both snickered.

Tripitaka kowtowed deeply, “I have, Your Highness.”

The three creature-companions looked at each other, then followed suit with awkward bows and kneels of their own. Only Thed remained standing. (Although, his standing posture was at their kneeling height.) He was tempted to go invisible. Mundane (non-magic) humans weren’t supposed to see magical creatures. It was forbidden in the West. The rules were apparently different in Tang China.

“So, you have them, then?” the Tang Emperor asked eagerly.

“I do, Your Highness.”

“Let us see them!” said the yellow-clad ruler with excited, outstretched hands.

The Buddhist monk withdrew the scroll sack from his shoulder. His stance relaxed at the heavy burden’s removal. He muttered a few words, and the sigil-drawn wards on the bag glowed. The string keeping it closed loosened of its own accord. Rolled parchments greeted the night air and onlookers. The Tang Emperor grabbed one of them with deft hands and unrolled it slowly. The unknown writing seemed to shine in the moonlight.

“The sutras of the Western Regions,” the Emperor said with reverence. “You’ve done a great thing for the Empire, Xuanzang. A great thing, indeed.”

He rolled the scroll back up and handed it off to an attendant that appeared by his side. Other such attendants went about collecting the rest from the sack. Thed eyed them suspiciously. Why were a bunch of religious parchments so important? It wasn’t like they would be able to read them. The words were written in Sanskrit. Who on this side of the continent – who wasn’t magic-imbued – knew Sanskrit?!

“You must be fatigued from your journey, Little Brother,” the Emperor stated. “I insist you and your…companions stay here as our guests.”

“That is kind of you, Your Highness,” Tripitaka replied. “But I’m afraid I’m needed at Hongfu Monastery. I’ve been away from my brothers for far too long.”

This statement caused Zhu Bajie to grumble slightly. Thed couldn’t tell if it was from the pig’s mouth or stomach. Even the silent ogre groaned with displeasure, albeit through a firm expression frozen in kowtow.

The Tang Emperor also seemed mildly disappointed, “Very well. You deserve rest where you wish it. We shall talk of your travels in the morning. Sleep well, Little Brother.”

The yellow-robed ruler withdrew with his retinue, and the Monkey King summoned the cloud. Within moments, they were airborne again. Much to Thed’s dismay. He would never get used to all the flying. The nimbus floated northeast at great speed until it reached the summit of a mountain. Sha Wujing called it Quanling. Situated among the trees was a modest temple with a humble gate. Several monks saw their approach and instantly fell to their knees.

When they landed and departed the cloud, a younger monk – barely twenty-years-old – approached Tripitaka, “Master, these tree-tops all suddenly leaned East this morning. As we remembered what you had said, we went out of the city to meet you, and you had indeed come.”

“I have. I am sorry I hadn’t arrived in time to greet you all. We didn’t get to the city until this very evening,” Tripitaka said, touching the younger monk’s shoulder in friendship.

“We shall see to your things, Master,” another monk chimed in.

“No need. I have help for that.”

Thed waved. The monks eyed him quizzically. Obviously, they’d never seen a gnome before. Or anyone that small with such a thick beard for that matter. He muttered an incantation to himself as he dug his hands into the soil. After that, he clapped once and grabbed hold of the luggage. Like the “worker ant” that he was, he lifted the party’s rope-bound satchels with wondrous ease.

The pig’s jaw dropped.

“Earth magic, remember?” Thed said through a smirk.

Sun Wukong – the Monkey King – gave him a demonic sneer.

***

“I’ve grown quite tired of our tiny tag-along,” Zhu Bajie said, leaning against his rake.

The three demons watched the diminutive, white-bearded pygmy pass by with their belongings. The little man-thing seemed quite at ease with hard labor. No matter the task, he did it without voicing complaint. Or voicing anything at all. He didn’t talk much. Zhu Bajie didn’t trust silent types.

“As much as it pains me to say it,” the river-ogre sighed. “I agree with you. He blasphemes against the Immortals. He speaks to all of us with disrespect, and – worse still – he didn’t bow before Emperor Taizong! I will grant a foreigner some leniency, but not if he shows complete disregard.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d piss on Guan Yin herself,” Zhu Bajie muttered.

Sha Wujing brought his spade to bear on the pig monster’s throat. “Do not speak ill of the Bodhisattva!”

“I wasn’t! I wasn’t!”

Sun Wukong rubbed his chin, “Actually, Piggy may have a point.”

“How so?” The ogre withdrew his weapon from the frightened demon’s boar-face.

The Monkey King bore a toothy grin, “I think it’s time our little friend visited the Goddess of Mercy.”

***

Thed plopped the satchels off in a nearby storage area. At least, he assumed it was a storage area. Truthfully, the entire monastery looked like one big, religious closet. There was plenty of clay and brick – enough to remind him of home – but the absolute modesty of the place annoyed him. Of course, he preferred the company of trees and structures borne of trees. He felt the human need to shape the environment to their will was a desecration, and oddly hypocritical in a region that prided itself on oneness with all things natural.

He heard a clopping sound behind him. Without realizing it, he’d uttered the invisibility spell. It was always fresh on his lips whenever he was startled. Thed turned to see the outline of a horse behind him, its body shimmering in the dull evening light.

“Oh, it’s just you,” he muttered, reappearing. “Stupid horse…thing.”

You shouldn’t talk like that to us, said a voice in his mind.

Thed looked around. “Who said that?”

The “stupid horse-thing” in front of you, the thought echoed again.

“Ah, telepathy,” Thed wasn’t impressed. “That’s a neat trick for a horse.”

Your attitude towards us may get you killed, little one.

“Says…the horse who can’t talk.”

I wasn’t always this shape. Thed thought he saw the dragon-scaled horse’s eyes narrow.

“Your point?”

My point is you should show a little courtesy. You are not in your lands. Politeness goes a long way here.

“Duly noted.”

There was a long pause.

“Can I get back to work now?”

As you wish. Just remember…don’t underestimate them.

“Them who?

The horse trotted away without a reply.

Before Thed could shrug it off, a hand clasped his small shoulder. Hard. He swiveled around and came face-to-face with the toothiest monkey grin he’d ever seen. It was Sun Wukong’s, and the expression made him uneasy. The pig and river-ogre were also there, both smiling just as broadly. Now he was scared. The river-ogre never smiled.

“Hello, friend,” Sun Wukong said.

“Uh, hello.”

“We have a task for you.”

“I have plenty of tasks already,” Thed countered. It was the truth.

“Oh, but you see, this one is really important,” Sun Wukong continued. “Our Master – your employer – is out of tea leaves.”

Tripitaka did love his tea. The gnome served it to him every morning on the journey. Gnomes were good at steeping any plant known to man or magic. It hadn’t taken Thed long to learn the temperature, brew length, leaf amount, and water depth that the monk preferred.

“That can’t be. I checked them myself this morning. There should be at least fourteen cups worth left.”

Sun Wukong shook his head, “I’m afraid they’ve all spoiled.”

“Impossible. Dried leaves don’t spoil in a day.”

“They do if you expose them to earth magic fires,” Sha Wujing intoned. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Thed hung his mouth open as if to speak, but nothing came out. Was it possible? He – like all gnomes – was well-versed in herbs, both arcane and mundane. Granted, his knowledge of the tea plant was limited at best, but he had studied some varietals during his time in India. Could earth elemental magic affect their staying power, whether fresh or dried? He was at a loss.

“That tea was a present from Guan Yin herself,” the Monkey King said. “They were plucked from her Mountain Wall Garden high in the Zu mountain range. They were priceless.”

“I-I…don’t know what to say,” Thed stuttered.

“Say that you will get some more,” was the monkey’s blunt reply.

“When?”

“Tonight.”

“How?!”

“With this.” Sun Wukong revealed his palm and floating right above it was a small cloud. “And these,” he said, plucking hairs from his own head.

“You want me to pick tea leaves,” Thed started. “From a mountain range. With nothing but a cloud…and some of your hair?”

“Watch,” the Monkey King said. He took one strand of hair and threw it on the ground. In a puff of smoke, a duplicate of himself appeared. “You’ll use these to pick the leaves.”

“And use the cloud to get there, I got it,” the gnome nodded, annoyed. “But what do I do if I get caught?”

“You’ll have him,” the monkey said with a smile, pointing at the dragon-scaled horse.

“And if I refuse?” Thed asked.

“You’ll die,” Sha Wujing said, pressing his spade into the ground.

Thed heaved the deepest sigh of his life. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

“Great!” the Monkey King shouted, clapping the gnome on the back. The impact sent him reeling. “We’ll see you at morning tea.”

Sha Wujing pointed at him, “Don’t be late.”

The three so-called demons departed, leaving the wayward gnome to collect himself. Tripitaka’s odd horse came up to him. If Thed didn’t know any better, he would’ve said the horse-thing was smiling at him.

I told you not to underestimate them, the horse sent.

“Oh, shut up and get ready,” Thed responded. He looked at the monkey hairs in his hand and the small cloud suspended in mid-air in front of him. “We have a long night ahead of us.”

To be continued…-ish…