Teaflection: Tea-Infused Thoughts
Whatever you do, don't resist falling into a cup of tea...let me know what you find! info@deepteas.com.
12.7.06 | Quack I may just be quacking to myself, but it must be said: To whomever took my competition-grade tie kuan yin while I was shopping at Uwajimaya, please be sure to enjoy it. To
ensure that you enjoy it correctly, may I suggest using water that is
below boiling? And be sure to use the proper amount of leaves, a good
couple tablespoons, in a gaiwan or other open brewing vessel to allow
the leaves to expand to their full glory and flavor. Before drinking
it, be sure to give it the leaves a quick rinse with hot water, then
inhale the natural aroma of plumeria and jasmine that the tea leaves
give off. After steeping the leaves in a half-cup of water
for maybe 30 seconds, enjoy the bright golden liquor, the smooth,
buttery flavor, and the intoxicating combination of flowers and
fresh-cut grass that infuse the cup. And after drinking the
leaves dry, don't throw them away, for the love of all teas, don't toss
them yet! Infuse them repeatedly and see how the flavor becomes deeper,
stronger, and more complex as you infuse the leaves five, six, seven
times. When you finally have your fill tea, don't fight the
calm feeling that comes upon you. Revel in the splendor of imbibing a
high-quality Chinese tea and in all the stress-fighting theanine
that is now running through your body. And, after doing your
best to appreciate the tea in the manner it deserves, if you decide you
don't like tea after all, please give the rest back to me! Or, let us
drink it together and give it another try, for writing this makes me
thirsty for a good cup of tie kuan yin!
11.13.06 | Two thoughts and then I really must go.
First, tea as an analogy to everything, including martial arts. Why didn't I see it sooner? If you lack the inspiration, see Jet Li's Fearless. A beautiful movie, even without the tea scene. Second, isn't it interesting that: one would think that the bigger the leaf, the bigger the flavor. But in many cases, the opposite is actually true.
10.31.06 | Something rather sad You know what's really unfortunate? When a tea bush spends three or four years growing, soaking in the gentle mists and warm rain of the valley it was born into, digging in its roots down deep to gather nutrients and nitrogen from the loam, weathering humid summers, torrential monsoons, or severe winters (or all of the above), being painfully pruned back by attentive tea growers, until finally one hopeful spring day, the tea bush gathers its confidence and pushes forth a perfect flush of leaves, then having those leaves--or just the bud--carefully plucked (most likely by a woman), then watching those buds be transported by the basket to a factory where the leaves are lightly steamed, then dried in the sun until they dry into perfect silvery needles, downy and soft, long and elegant, radiating with beauty as well as flavor, so that, when the tea producer brews a sample, he smiles with the recognition that he has created a most excellent, most unique batch of tea that combines millennia of Chinese tradition with the assertive flavor of Assam, yielding a fruity, piney, grapey, malty white tea, and having those leaves be packed into bags which are packed into a wooden crate and shipped to his relative in Florida, who then sends a portion, perhaps just a few kilos’ worth, to Seattle, Washington, upon which the staff of a small tea shop rejoice at the arrival of such a beautiful tea that, when drunk, either iced or hot, transports their minds to the tropical beauty of a place they’ve never visited, but know that the tea they just brewed came hence just a few months prior, and, being so popular by staff and customer alike, sells quickly, so fast that the tea staff regularly must refill the tin, and a new staff member, is unaccustomed to the fuzzy buds and not sure how to scoop the tea without having it all clump together in an unmanageable mass, so that in the process of filling a tin, a few stray buds float out of the tea bag and onto the ground, and given the fact that the shop does have sanitary standards, must be thrown away instead of being enjoyed by an eager Seattle customer. All the way from India to Seattle, only to be thrown in the trash can. And I, as the clumsy new tea shop staffer, must live with that guilt!
10.4.06 | Autumn
autumn trees flame red
bright as Yunnan Gold, I dream -
through a haze of tea.
6.22.06 | Experiments in intercultural tea drinking I didn't expect three so-so teas to make a good tea, but that's what happened this morning. My coworker and fellow tea nerd Bob inspired me to try my hand at creating my own blends of tea, rather than only drinking single-estate teas. Blends are a wonderful way to create unique flavors, as well as to maintain a stable flavor profile for tea manufacturers. Many customers would complain if their favorite English Breakfast changed its flavor simply because one of the tea purveyors had a bad season one year. That's why master tea blenders who can combine different teas to maintain a flavorful blend are so necessary in tea world.
I had largely dismissed blends myself. My tea cupboards are separated into herbals, greens, blacks, oolongs, pu'erhs, and tea bags/sample sizes. Being so immersed in studying the characteristics of different styles of tea, flushes, and regions, I mentally divide all teas into their different types, to better discern their differences and unique qualities.
But cultural appreciation does not merit segregation. When Bob told me of his successful experiment with some Chinese teas from different regions, I decided it was time for my Indian Darjeeling to meet my Chinese Yunnan Gold and my Sri Lankan Ceylon.
Still wary of wasting my best teas on some flavor ambrosia, I pulled out a couple second-string teas: a Yunnan Gold that was past its prime, and a Darjeeling blend that cost $3 for two ounces. Tossing a teaspoon of YG and a little less than a teaspoon of D. in a brewing basket, I topped it off with a new Ceylon I just got from Uptons (Nuwara Eliya OP). Even though I was late for work (again), I couldn't help but admire the attractive mixture of leaves, regardless of being inconsistent in size (makes for uneven steeps). Green, blacks and brown, flecked with gold. Lovely. Poured in near-boiling water and steeped it for 1 min., 45 sec.
The YG by itself had lost its soft, sweet edge over time, so when I steep it by itself, the metallic, bitter edge overwhelms. I was amazed to find that that flavor was no longer overpowering with the other two teas in the mix. Instead, I found the elusive milky cocoa flavor that I love so much in YGs. In addition to the cocoa, the D. gave a slight vegetal bite, and the Ceylon balanced it with a fruity, malty flavor.
I plan to continue my experiments with blending. If nothing else, it's a great lesson in diversity. There may be clashes at times, but for this sleepy woman trying to find a decent cup of tea for her morning commute, she found it not in one tea, but in three.
5.7.06 | My favorite tea party, pt. 1 My favorite tea party did not include a single porcelain teapot, sugar cube, or summer bonnet. The attendees were college students in college attire, and the gathering was my goodbye party representing the culmination of the four months I spent studying the Japanese tea ceremony.
The sadobu was one of the many student clubs at Kanda Gaigo Daigaku, a Japanese college which specialized in teaching foreign languages. Consequently I and my 40 fellow study-abroad students were very popular for our English-language skills, and sometimes I felt more like a dictionary or some alien novelty than a human being.
preparing tea at the sadobu
If I ever began to buy into the illusion of my being a "special foreigner," the tea club was my wakeup call. My first day at the tea ceremony club bewildered me with what seemed like countless rules. I and two other study abroad students determined to crack the code on this mysterious Japanese art, and we showed up at the school's special teahouse eager and ready to learn. The first thing we learned was that we couldn't wear shoes on the bamboo tatami mats--oops! We had to wear white socks so as to not stain the mats (we had to borrow some from Tomoko, one of the senior students), and everything was in Japanese!
During a regular class the students would break into two groups, the more experienced students on one side, and the less experienced students on the other. I joined the less experienced students, mostly freshmen. At that time I was a senior, but was a freshman in the world of tea. One at a time time students would practice serving tea, and the rest of the students would act as okyakusama, or guests. Our senseis, three adorable elderly women dressed in modified kimonos, enforced an atmosphere of casual discipline and kept an eye out for poor form.
No special translations or efforts were made to speak in English for the foreign girls. There was no interest in practicing English skills during tea time. This wasn't class, this a time to forget about school and socialize with friends. Us study abroaders spent a lot of time sitting around and not knowing what was going on. After a couple weeks I was the only foreigner who continued to attend class and I still fancied skipping class on many days.
In the end, I would haul myself and my white socks to the teahouse. As I slid open the door, the pungent odor of tatami mats would hit me, I would see everyone's shoes and boots lined up by the steps, hear the happy chatter of the students inside, and psyche myself up to perservere.
I only caught parts of what the teachers said to me in rapid-fire Japanese, but learned much my fellow students. I learned that it takes a lot of work to be able to sit on your knees for hours at a time. I learned that every move is deliberate, and that the skill is in making those moves seem natural. I learned that the powdered tea in the lacquered tea canister is shaped to look like a green mountain. I learned that cleaning up and putting things away takes as much discipline as the ceremony itself.
At my goodbye tea party Tomoko, one of the senior students, performed the tea ceremony for me and the others. They bought special sweets to serve, and I was able to invite another study-abroad friend, Katie, to accompany me as the guest of honor. Then Tomoko turned to me. Pop quiz, it was my turn to make the tea! It wasn't the most stellar perfomance--for instance, I forgot when to offer the guests the sweets. But as I folded my fukushi tea towel to clean the bamboo spoon, spooned the powdered matcha tea into the bowl, whisked it to a green froth, and offered it with a bow to Katie, I realized that somewhere along the line the tea ceremony stopped being work. I was having fun!
4.23.06 | The agony of the leaves I never understood why the Chinese term for the unfurling of the tea leaf in water is called the "agony of the leaves." The phrase conjures up a horrible picture in my mind, of the leaves painfully seared by the hot water, forced into reliquishing their precious oils. Then you toss the spent leaves aside and drink the resulting brew. Yum.
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My favorite tea shop for pure atmosphere was built over an old Japanese bathhouse in the international district. The decor is an Asian-modern combination that manages to preserve the historic atmosphere; they have a decent selection of teas which they serve in beautiful glass teapots, the service is impeccable, and I could eat their panini sandwiches every day and never get sick of them. The only thing: when you order tea, you never get to see the tea leaves. Somehow I feel like I miss out on the entire tea experience when I don't even get to see or smell the leaves from which my tea came. They bring you the pot of tea, as if the tea magically appeared in the pot all by itself.
Now after explaining how much I value the infusion of teas as part of the tea experience, I admit that I'm a hypocrite. More often than not I order tea to go, use an infuser basket, or throw some tea in a do-it-yourself teabag. They're convenient, I'm lazy (and regularly wake up late), I don't have time to sit and sip, and so I comprimise my ideals. However, there are certain teas in my collection which I will never drink from a paper cup or travel mug. This includes most of my greens and oolongs, and all of my pu'erhs. It just seems wrong to not fully appreciate those leaves by watching them steep in a proper tea vessel. And after all, a girl has to have her standards!
4.15.06 | Great name for a rock band: Matcha and the Fukamushis! (to borrow a page from Dave Barry)
4.14.06 | Quote of the day: “The progress of this famous plant [tea] has been something very like the progress of truth; suspected at first, though very palatable to those who had the courage to taste it; resisted as it encroached; abused as its popularity spread; and establishing its triumph at last, in cheering the whole land from the palace to the cottage, only by slow and resistless efforts of time and its own virtues.” --Isaac D’Israeli (as quoted in the book A History of the World in Six Glasses)
Something to steep over during your next tea break...
4.7.06 | Quote of the Day: "There is no book long enough or teacup large enough to suit me." --C.S.Lewis
I'll raise my teacup to that, Mr. Lewis!
3.16.06 | Tea has a rather sordid past--at least, in the international growth of the tea trade. I just read (most of) the book Tea: Addiction, Exploitation, and Empire. Basically, the book outlines growth of international tea trade as it was facilitated and expanded by the British to appease their insatiable appetite for "te from the Orient." When China resisted accepting opium in exchange for tea, it provoked the Opium Wars, and when Indians resisted the forced labor on tea plantations, it resulted in much blood on the part of the coolies.
In that sense tea is not different from other agricultural products with politics lurking in the shadows of their plantations: cotton, tobacco, indigo, you name it. I doubt that the tea industry in all countries remains free of this shadow (more on this later). However, tea holds a role in current society which is different from that of cotton: tea has become to be an integral part of many cultures, for the oppressors and exploited alike.
Whenever asked why I am fanatical about tea, one of the first things I say is that it connects people to such a variety of cultures. Tea is the second most consumed beverage aside from water. Tea consumption is growning among the younger generations in England, China, and the U.S. alike. Would it be impossible to postulate that tea can become a point of connection between countries, rather than a division? Could tea connect countries, not only as provider and client, but connecting people who share a similar passion for a unique beverage? Could it connect wealthy specialty tea buyers with humble tea pickers?
I'm not proposing World Peace Through Tea. But if it helped make the world a slightly smaller place, perhaps that could in some way redeem tea's painful past.
Just a tea thought for the day, over a cup of kukicha!