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Getting Baijiguan

I got this nice gift from a fellow tea lover in Poland: four neat 8-gram packages of Baijiguan. China’s most famous oolong tea, the king of Wuyi cliff tea, still made from the original millennial tea trees or their direct clones.

Incidentally this is one tea I’ve never tasted before. I’ve had the other three of the Four Famous Bushes: Dahongpao, Tieluohan and Shuijingui, but not Baijiguan. On anybody’s way of tea, it’s good to have a goal out there to reach.

So it was with excitement that I opened the bag. It will take a better grasp of Chinese than mine to decipher the info on the bag; all I know is that this tea is from 2010. At first sight this is a very surprising tea. It has a very low roast and the leaf is a mix of various light greens – way less oxidised than the norm in Wuyi. Apparently this is typical of Baijiguan, but how to approach this? (See here for photos of Shuixian, a typical Wuyi tea). The leaf aroma is very subdued with hay and toasted bread.

On my first attempt I dumped the entire bag – 6.8g of leaf after sorting out the debris – into a 100ml gaiwan. Treated like all oolongs with boiling water and perhaps 40 seconds of steeping this tea was frankly unpleasant. A murky light beige colour, very little aroma in the cup and a completely flavourless palate ending rather bitter. The next few infusions were no better. I had obviously mishandled this tea but was nonplussed by the profile with a mixture of low and medium oxidation leaves this tea tasted like an unsuccessful modern Darjeeling. To save the day I quickly brewed some 2008 Shuijingui – Baijiguan’s marginally less famous sibling – that I bought from Dragon Tea House. What a good tea! Wuyi at its chocolatey, honeyed, high-roasted best but also with an unusually intense plummy fruitiness – outstanding.

It was only after 7 or 8 infusions, with the leaves fading away that the BJG revealed some pleasant low key elegance and an almondy flavour distantly reminiscent of Dancong oolong. So there was hope, I thought. For my next attempt I halved the dosage and used an excellent quality shipiao clay pot from Taiwan I usually dedicate to Dancong from Tea Masters. Following my experience with Dancong I also used very brief infusions at the beginning: starting with perhaps 8 seconds. The result was far, far better than my first attempt in gaiwan. Very light in colour. Partly thanks to the clay pot that emphasised the fruity notes rounded off the whole, but partly after the brewing parameters helped the tea’s finesse come forward, this Baijiguan now showed some real textural interest with light notes of white almonds, dried fruits, a bit of dried herbs; bitterness was never allowed to dominate in any of the ten infusions. The patience was also good, although in all truth it’s a rather light tea that never delivered a very intense flavour.

I still have my reservations about this: looking at the expired leaf I think the oxidation is a bit random, with some bruised leaves and some totally green; it just doesn’t seem so well handled. The lack of flavour intensity especially at mid-palate is a problem. But when ‘got right’, this tea at least has personality. It comes closer to a Dancong than other tea varieties in Wuyi.

Disclosure
Baijiguan was a gift from a friend (not ITB). Shuijingui and the shipiao pot were my own purchases.

Icing tea

We’ve gone through one of the most torrid summers ever here in Poland. My last year’s moanings have been put into perspective by several weeks of 35+C weather. Hot tea is a no issue. So I’ve been forced to jump on the ice tea bandwagon, and come up with my own recipe. You’ll find hundreds of these on the web (here’s one I really liked, with a deeper insight into ice tea Japanese style) and here’s mine.

Generally I dislike cold tea. I prefer to drink it fairly hot, and while there’s interest in sheng or oolong tea that has cooled down a little, I find room temperature tea really a little repulsive. So the idea of preparing ice tea required overcoming a bit of self-resistance. I started my trials with the type of tea I drink regularly in the summer anyway: Japanese green. It might be a weird choice for some – intuitively a tea drinker might be wary of overinfusing a sencha leaving it, as you should with ice tea, over several hours on the leaves. In my experience it’s enough to opt for a lighter, less fragmented leaf type like the 3rd Prize Asamushi from Hirumaen (reviewed here). I still had a bit of this left when receiving the new vintage and so using it for ice tea sounded sensible. The result is surprising. There’s a lot of texture to this ‘Iced Asamushi’ with all its glutinous umami character, but also some sweetness. It’s immensely refreshing in a vegetal sort of way.

These small delicate leaves will open completely even when infused with cold water.

But admittedly that injection of savoury umami might be beyond the comfort line for some. I think the expected taste profile of ice tea is something fruity and sweet. A fruity black tea might be a good choice; for me, a tea that works wonders is Dancong. This Chinese oolong is gorgeously aromatic and over a few hours of infusion in the fridge, will produce a brew that’s wonderfully scented with dried fruits, flowers and almonds. It’s a good moment to use up that unexpensive Dancong you’ve a bit too much of, like this $9.90 thing from Yunnan Sourcing that I found of fairly good quality FWII.

Some people prepare ice tea with tea that’s been brewed with hot water and then chilled. With Dancong this is dangerous, as it’s a type of tea that can release quite a bit of bitter tannins. That’s why I prefer to cover it with room temperature water in a large glass jar (think 6–8g of leaf per 500ml water) and then refrigerate: the leaves won’t open totally (see photo above) and the release of tannins will be limited. Sometimes I also add a spoon of good quality brown sugar, to boost the fruitiness. The result is the exact opposite of the ‘iced asamushi’ described above – but every bit as delicious.

Disclosure:

The two teas reviewed above and the brown sugar were my own purchase. The glass jar is a family gift.

My first chanoyu

Our modest chanoyu setup.

The visit of Tsuyoshi Ishikawa, a fellow tea lover from Japan, to Warsaw has triggered an impromptu Japanese tea ceremony – in fact my first of the kind. While I’ve blogged before on matcha – the ceremonial grade of powdered green tea from Japan – I’ve always been drinking it in the home context, without the aesthetic and philosophical ornament that surrounds a proper chanoyu. Here was an occasion to set my mind differently.

It worked, it really worked. Between the two of us we gathered all the necessary tea equipment from the bamboo whisk and matcha sifter to the precious chawan bowl and the indispensable cast iron tetsubin. The latter was a recent acquisition of mine – a small handy 1-liter piece of outstanding craftsmanship from Kunzan (sourced from Hojo; see photo above). It really has a colossal influence on the taste of the water and the texture of the tea. Through Tsuyoshi’s carefully orchestrated moves we were transported into the timeless domain of tea contemplation, and the distant hassle of the main restaurant room above us seemed to gradually fade away. Drinking matcha is as much about the flavour as it is about the tactile and temporal experience of making and imbibing it.

After Tsuyoshi prepared both koicha (thick tea, which is in fact a paste that you rather eat than drink) and the more relaxed usucha (thin tea), it was my turn to try my hand at the ceremonial preparation. The central act of dosing, whisking and serving went pretty well, I think; now it’s time I practiced those impossible complex origami-like movement you make with the ceremonial napkin.

Yours truly whisking duly.

Tsuyoshi kindly left me the can of matcha to enjoy at home. I have no idea where it comes from (perhaps readers with a grasp of Japanese will recognise it on the pictures below). It’s a solid grade, good enough for making koicha. It is a little less sweet and aerial than the 2008 Kinrin from Marukyu-Koyamaen I reviewed in this post, with a more pronounced vegetal flavour (but not bitter). On several attempts I found it rather hard to whisk to a very fine froth; the best I got still had some random big beer-like bubbles. A good tea in any case.

[Edit: Tsuyoshi Ishikawa has kindly confirmed this Uji matcha is the Unjo-no-Tomo from Shohokuen].

2010 Castleton Moonlight

I continue to drink quite a bit of Darjeeling teas at the moment, at the expense of almost any other black tea. The freshness and juiciness of 2010 Darj first flushes is a good match with the current hot season, and their relative simplicity makes them easier to drink unanalytically than e.g. a rolled oolong from Taiwan or a puer.

The Darjeeling region has around 100 tea estates (see a useful map here). Getting to know their characteristics is perhaps the number one challenge for a Darjeeling tea lover. How does position influence the taste of the teas? Which make consistently good tea throughout the season and which excel in any particular flush? Are the most renowned estates worth their reputation? Who are the emerging players? Enough questions for years of nurturing these fascinating teas.

As I’ve been getting acquainted with a broader range of Darjeeling over the last few years thanks to a regular supply from India, I start getting bit of answers to the above questions. Giddapahar lies high up and makes fragrant teas that are a bit dry in the throat. Jungpana’s tea are always very fruity; Avongrove’s lighter than many. Margaret’s Hope is very good but often no better than teas half the price. Arya, Jungpana, Puttabong are big over-deliverers; Okayti I tend to see as a solid second-league player. The nurturing continues.

As often with Castleton and is highish-oxidation teas, the colour of this FF is darkish.

Today’s 2010 ‘Moonlight’ First Flush (invoice no. Ex-1, available from Tea Emporium for $27 / 100g) from the estate of Castleton provides another quantum of data for that broader picture. A well-sorted grade with small olive green and light beige leaves, it infused a rather pale tea that needs a slightly longer steep to gain much intensity. This tea has good fruit and a balanced body but is not terribly expressive. It lacks the extra layer of spicy complexity of a good first flush Jungpana, and lacks the miraculous touch of plant sap ultrafreshness of the 2010 Puttabong Queen I reviewed here. It is, as all Castleton teas, structured and wholesome but a little conservative, and never the most marking of Darjeelings. It’s a great drinking tea so to speak, but less great as a tasting tea. (In fairness, Castleton is more renowned for its second flush teas, though my feelings about them are similar).

Disclaimer
Source of tea: own purchase.

2010 Puttabong Organic Queen

At the moment I am enjoying a few 2010 first flush Darjeelings. It’s the tea that feels most ‘in season’ to me; its fruitiness, juiciness and refreshing citrus tang matching best with the combination of hot and wet days we’re having here in Poland.

Last year I bought Darjeeling tea from online vendors Lochan (see here for reviews) and Thunderbolt review). With these new 2010s I explored the offer of Tea Emporium (see their website and blog).

The one first flush I’m enjoying most is the Puttabong Organic Queen. A well-sorted leaf with a wide variety of colours, this brews a light orange colour and the wet leaf is deliciously healthy and fragrant.

In the cup this is a very typical first flush tea, fresh as a daisy, fantastically juicy, citrusy, grapefruity, with balanced oxidation and an appealingly medium body. This is not an evanescent first flush – in fact there is quite some substance and gravitas, and when brewed competition style with a long steep this can also be slightly (but cleanly) tannic.

These leaves are so fresh you almost want to eat them in a salad.

But the best way to brew this tea in my opinion is a flash brew with just boiled water. Generous dosage and 30 seconds give a lighter colour in the cup, a fruitier, more lifted profile but more emphasis on that inimitable Darjeeling juiciness that’s like biting into a freshly picked golden apple. It’s a fantastic feeling of freshness that is well worth the asking price of $21 / 100g.

Disclaimer

Source of tea: own purchase.

2009 Nada Nannuo Qiaomu

We’re slowly seeing some 2010 teas being released: shincha from Japan, first flush Darjeeling, Chinese green teas. Puer takes a while to manufacture and so usually shows up on the market a few weeks later than other spring teas, but the first cakes of 2010 are already with us. There’s one series of releases that are eagerly awaited by tea fanatics: the private puer pressings by Nada. Nada personally travels to Yunnan province every year to select the raw tea leaves and have them processed and pressed. His stringent quality standards and personal control over the entire production process are among the factors that make Nada’s green puers very special teas.

The 2010 releases are expected in a few weeks’ time (see Nada’s Essence of Tea website), but in any instance you’ll need to hurry as these cakes tend to sell out extremely quickly. Last year, the four labels were out in a matter of days. I was late, and all I could pick up was a set of samples of the Naka, Bulang, Nannuo Old Tree and Nannuo Plantation. (I later got two cakes on the secondary market but had to pay over three times the release price: the latter is actually very competitive, adding to the fever of securing these teas).

Here’s a look at the 2009 Nannuo Qiao Mu cake (the original price was £18 / 357g cake). The leaves are small, clean, impeccably sorted, with a medium loose compression and separating rather easily from the sample. They have an intense if rather elegant aroma of dried autumn leaves, sweet tobacco, but mostly sweet peaches: it’s an unexpected and exciting aroma to find in a puer tea.

I brew this with a conservative dosage of 3g / 80ml in a porcelain gaiwan. The colour is not so light: orange-peachy. And it’s peaches again that dominate the brewed tea aroma. The taste is smokey and dry, not as vegetal as young sheng often is. Clean and invigorating, and not too aggressive; with short steeping this tea is very easy to control bitterness-wise.

The second brewing is a delight: remarkably fruity for a young sheng, with plenty of apricots and peaches filling out a broad palate before a slightly dry (but everything but bitter) finish. As the fruit gently fades over the next few rapid infusions, the register shifts towards a bone-dry, no-nonsense, structured puer with barely an impression of tannic dryness like in a very good red wine; no real bitterness. Infusion #4 also releases an amazing buttery texture close to a gaoshan oolong from Taiwan. At the seventh brewing I give up (the tea doesn’t).

The leading impression with this tea is purity. It is crisp, energetic, leaving the mouth refreshed and cleansed. The leaf selection is impeccable. It is remarkably approachable for a young sheng, though exactly the opposite of an oolonged early-drinking factory stuff. Impressive (and imressively direct) puer. It will be exciting to receive the 2010s from Nada (this year, I’m on the reservation list).
Disclaimer

Source of tea: own purchase.

2008 Kinrin Matcha

I realised I have never on this blog written about matcha. I can’t say I’m a regular drinker of this powdered Japanese speciality, but I do enjoy it from time to time. It’s one of those teas which you really have to feel like. It’s an acquired taste, and it’s an acquired thing to organize the matcha equipment, do all the right gestures and set your mind to patience mode as you try to achieve that reasonably perfect state of froth in the chawan, the matcha cup.

I’m mostly feeling like matcha in the springtime, in those mornings when I’m up earlier than usual, when the injection of vegetal freshness and the little ritual that surrounds it just fit in fine in the early hours pace.

One thing that has prevented me from posting was a lack of proper chawan. In all honesty I was using a rice bowl. There somehow was always a more urgent tea expense (and chawans can get quite pricey, too). During a recent stay in Cracow I poped in for a up at Czarka, a teahouse beautifully located in a medieval cellar, and I got this properly manufactured, good-looking and irresistibly inexpensive (9€) chawan.

Today’s matcha is the 2008 Kinrin from Marukyu-Koyamaen. It’s mid-priced among their many matchas (this 20g can was ¥1200), but is good enough to qualify for koicha (thick tea) making. Though it’s a 2008, I’ve only opened the can this week, so it’s reasonably fresh (important for matcha).

This tea powder is a light pastel green colour, with a tangy, sweet green fruit aroma, froths well, and delivers a more than enjoyable cup. The colour of the brewed tea is again a light green, more a Tiepolo celadon than a deeper emerald. The flavour is subdued, a little sweet, with not a hint of astringency. The finish is long and vegetal but never really tannic. For the little comparative context that I have, this is very good matcha indeed.

Many sources will tell you matcha is more something to experience than to taste. As pretentious as it sounds, it’s exactly the truth. There’s little I can produce in the sense of meaningful tasting notes. It’s more about the process of making matcha (requiring so much more physical participance than normal tea) and that sensation of smoothness as you sip it in small sips. Through the painstaking process of grinding tea leaves to one of the finest existing grades of powder, and the process of mixing, beating and frothing that powder up to a bodiless emulsion, matcha is tea made aerial. It’s the breath of the tea tree – just fine to enjoy during a humid, zesty, exhilarating springtime.

Yoshiaki Hiruma: the pinnacle of Japanese tea

I owe gratitude for the present post to fellow internet tea lover Fortunato, who kindly sent the following 13 samples of the œuvre of Yoshiaki Hiruma, master teamaker from the region of Saitama (Japan’s northernmost tea growing district; read this good article here). Mr Hiruma has achieved considerable success in recent years at the All-Japan competition, including with his temomicha (see below) and sencha, one of which won 3rd Prize in 2009, and also received the coveted 1st Prize from the Japanese Minister of Agriculture.

For those who read Japanese, Mr Hiruma has a website where his approach is explained. He is atypical in selling his own tea directly to consumers (Japanese tea is usually marketed by retailers, and is more often than not blended) and while mostly operating in Japan, he occasionally ships tea to the West with Paypal payment (contact him directly through the website for details). (See also this thread about Mr Hiruma on Teachat).

For all the teas below I have followed Mr Hiruma’s recommended brewing parameters. They are quite extreme, and crucially influencing the teas’ perception. While Japanese tea is usually brewed with medium-low dosage (2–3g of leaf per 100–150ml being the norm), Mr Hiruma advocates dosage as high as 5g / 50–60ml for some teas. That does make you raise an eyebrow. As an example, for the 3rd Prize Asamushi Sencha described below, it’s 5g / 60ml / 60C / 2 minutes. But actually only 34ml of liquid can be drained from the teapot (I’ve weighed this on an electronic scale), so it’s more of a ‘maceration’ than an actual brewing. It’s an approach that I’d call the gyokurization of sencha: a controversial policy, although it admittedly showcases the teas’ intensity and complexity on an unparalleled scale. Retrying some of the teas with more human parameters (usually 2.5g/100ml) yielded different results so please bear in mind that the below tasting notes are all taken with the Hiruma recommended parameters.

I started with two competition sencha teas. One Asamushi is a regional blend of Saitama and Mie leaves (Yabukita cultivar; two photos above), good-looking, sweet-vegetal, balanced, clean, voluminous with a fair bit of sweetness when brewed normally. With the recommended brewing parameters, the infusion is incredibly concentrated, magnifying the interplay between umami, sweetness, fatness and mild bitterness (the latter more pronounced as the tea cools down). The 3rd Prize Asamushi (also unblended Yabukita) is a more impressive grade, with immaculate short-steamed leaves that are extremely well-sorted. Little aroma in the cup with the recommended dosage of 5g/60ml, this is really outrageously concentrated with an explosion of flavour, dominated by sweetness over umami, later rounded off by some bitterish astringency; sweet over vegetal, long finish; there positively seems to be an added dimension of purity and intensity in this over the other competition asamushi.

One of the most memorable moments of these sessions was comparing four single-cultivar sencha teas alongside. Some of Mr Hiruma’s teas are blends of these (and several others), and it’s usual practice in Japan to operate a blend, unless your tea is from a wider-known variety such as the ubiquitous Yabukita, Yutakamidori (see a review here), Saemidori etc. Not only some of these Saitama-grown cultivars are fairly obscure (at least to me), but here is a rare opportunity to try them unblended. Put briefly, the differences in flavour and style are huge. The Fukumidori is processed as a rather highly fragmented fukamushi, with a strong spinach aroma and a Sauvignon-like profile of kiwi and lime; it gives a nicely tangy, zesty first brewing but fades quickly:

The Hokumei is sweeter, floral on nose and palate, almost milky in expression, with a very long finish; tasted blind I wouldn’t be sure this is sencha, it is so un-vegetal. The Sayamakaori is a chunky asamushi grade with kiwi tang and tannic potency in the flavour; more structured than charming, less sweet than the other varietals, this is a grown-up sencha that I’d qualify as austere. The most extraordinary, however, is the Yumewakaba: yielding a concentrated, creamy, almost almond milk-like brew with no astringency whatsoever, it is absolutely delightful.

Apart from standard sencha teas I’ve also tasted several oddities here, including a top-grade 2009 Kukicha Fukamushi Honeppoi Yatsu (pictured above and right) that combines the familiar high-roasted flavours of kukicha (stem tea) with echoes of umami green tastes so typical of fukamushi; and the 2009 Sencha Asamushi Chakakacha that has some flower buds added to the blend contributing to a very elegant, juicy, fruity, mildly floral tea.

One of the most peculiar creations of Hiruma is the bihakkou sencha, a tea that’s allowed to wither for a very short time before being processed like a sencha. The result is a very slightly oolonged green tea whose aromatic register shifts from the vegetal towards the floral. In fact the orchid and lilac notes come very close to a Taiwanese Baozhong, and there is no bitterness or dryness whatsoever in the flavour.

I tried four of these: the Seikakou (Sayamakaori cultivar; bottom photo above) starts very flowery and also emulates the buttery texture of Baozhong but is a bit simplistic and coarse (recommended brewing temp of 90C might have caused that); the Hanayaka (Hokumei cultivar; top above photo) is the most floral of the three, and very smooth on the palate with a low-key, elegant flavour; the Tsuyayaka (Yumewakaba cultivar) is less floral, chunkier in style, but has a very pleasant sweet baked bread expression, and a successful fukamushi-like cloudy second brew; the Kobashicha (Yumewakaba cultivar) sees a higher roasting. These are very distinctive teas for Japan, and inexpensive @ ¥2,500 / 100g. (All Hiruma teas are very well-priced, generally speaking). Mr Hiruma recommends a lower dosage here: 3g for 90ml (70C). I’m told he also makes a full-throttle oolong style called hanhakkucha – now that would really be interesting to try.

Mr Hiruma’s most extraordinary achievement, however, is temomicha – sencha that is entirely hand-processed and hand-rolled. Machine processing is what makes Japanese tea affordable, but leaf fragmentation inherent with this process adds coarseness and power at the expense of elegance. Hand processing – something that’s still the norm for some Chinese green teas and oolongs, but is extremely rarely seen in Japan – gives a pure expression of the tea leaves. Mr Hiruma obtained the 1st Prize at the All-Japan competition for his 2009 version (pictured above and below; it’s 100% select Yabukita trees). Composed of immaculate needle-shaped leaves, this tea has an exhilarating smell of sweet vegetality and tropical fruits, and brews one of the most distinctive infusions I’ve tasted in my short tea career (3g / 30ml / 55C / 2 minutes 30 seconds). At this extreme concentration the intensity is larger-than-life, though the colour remains a transparent pale white-emerald and the flavour is subtle, almost light on its feet. It is also extremely peculiar. Consisting almost exclusively of umami, it is most reminiscent of spinach and steamed salmon (I prefer not to write fishy, because it lacks the brothy boiled-fish aggressiveness of lower-grade sencha that this word is usually used to describe). Surprisingly, unlike Mr Hiruma’s senchas, this shows no overt sweetness; consequently the umami element is revealed in a purer, juicier, less ‘fat’ style than usually. It’s a little like eating a good home-made Chinese meal prepared with fresh veggies and unsalted water after a lengthy diet of MSG-enhanced food.

In summary, these are some of the most extraordinary teas I’ve tasted. Totally handcrafted with fantastic personality. May the good word of Mr Hiruma spread around the tea world.

2009 Hailanghao Laoman’e Wild Arbor

I have a large stash of 2009 puer to review, having stocked up heavily on the vintage to lay down and enjoy over the next few decades. Today I’ll start with one of the more serious teas: the 2009 Hailanghao Laoman’e Wild Arbor green puer. Sourced from Yunnan Sourcing, it is still available at $48 per cake; see product page for info on this (it is actually 2008 tea that was pressed and released in 2009).

Hailanghao is enjoying a fine reputation for their recent releases, especially their more ageworthy teas from selected villages. This is one of them. As aficionados will know Laoman’e is a village in the Bulang district that produces very structured and austere tea similar in style to the Laobanzhang, and increasingly being proposed as a model of the long-term puer genre when Laobanzhang is falling victim to the puer hype and mindlessly downgrades its own production (see interesting article about this here).

This 2009 HLH release is precisely that. It is an extremely powerful tea. And a very good one at that. The leaves are finely processed, very loosely pressed (separating a sample is done within seconds with no damage whatsoever), and – important for long-term ageing – very well dried too. The smokey, meaty, almost gamey aroma is a good indication of what is to come.

In short, this tea is overpoweringly bitter and structured, no matter how brief you keep the infusions. In my case, with a standard dosage of 5g / 120ml, even 10 seconds for the first and 7 seconds subsequently resulted in a nearly undrinkable brew.

The colour is darker than expected, peachy, almost beige, far from a young-tea yellow, which together with the meaty aroma suggests a bit of slow oxidation to the base tea (no doubt a result of one year of ageing before pressing). The lid and tea aroma is subdued, a little generic, faintly sweet. While chunky and powerful, the first infusion is actually only mildly bitter, leathery and woody in taste, with very impressive intensity and persistence. Surely there is little ‘fruit’ and the whole is austere but the balance is there. Subsequent brews are increasingly challenging as the bitter decomposed wood dryness dominates the aftertaste. Leather and meat too, and there’s a mildly disturbing mushroomey note developing, robbing the tea of some cleanliness. As the tea cools down there is a pleasant sweetish yun sensation adding to the strong bitterness.

This Laoman’e is true to its reputation, and is one for the hardcore puer fanatic. I can’t see this tea appealing to a novice: the strong bitterness and idiosyncratic profile would surely turn most people off. I feel more respectful and admirative about it than sensually attracted, but there’s no question it’s a balanced tea that has all the necessary elements to age tremendously well even over 15 or 20 years. I just feel a little stupid drinking it today. Like a strong red wine from, say, Madiran or Montefalco, it just needs considerable time to settle. (At least 6–7 years would be my guess here).

Whether it’s worth the asking price of $48 depends on your bias towards single-cru tea: you can have four cakes of the Menghai #7542 for the money but they won’t be so distinctive. I’m glad to have both.

Source of tea: free sample thrown in by Yunnan Sourcing to my order.

2009 Semi-Wild Tree Baozhong

As the days grow longer and warmer it’s time for some lighter tea. I’m currently having a good look at this 2009 Baozhong I got from Taiwanese specialist Tea Masters. This tea is interesting in being sourced from semi-wild tea trees in the mountains of Taiwan (read full story here). While there’s a reasonable number (though far less than unscrupulous vendors would have you believe) of wild tree puer from Yunnan in China, it’s extremely rare to come across a wild tree oolong tea.

This tea introduces an interesting variation to the Baozhong typicity. Although it keeps the high floral notes and the ripe exotic fruit elegance of its genre, it is less aromatic than many of its siblings. Instead, it focuses on purity. Its aroma and flavour are remarkably precise and seem to be fairly tolerant of brewing conditions. In my experience, Baozhong is usually fairly sensitive to overbrewing, and can develop unpleasantly dominant, bitter vegetal notes. The 2009 Semi-Wild Tree is more magnanimous towards the inexperienced brewer.

With the florality less forward, the texture in mouth is emphasised, and its silky buttery richness reveals more than a vague similarity to Taiwanese high-mountain oolong (gaoshan). It’s as if underneath the sweet, pungent bouquet of farmed tea, a deeper essence of mountaineous terroir was taking the fore.
A truly interesting tea, and kept affordable at 22€ / 100g (but quantities are limited and this is now sold out).

2009 Semi-Wild Tree Baozhong: small leaves that I take as a characteristics of the semi-abandoned, unfertilised trees.

Brewing this tea over several days, I’ve also taken the opportunity to refresh my memory about a couple of older, 2008 Baozhongs from the same source. The Fleur de Lys version I blogged on last year did go through a less inspiring period of seeming staleness last autumn, but it actually seems to be experiencing a minor revival. It’s vegetal with a diminished aroma but actually shows a pleasant clean taste and nice Cox apple juiciness. It shows that even for low-oxidised, unroasted Baozhong the lifespan can be of several years. And it seems the right sort of tea for ‘home refreshment’ (operating a short re-roast; I didn’t try though).
The 2008 Young Tree Baozhong is another interesting variation on the theme. Here, atypically, the virgin leaves or very young trees are processed unblended, and the dry material includes a large proportion of stems which, according to Tea Masters, increases the sweetness and mouthfeel of the tea. Stylistically this comes midway between the two Baozhongs mentioned above, with the intense upfront florality of the Fleur de Lys but also the extra depth and dimension of the Semi-Wild Tree. This tea really packs in quite some punch and should be brewed light accordingly. (Failure to do so results in a dark-coloured, honeyed, somewhat ‘stewed’ taste). A tea with plenty of presence and striking purity, this really rises majestically above the Baozhong average, and is a real grand cru.

Disclaimer:
All three teas were my own purchase.