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I have needed this so long. I finally got my Verdant order in (One of two, anyway, my monthly-tea-club box is due in two days, if tracking is to be believed) and it feels like Christmas.

Mostly the package is full of samples, but I sprung for a full ounce of both this and the chocolate phoenix chai, despite not having tried either of them.

So while excitedly ruffling through the box of little foil packets, this one jumped out as the one I just had to try first. I needed something cooling and calming, and this seemed the best candidate. I agonized a little about how to brew it at first; this tea is interesting in that it does not fall into the category of “cheap flavored black” that would prompt me to western-brew it, but I’ve never gaiwan-brewed blends involving herbs and spices before, and I imagine they infuse at much different rates than the tea leaves. Eventually I settled on western-brew, for now: four grams to twelve ounces of water. I’m pretty sure I’ll have to try gaiwan-brewing it at least once though, to satisfy my own curiosity.

I finally opened the pouch. The aroma of the dry mix alone is amazing. The first words that come to mind are “real” and “clean” I know it sounds odd, but this is my first step into Alchemy blends and it’s already abundantly clear that this is a rung or seven or two-hundred above the standard of flavored teas sprayed with artificial flavors; these ingredients are so fresh and fragrant. I can smell the mint, but it’s not overpowering, the cinnamon and fennel (I love fennel), too, are playing their role but not stealing the show. Despite the herbal stuff very present in this tea, it doesn’t have that “herbal” pungency (I’m not sure if that makes sense to anyone else, heh). All the ingredients— and there’s quite a handful of them, are dancing in a balanced harmony. I can’t imagine what a challenge this must have been to create.

The visual appearance of the tea is enchanting, both dry and while brewing. While dry, I am reminded of a curious forest full of twisted branches and dotted with alluring flowers. While steeping, the chamomile flowers and marigold petals float to the top, spiral-dancing at the slightest motion, while the tea-leaves unfold at the bottom to envelop the spices. The mint leaves seem a bit non-committal, uncertainly bobbing between the surface and the bottom. If you have a clear brewing vessel, I would really recommend watching the show.

I ended up getting three 12oz steepings out of four grams (and perhaps I could have coaxed more out, but there is just only so much liquid I can fit in my stomach). The first was where most of the chocolate flavor was; and although I suppose I should have slowly sipped and savored it, I found myself rudely gulping it down; I think somewhere on Verdant’s site, this tea is compared to mint-chocolate ice cream— that is spot on. I bet this will be pretty amazing iced, too. The second steeping was probably overall the strongest, highlighting more of the mint and spices. On the third steeping, the herbal notes are a background to the Big Red Robe and the Laoshan black; a wonderful finale as the blend returns to its roots.

Maybe I am a little overenthusiastic about this brew, but it’s been such an overwhelming past several days, and this is truly a little piece of heaven in all the chaos. Just going through the process of preparing tea does wonders to shed the stresses of the day, but combined with a tea like this, it’s honestly magical.

It’s strange how tastes change… develop… I dunno.

I remember when I first tried this half a year ago, I initially thought it really overwhelmingly astringent. So I later reduced the leaf amount to make it more drinkable. Today, noticing there was only a little bit left in the bottom of the sample pouch, I emptied it into my 90ml gaiwan. It turned out, ehh, it was a little bit more than I thought. like five grams worth, when I only needed about two.

I had forgotten this was a tea I needed to use less leaf for, and kind of winced when I looked it up in my notes. But what was done was done, and I was going to drink this tea.

I very tentatively tasted the first steeping, expecting the same mouthful of dryness I got six months ago, and…. got something entirely different.

It was indeed a very strong, intense brew, but there was very little dryness to be found. Instead, I had a mouthful of… nuttiness, but creamy-nuttiness, like….almond-butter soup. Which is way more delicious then it sounds. And there is a definite aftertaste of cinnamon spice that I find myself enjoying almost as much as the taste of the tea itself.

But what changed? Why is it, that when I brewed this same tea six months ago, I could hardly stand the first few steepings? Conceitedly, I would like to think my tastes have just greatly developed. When I first tried this, it was among one of the first pu’ers I had ever tried. Now, having tried several, perhaps I’ve adapted to the dryness somehow and can “taste past it” if that makes any sense?

I guess I can’t rule our that it might be the tea itself— pu’er is supposed to morph over time, after all. But I have a hard time imagining such a drastic change in flavor could take place in just six months, and considering the packet it was in was (I assume, I guess I could have misjudged) sealed, it would have aged incredibly slowly, if at all.

My brewing vessels, my water source, my methods.. they’re all the same as far as I can tell. It’s a mystery. But I cannot complain; I am enjoying this tea more than ever. Too bad this is the last I have of it.

Last of this. I got my email notice the other day that my Verdant Tea monthly-club shipment was on its way, along with another ~$50 order I made because I have absolutely no patience or self-control when it comes to tea that I want to try. I was hoping that joining a subscription-based tea club would curb my desire to make these massive tea orders… nope. Instead I spent weeks wondering what teas would arrive, browsing the site again and again, hoping that month’s subscription would include something or other. I figured I would wait until my subscription package came before making an order, in hopes that it would tide me over, but … no, I just couldn’t wait. Oh well; at least I will have a ton of tea to look forward to… to sip alongside my 10cent instant noodle dinners that will be all I can afford to eat, hah.

Anyway, since I have so much Verdant tea on the way, I don’t feel so bad sipping through what’s left of my stash. Though my sense of smell is not functioning at its best right now, I can still really enjoy this. It’s making me ever-so-slightly tea-drunk; I feel a bit hyper-sensitive to touch, I think. It really is at its best full, savory, brothy flavor when brewed super-hot though. Sigh, I will miss this, but I am really looking forward to all that will take its place.

Kukicha is always so pretty. That’s something you can’t really say about most gloppy-when-wet Japanese greens. But from a color variation standpoint, I do love to look at it.

I remember when I used to sip this stuff alongside some grilled brown onigiri. Too bad it takes like two hours to cook brown rice and by then I would need to leave for work.

Still, it’s nice and woody, fragrant and comforting. Not a blow-you-out-of-the-water tea, but a nice way to start the day, not to mention stave off a scratchy throat.

The saga of the sore throat continues. I put absolutely no thought into this tea selection; it was the first thing I pulled out of my pu’er box. I just needed something hot on the throat, no more. It satisfies that purpose well enough. The taste is pretty unremarkable though. It’s not bad; it just tastes like very standard sheng. It’s pretty docile though, doesn’t seem as dry as some other sheng (which is good, the last thing I want is any more dryness in my throat). It does get pretty repulsively sour if left oversteeped though. Ever since coming across that weird strong sourness in another pu’er I tried, I seem to be very aware of it in other sheng, and I really don’t think I like it. It’s not like lemon-sour, it’s a savory sour, like vinegar or curdled milk. I wonder if that’s just a standard sheng characteristic (and I’m odd in finding it unpleasant) or if it’s something that can be avoided. I need to go back and try some of my favorite sheng with this newly-developed palette and see if I can find the sourness in them.

On a random note, I went to the farmer’s market today and picked up some radishes. Really spicy radishes. So I find myself wondering, what kind of tea would pair well with radishes? Hmmmm..

Why doesn’t this tea exist anymore? So sad.

Woke up this morning with the first sore throat of the season. I love the cooler weather, but it doesn’t love me. I’ve been saving the last of this stuff for when I really needed it, and today was the day.

The first time I had this tea, as noted by my previous review of it, it absolutely transported me directly back to my high-school years. It really seems to capture the essence of autumn, yet at the same time soothes away the health-related side-effects of the season.

I find myself a little saddened considering I may never experience this “flashback” tea again. There is a 2004 Tea Trail offering I’d like to try, but at $14.50 for an ounce, I’m admittedly a little apprehensive.

But doing the math, there’s about 28 grams to an ounce, and I use four grams a session; I’m getting seven sessions out of an ounce, putting the price just over two dollars a session— about as much as I pay for a cup of coffee on the way home from a frustrating work day.

But after a frustrating work day, I could just as easily tie into a relaxing gongfu session with a good tea, and enjoy it far more than I would absentmindedly sipping on coffee. So even expensive tea isn’t really all that expensive, and honestly, good tea is worth it.

I have a couple of different gaiwans around now. The one I use most often actually has fairly thick clay walls and a glazed interior. I love it because it holds heat in relatively well, and that heat is pretty important to bringing out some of the flavors in many of the teas I drink. But I also have a couple of very thin-walled porcelain gaiwans, elaborately decorated with pretty images. But I rarely use them, because they let heat escape so quickly that they’re better suited to the more delicate teas with low brew temperatures.

Usually I pick the tea out first, then select the appropriate brewing vessel, but today I just really wanted to use my little bird-and-flower printed gaiwan covered in mysterious Chinese characters that I imagine translate to, “Aiko, you drink too much tea.” So that narrowed my selection a lot, and I eventually settled on this Chinese green with cute mythology. I love teas with stories behind them.

I have a weird love/hate relationship with Chinese greens. I love their range of flavors, but on occasion, certain kinds make me sick to my stomach, for no known reason. It doesn’t seem to be a pesticide or quality thing, because I’ve had the same reaction to organic and high-quality tea in the past. Perhaps it is a matter of processing or something. But the strange reaction seems to be exclusive to Chinese greens— I’ve never had it happen with other teas.

Luckily, this tea does not make me sick. It has a very light, crisp flavor, of snow peas, I think. It’s a little one-note, but it’s a pleasant note. The leaves are of widely varying quality— some are tiny buds, some are broken pieces of older leaves. Sadly, there doesn’t seem to be much longevity in this tea; only five or so gongfu steepings in, it is little more than slightly astringent water. Oh well. It was very nice while it lasted.

(What is with my tea reviews lately; they’re like three paragraphs of backstory and then one regarding the actual tea)

This is one of the yunnanist Yunnans I have ever had. Really, that is my first thought on sipping this.

To me, Yunnan blacks are the original dessert teas. Chocolate, honey, maltiness, sweetness. When my boyfriend spoils me with super-fancy handmade truffles from the farmer’s market, the kind you have to sit and savor not (just) because they’re practically two dollars apiece, but because they’re just that good, I reach for none other than a good Yunnan black tea to go with them.

I have a long history with Yunnan blacks, beginning with an Adagio signature blend “Silk Road” that I drank religiously every morning for breakfast. Soon I realized the element of the blend I loved most was Adagio’s own blend, “Mambo”, a mix of Yunnan black and WuYi oolong. It didn’t take me long from there to pinpoint that the Yunnan was what I was really after all along, and since then, I have taken a lot of joy in trying assorted Yunnan black teas from many vendors.

These days I even gongfu brew them, something I never would have imagined years back when I was gulping mugfuls of milk-and-sugar laden Silk Road every morning while watercolor painting sheets of would-be origami paper. But that distinct Yunnan-y flavor takes me back, regardless.

So a while ago I ordered a ton of samples from puerhshop. Pretty much anything I could order in a sample size, kind of blindly. And most of those that I have tried, thus far, has been, to be quite honest, not terribly remarkable. With all fairness, as far as I know, young sheng (what most of these samples are), according to my research, are for aging, not immediate drinking, so I guess I’m not surprised. But I keep hoping by drinking a ton of it, from different areas/factories, I’ll at least get some sort of….learning experience.

This tea, though. This one is different, kind of strange. It feels very thick and heavy in the mouth, almost oily. And it has this very distinct sour taste. It’s like a bowl of hot and sour soup. Very savory. I’m actually not really sure I like it (the sour note puts me off a little) but it’s just very surprising as compared to all the other pu’er I’ve had lately.

The sourness gets really pronounced as the tea cools, to the point that I can’t bring myself to drink it at that point. But it’s just so very interesting. I can’t get over how heavy it feels, a nearly clear liquid with the mouthfeel of.. whole milk or even cream. I’m actually starting to feel full from sipping on it; my brain seems to think I’m eating something substantial and nourishing.

I went and reboiled the water five or so steeps in, under the logic that if the sourness is more pronounced as the tea cools, I should try keeping it as hot as possible. It actually does help a little— the sourness is still detectable but in a much smaller amount.. in fact, in this tiny amount it tastes more familiar.. I think that little element is actually present in many other sheng I have tried; I just didn’t really notice it until it was really in my face. So this has been a learning experience, after all.

I’m really going to make a better effort to keep more notes on these assorted pu’ers. Most of them aren’t on Steepster; I had to add this one, for example. Pu’er doesn’t really seem to have much of a following here, so I seem to be kind of stumbling through the dark. But at the same time, it seems pretty exciting.

Okay, this is much better. I tried some really old, lost, forgotten genmaicha earlier today, and it wasn’t doing it for me. This is much better.

Actually, this tea might be as old as that genmaicha; I’ve had it so long I don’t remember when I got it. But it was still unopened, sealed in it’s little 10g sample packet. I went ahead and just emptied the whole thing in to my 8oz kyusu. Light and grassy and refreshing. On the third steeping now and still a pretty full flavor. I tend to prefer the deeper-steamed stuff, but this is still pretty nice. 10g/8oz might have been overkill, but ever since I took inventory of my tea and discovered how much I have going stale, I’ve been trying to finish off all of the tiny bits of teas I have here and there.

That, and I’ve just been seeking out Japanese greens today because I woke up this morning craving rice. So I put a huge batch of brown rice in the rice cooker, mixed with coconut milk and a little green curry powder, and I’ve been eating off of it all day. And for whatever reason, Japanese greens seem to go pretty well with rice.

Mmm, rice. Some days I think I could live off of green tea and rice.