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Uhm, nom. This smells delicious in the bag, like a bamboo caramel fruit cup (although I have a feeling that particular flavour combination wouldn’t exactly fly out of the fruit cup aisle).

I kind of adore this, although I steeped it very sloppily, so it might just be a happy mistake. I mainly get bamboo and pineapple – a big, bold, juicy mid-mouth bamboo-pineapple, no drably elusive aftertaste phantasm.

Now I really want to try this iced. And also see if I can tease a few more fruit notes out of it with a longer steeping time.

[Sample gifted by my sweet friend T, October 2013.]

So this is Bailey Cream, not Bailey’s Cream, and in the English description on the website they don’t even bother with the capital letter. So what exactly is a ‘bailey’? At least the Danish copy is a little more forthcoming: Cremet Bailey the. So silly – why not just call it Irish Cream instead of doing a half-assed attempt at capitalizing on a brand name?

It smells good in the bag – I tried a gentle hand with this one, a 90C, 5-minute steep, but I don’t know if it did the leaf any favours. The first taste is cookie for sure, but a burnt chocolate cookie – like those little crusts forgotten on the baking sheet.

And that’s sort of it, really; there’s a promise of some creamy vanilla in the nose, but in the cup, this is entirely elusive.

I’ll give what remains of the sample – two cups, or so – a chance of redemption through steeping variations.

[Sample gifted by my sweet friend T, October 2013.]

Hm, interesting – I didn’t have high hopes for the White Mulberry (Like, what’s a white mulberry, anyway? What’s its purpose?) and there were no reviews to read, really, but I ended up absolutely loving it – this one, on the other hand, was talked up by a certain T, so I thought it would be something similar to White Temple. (All these ACP whites!)

But… it’s really not. I think this would really shine as an iced tea, though, much like White Temple. Steeped hot, however, it comes off a little flighty.

Elderflower is tricky – I used to make concentrate every year, using it for sorbets and ice creams and lemonades and cakes and whatnot, so I know my elderflower notes; and this is good – a good elderflower. (I just used ‘elderflower’ three times in one sentence! Is there a special prize?) However, it’s so very subtle when hot that this delicately balanced little flavouring is nearly lost.

In terms of the pomegranate I know is supposed to be in here, I don’t really know. The aftertaste is more one of fruity candy than pom, to my palate. Any other flavour notes are sort of swallowed up by this lingering sweetness.

But yeah – iced. Next time, definitely.

[Sample gifted by my sweet friend T, October 2013.]

This is a very light, bright oolong – I tend to favour riper, fruitier ones as they always seem to infuse the flavoured tea with depth and dimension.

Accordingly, this comes off a little flat to me. This is my second time trying it – the first time around I brewed at 90C, with a steeping time of 3 minutes, and now I upped that to 5. The difference isn’t huge – a bit more complexity in the cup.

Unlike its not so aptly named traveling companion Buttered Rum, this tends to get very buttery, so maybe it wouldn’t have been a complete disaster if this tin had imploded as well.

I’m really sensitive when it comes to artificial vanilla – the vanilla in DT’s Buttered Rum was nice, but this one, even if it is the same, clashes somewhat with the floral, buttery notes of the oolong itself.

It won’t be difficult to clean this tin out, but overall, Vanilla Orchid is too light and inconsistent to be a cupboard staple.

[Gifted by C, October 2013.]

Oh, here we go. Last time around, I made this with boiling water and steeped for 4 minutes. This attempt, 90C and 5 minutes. The scent of the tea is completely different this time – yesterday I wondered why everyone was talking about coconut, when the body was all malt… but now it’s like getting into the car in summer and realizing you’ve forgotten a half-eaten Bounty on the dashboard. Not that I would ever.

It’s a little too hot, still, but I find myself spooning it into my mouth nonetheless, because it’s so good. The note of malt that was so overpowering last time now mingles nicely with the sweet, caramelly coconut and balances it out very well.

Yesterday the aftertaste was the main payoff, but now it’s a sweet ride all the way from the preliminary cupnose. It’s hard to stop sniffing.

This is done well, and I’m excited to try DT. I definitely want to sample one of their floral/fruity greens as well… but so far, DT don’t score the same kind of points for elegance and complexity as the French brothers Mariage and Dammann, nor those for sweetness, delicacy and a complete lack of artifice scored by Lupicia. This is a third camp, probably closest to the robustness and reliability of my Swedish (albeit mostly German-produced) teas – solid, sturdy, no frills or major surprises.

In dessert terms, the Frères would be a salty fudge brownie with tangerine ice cream and caramelized pine nuts, and Lupicia a perfect selection of fresh fruit.

DT would be… cheesecake.

And, you know – sometimes you really want cheesecake.

This just gets smoother as it cools, and I’m particularly grateful for the complete lack of grimy sludge so often present at the bottom of the cup when I make black tea.

[Gifted by C, October 2013.]

This poor tea. I got it in the mail today from my friend C, who is a very lovely and brilliant man, but with a fairly limited understanding of the reign of sheer violence and horror that is inter-European shipping. So like the nice, innocent Canadian he is, he put two DavidsTea tins in a padded envelope and dropped it in the mail for me when he was in London.

And thus the journey of terror started for the two unsuspecting Canadian tea tins.

As most of you know, DT tins aren’t the most robust in the world, and if you pack them together, in a somewhat floppy, soft envelope and don’t tape the lids or put them into individual plastic bags, all bets are off. Upon arrival, the padded envelope (when gently rustled) sounded much like an oversized tea bag and smelled very strongly of buttered rum.

So I crossed my fingers so very tightly that the tiny swoosh-swoosh coming from the envelope was not, in fact, an oolong swoosh.

If true disaster had struck, I would have separated the little oolong pearls from the black blend, but I never would have known for sure how much they’d affected each other.

But when I cut the envelope open, the oolong tin was just sitting there, lid in place; pristine, sort of glowy.

Seriously, my whole day today has been one of blessings and dodged near-disasters. I went out to buy lettuce. At the store, I realize I switched jackets, so I left my card behind. But the cashier is super nice and stashes my stuff for me until I get back. I come outside, and it’s pouring down. But I get to share an umbrella with a nice lady while I wait for the tram (mine even arrives before hers) and she teaches me all about a couple of really good bus lines in the meantime. Back at the store, no less than SIX PEOPLE let me jump the line, even though I explain the cashier is holding stuff for me. As I get back out again, it’s pouring down even worse, but this time around I brought my umbrella, so I can offer to share it with a girl who’s getting soaked. Turns out she’s taking the same course I took at the university here a few years back, so I get the latest gossip on the irresistible and illustrious Professore P. Then, in the street, I meet a guy I’ve been meaning to e-mail forever and I can finally invite him to do that thing (no, not that thing – a serious, researchy thing) and he’s excited and then I get home and I have TWO packages waiting for me, both containing awesome teas and lots of love. Oh, and my fax to the Vatican went through.

This day could have been so much worse if it hadn’t been for the kindness of friends, complete strangers, and the resilience of one small, brave DT tin.

So, again – this poor tea – now lost in a very lengthy post about completely different things. Consider this a preliminary tasting note – a tasting prologue.

More will follow.

[Gifted by C, October 2013.]

So after steeping that White Mulberry for 6 minutes, it wasn’t too daunting to leave this in the basket for 8, in accordance with the instructions on the bag.

Dry, this tea smells sweet and fruity. It’s very pretty, all long leaves and flower petals. In the cup, it’s all blackcurrant. And nicely done, too – it’s very present both in the nose and in the sip. The elderberry would have been a nice companion, though – again, this is me and my search for those complex, surprising trickster teas.

I’m definitely enjoying this one, though, and I look forward to trying it iced.

[Sample gifted by my sweet friend T, October 2013.]

It’s no coincidence I picked this as my second tea to try from that massive gift batch from T – rhubarb is something I love growing in my garden and cooking with – I’ll even get excited about rhubarb cordials and lemonades, but in tea? Firstly, I feel much of the complexity of the rhubarb flavour is lost in a warm beverage, and secondly, it’s just a really hard one to mimic.

So seeing how that White Mulberry floored me, I figured I’d just go with this one now, or T will demand my firstborn or something.

There is actually a convincing, albeit elusive note of rhubarb in the dry tea. This doesn’t really stay with the brewed tea, however, and in the cup, the flavour is very subtle. It’s very astringent, bordering on bitter, and completely lacks the creaminess I expect from a cream-labeled tea.

However, I think this is one of those greens that are extremely sensitive to brewing – there are no specific instructions on the site, and T did hers at 80C/6 minutes, so I went for 80C/3 minutes, which seemed like a fair middle ground.

I’m definitely going to experiment with what’s left of the sample, but I doubt I’ll ever be able to squeeze the complexity of flavour I want out of it – much like that quince tea from Kränku, this is a bit of a one-trick pony, and an easily spooked one at that.

[Sample gifted by my sweet friend T, October 2013.]

I’m feeling a little like Veronica Mars here (channeling Goodfellas), but this really is one of those, just when I thought I was out… they pull me back in! moments.

You know – you sit there, all smug, having logged all the teas in your cupboard. And then it happens. Mail time. SBLAM! Your lovely darling friend T… sends you more T. And you have 11 new samples.

I’m overly excited about the whole thing, so I’ll just get right to it.

The dry tea is beautiful, with strands of colour, the occasional amber chunk of something or other, and long, slender leaves – even after having bravely traveled to me in an envelope! In terms of scent, White Mulberry carries a strong note of fudgey sweetness. As it steeps (at a recommended 8 minutes/80C) this turns into a maltier, more full-bodied fudge, which bears a strong resemblance to Mariage Impérial (!) albeit (and predictably) with a vegetal base note.

In the cup, I’m really loving this. It’s weird and complex and a little confusing; just how I like ‘em. There’s some tartness right at the beginning of the sip, then it dissolves into a charmingly ambiguous vegetal note that then, in its turn, slides straight into something surprisingly malty.

I absolutely love it – but not as much as I love you, T – thank you, you’re the best; you really made my day with this. <3!

[Sample gifted by my sweet friend T, October 2013.]

This is so beautifully floral – if I weren’t already a fan of floral teas, this would make me a believer, I’m sure of it. And it’s so pretty! I’d wear this tea as jewelry; I really would.

I know I’m drinking a lot of tea today, but there was a massive thunderstorm (even by Italian standards) this morning, and I watched it from my open window until it abated. It was so captivating that I was completely oblivious to how cold and rainsplattered I got, so I’ve been trying to warm up ever since.