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How to decide what tea would go best with the last ever episode of Breaking Bad? There was just no way. I chose the last of this sample purely for symbolic reasons – so the dregs of my first ever batch of Pleine Lune would go down with Mr. White.

I have nothing left to say, except there was some bitterness right at the end.

[Sample acquired at Mariage Frères in London, May 2013.]
[Polished off in Rome, October 2013.]

This was not, in fact, the one I dropped into the pitcher (see the previous note) but I’m going to give it its five points back, because I’ve had massive cravings for this one lately.

I feel like I’m cheating, because I usually write one tasting note per… what? What do I call it? Leaf cluster? Yeah, that’ll do. So one tasting note per cluster, no matter how many steeps. But I’ve had this three times without writing individual notes. Three times! Three clusters! An(n)archy!

Thing is, I’ve been experimenting with temperatures and steeping times, and it’s been so inconclusive it has just seemed pointless to log. What I can say, however, is that this tea, as opposed to the Vert à la vanille (also from Le Palais des Thés) responds very well to a longer steeping time and a lower temperature.

It comes off as far more balanced and flavourful like that, so I’ll keep steeping it for roughly 2-2.5 minutes in 70-80C water.

Right, so someone on my dash (Who was it?) recently talked about wanting to try this one iced, so I figured I’d be a helpful little steepsterer and give it a shot.

And I did. And forgot about it completely. So I think this cold-steeped for a little over 24 hours.

I assumed there would be at least some bitterness due to the long steep, but there really is none. Not a hint. Even if there had been, I would have been delighted with the experiment, as it demonstrated quite clearly how very useful even these somewhat less amazing Lupicia greens are iced.

Because this is seriously beautiful – almost up there with A.C. Perch’s White Temple. The floral notes really come out very nicely in the cold tea, and the base is so good. This is something I could drink all day. I will keep the grade at 75 for now, though, until I see how the higher rated teas fare iced.

So I tried this one with a longer steep at a lower temperature, and it definitely enhanced the flavour. Boiling water kills the delicate vanilla/kiwi flirtation to a far larger extent. Next time I’ll try it a little hotter, maybe at 80C, mostly to see if I can squeeze any more kiwi notes out of the leaves before they go bitter.

So little time for tea right now. I sipped this during a seminar on ceramic Etruscan roof tiles. And that was honestly one of the highlights of my day, so it’s just that kind of week.

Some post-party Pleine Lune. (The actual moon is probably just around 90% full, but close enough.)

The last time I drank this (http://steepster.com/annchen/posts/184829) I got ridiculously sleepy, so I obviously need to see if it was just the horrors of moving house, or if the tea actually has some slumber-inducing effect.

This time around I got some more mint in the cup (and a whole raspberry) and I find myself liking it maybe a little bit more. Not just in terms of this specific tea, but the mint itself – I generally avoid mint teas because of past trauma, but I could imagine enjoying a solid choco-mint, or something similar.

But ugh. This is still so tart as it cools.

(If I doze off in a corner somewhere, I will edit that in tomorrow.)

I am completely conflicted when it comes to this tea. Like snood4m4 said in their review, this is not the plum that might first come to the Euro-/NA-centric mind, but the ume – the green, tart, Japanese plum.

The umeboshi referred to in that review (bear in mind I’m by no means an authority) are the dried fruit, that I personally find sweeter and rounder flavour-wise. The ume itself has a perfectly crisp and clear tartness that is reflected very well in this tea. Steeped, however, it is paired with a strongly present note of bitter almond, which makes me realize, for the first time, the extent to which these two flavours actually intermingle.

It’s really quite something, and it reminds me so much of picking plums in the fall, digging the pits out – and then cracking the pits open to reveal the small, soft plum almond that carries this gorgeous note of bitter marzipan.

The reason I’m conflicted is because I can’t decide whether or not Lupicia absolutely nailed it, or if it’s just a happy coincidence… or, honestly, if this is all happening in my head.

Either way, this is a very tricky tea – strange, demanding and complex, and I really, absolutely adore it.

[Purchased at Lupicia in Kyoto, July 2013.]

I already wrote a tasting note for the green Marco Polo, which can be found here: http://steepster.com/annchen/posts/189598.

Just like I emphasized there, I tend to pick out teas going on scent alone. That, in its turn, means I rarely, if ever, read others’ reviews or tasting notes before logging my own impressions. This is yet another exception to that rule, which creates some confusion, simply because… I really expected over-the-top, ripe, strawberry. And for me, there is absolutely not a single hint of strawberry to be found here.

The black tea has some of the same booziness as the green, but it lacks the autumnal ripeness that is so present in that one; it’s less tipsy and more elegant, and with a far stronger note of smooth vanilla in the aftertaste.

I enjoy it, but Pleine Lune and Wedding Impérial still rule my cupboard in terms of Mariage Frères blacks. I’m going to go with Sil’s suggestion and try this as a cold brew next time.

[Surreptitiously acquired from Mariage Frères in London, August 2013.]

So I’m slowly experimenting my way through the teas I have yet to try cold-steeped. (Seriously – the things I do to avoid rating those really confusing ones still labeled undrunk in my cupboard.) This one wasn’t a given at all, seeing how subtle the fruity notes are, and how it’s not particularly sweet. Sometimes, though, those teas seem to just come alive iced.

In this case, not so much. The elusive fruit is all in the nose, while the tea itself is very much tea. It’s really frustrating, as it’s one of those cases where just a little more of most anything would make a world or difference… but I don’t want to take potential additives into account in my tasting notes.

(It should be added that the recent cold-steeped success of A.C. Perch’s White Temple might eclipse any other tea trying to be a contender. I don’t find this unfair, because when you find the Tea, there’s just no forgetting it.)

Either way, this particular quince tea is best enjoyed warm.