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This herbal tea bears witness to the rigorous selection of leaves by Camellia Sinensis. The leaves themselves are of the size and quality typical of this tea house, which is better hand-picked, rather than scooped out with a spoon.

The aroma is dominated by a vivacious lemongrass note, yet artfully interwoven with delicate florals, and a refreshing zest. Upon infusion, the brew unfolds with a delightful interplay of tartness and subtle floral undertones. The lemongrass remains a prominent protagonist, lending a vibrant acidity. However, the infusion threatens to veer towards an assertive boldness after seven minutes, while a mere minute earlier, it risks becoming disappointingly watery whilst maintaining an astringency.

This tisane being on the more expensive spectrum (80 CAD$ for 100g), I wonder if I could find something similar and as relaxing in another teahouse.

The tea smells of flowers and figs. However, it falls short of the anticipated lavender essence that a tea named “Provence” would suggest.

On the palate, the flavour hints at a distant echo of “Noël à Prague” black tea (plum black tea), but with a more muted profile that feels somewhat drab. Despite a four-minute steep, even the tea leaves remain lackluster.

This blend may not find its way into my shopping cart again. It’s good but I’ll stick with other, more preferred options.

This tisane unfolds with an alluring fragrance reminiscent of ripe berries. The aroma, while distinctly hibiscus, foregoes the tart, almost aggressive notes often associated with this vibrant flower.

The infusion evokes a summery blend of lemonade and freshly crushed raspberries. It is a brew of commendable character, better than most other hibiscus fruisanes, albeit still unmistakably a hibiscus story hence the low note.

I’d often heard about Marco Polo, but I’d never really researched its profile or flavours. To tell the truth, the name conjures up visions of grand adventures to distant lands, perhaps with a touch of Russian mystery, akin to Kusmi’s blends, or the delicate charm of Darjeeling. However, this particular blend surprises with a soft strawberry-cream flavour more reminiscent of a continental European breakfast, unlike the bolder strawberry-cherry notes of Dammann’s Quatre Fruits Rouges.

The leaves, though small and broken, exude a juicy cherry aroma that is both inviting and comforting.  It may not sweep you off your feet instantly, but it offers a subtle sweetness that is undeniably charming. While Quatre Fruits Rouges was love at first sip with its rich, jammy depths, Marco Polo offers a slightly drier, more restrained experience.  Yet, it remains a refined and enjoyable choice.

Although I find myself leaning toward Mariage Frères’ Wedding Impérial or Trois Noix, or even the Paris blend from Harney & Sons, I’m pleased to have given Marco Polo a try. It didn’t disappoint.

I had originally intended to buy the rooibos Pecan Pie but oh well, I don’t mind having another nutty black tea.

It does present a delightful aroma, though it leans more towards almond extract than the pecan pie I had anticipated. The red flowers, however, add a charming touch of visual elegance to the blend.

While it does evoke the essence of a nutty baked confection, the presence of pecans is rather scant. Instead, a distinct marzipan quality predominates, overshadowing the anticipated pecan pie notes. The subtle hint of honey graced the blend, which serves to beautifully balance the overall profile.

It’s globally quite good, though I must say, I’m not certain I’ll buy some more afterwards.

Pleine lune presented a rather jarring bitterness, with a pronounced note of bitter almond. The aromas were exceedingly strong, which might fare better as an iced tea. The mouthfeel was notably thick and accompanied by a certain astringency that brought to mind cough syrup, despite my efforts to steep it gently.

This particular brew struck me as overly perfumed and robust. The flavour combination seemed cluttered – too many flavours without the elegance one might anticipate.

I wonder if my experience was a mere anomaly or a rogue batch that somehow escaped Mariage Frères’s usual quality control. I had good expectations, but I was left disillusioned. It fell short of the grace and depth I associate with Mariage Frères and other French teas.

(Not exactly sure why Steepster marks this tea as unavailable, I just bought it in Paris) The first occasion upon which I sampled this tea blend, my nostrils were regrettably congested (whether due to a mere cold or something of greater concern, I could not ascertain). Upon finally being able to appreciate its aroma, I was nearly moved to tears. The sumptuous scent alone is an olfactory marvel. This exquisite tea, with its deep, rich aromas of sweet chocolate, ranks among the finest I have ever had the pleasure of tasting. I confess, I do harbour a particular fondness for chocolate teas. Although the packaging advises steeping for 5 minutes at 95°C, I reckon a slightly more delicate approach of 4 minutes at 90°C is ideal to avoid any bitterness.

This black tea boasts a delightfully gourmand aroma, swirling with enticing notes I can’t quite place. The website says marron, cookie and caramel, with whispers of orange and apricot. Ever so subtle floral notes emerge after steeping. While pleasant, the overall impression leans generic, the promised complexity doesn’t quite translate in the cup.

Strong smell of amaretto but also something else… vodka? treated wood? marascino cherry? Once brewed, I don’t get that strong smell any more, just a sweet smell of almond essence. It’s good, but I really think that this kind of flavour is best enjoyed with a tea that can withstand a warmer brewing temperature (in other words, black tea).