Say NO to Bananas

When you’re drinking some fine teas, that is.

I had already been sitting there for 3 hours with them and since I was running late, I had missed breakfast, too. 

I try not to eat too much when I taste teas.  Many foods will change one’s taste perceptions, but I was too hungry and I didn’t have time to run into the 7-11 for some biscuits before our meeting.

Mrs. Hoho (she chuckles at me fondly with a “hoho,” sometimes a “hohoho”) was packing tea.  She and Mr. Hoho (a misnomer, since I usually only get one “ho” from him) are usually pretty busy, so it’s not uncommon for them to miss meals.  I had been eyeing two bananas sticking out from a bag that looked like their daughter’s lunch sack, fighting the urge to take food from a child.

No…strength…left...MUST…eat…NOW…

“Mrs. Hoho, I haven’t eaten all morning.  Can I have a banana?”

She walked over to me and put a hand on the table as she looked around to find the banana that I was eyeing.  “Oh, let’s go eat some noodles and buns, that banana is not for you to eat.  If you do, you won’t be able to taste tea anymore.”

Oh. 

“Bananas dull your tastes.  Some tea sellers used to offer bananas to their customers so that they wouldn’t be able to taste the bitterness and astringency of the tea.”  Mr. Hoho said that smaller finger bananas have a richer and denser taste than the average yellow bananas we see in our grocery stores.  Bananas, in retrospect, do tend to coat our mouths with a thick “film,” their mushy flesh filling in the many hiding spots in our mouths. 

We shared a several buns from a nearby shop and returned to drink more tea.  At the end of our day, they gave me a banana to eat and asked me to taste tea again.  It became hard to accurately taste the subtle flavors of tea.  Acidic fruits, like berries, kiwis and grapefruits, will definitely affect the experience of tea tasting (usually negatively), but bananas help bad teas taste less bad.

Don’t Turn Down an Invitation for Tea

A tea friend reminded me of Lu Yu’s advice to never turn down an invitation for tea.  I have turned him down twice because of scheduling difficulties, but his advice is good and I find myself being more aware of trying to accept invitations for tea.

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“I recommend that you don’t mention the year of your teas.  To experts, it doesn’t mean much.” 

She was quite busy that day, dually filling an order on the phone and preparing a pot of hot water for me.  I had been excited to meet this tea expert after having read a bit about her over the years.  Whenever I visit a new tea friend, I try to bring something special with me that I hope we will enjoy having together.  The reason is not to show-off what I have in my collection, but because it is an uncommon occurrence to find kindred tea spirits that would understand both the brew and my intentions.  I can share a special brew with any tea lover and we may enjoy its beauty together, but a long-time old-tea drinker will be able to connect with the brew in a more immediate and deep way.  Through that, we too may be able to relate and connect and when we do, there is so much excitement and discussion.  Rapture from a cup of tea.

A special tea, usually an older one for me, is a gift and a gesture of respect. 

She continued: “I have many teas here that are as old and older than yours.  Let’s have one of mine today, ok?  You can save yours to drink with your friends.”

I smirked to myself inside of my head, thinking that her statement was akin to a parent saying to a child, “Aww, that’s nice sweetie.  Now why don’t you run along and play?”  I am certain, though, that this tea expert did not mean to be rude.  She probably comes across many know-it-alls bringing low-quality tributes.  We shared one of her brews, she taught me some more about her oolongs, and by the end of our time together, we did not linger in the realm of tea zen.  40 mins was my allotted time and as if on cue, the tea price list appeared and I walked out with a bag of tea that I was sold on.

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I was having tea at Floating Leaves some while back and a newer customer came in with a tea to share.  It was a 1 year old Muzha Tieguanyin.  The customer admitted that he didn’t know much about the tea, except that it tasted very good to him and he was looking for something similar.  Being that he was a self-admitted tea newbie, I was pleasantly surprised to find that the tea was indeed very good.  No wonder, he had bought it from Wistaria.  Don’t discount the newbies, many of them are lucky to have excellent tastes when they start.  Some of the rest of us have had to – or continue to – work a bit more to get there.

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I was in the Bay Area this past week and wanted to visit a tea friend that I owe much to.  She was one of my first tea teachers.  I brought with me some of my prized teas that I rarely share, but alas, last-minute business emergencies caused her to miss our meeting.  I brought my old pu’er to our designated spot and shared it with some new tea friends.  We had a great time, but I lamented the fact that my friend was not there to share the occasion with us.  I asked the tea server if he would be so kind as to save a cup of the tea for her to enjoy at another time.  Following the last of my requests, he simply stated that my friend, a long-time tea lover and tea businessperson, has had many teas in her life and had certainly had one as old as mine.  Unsure of when she would visit again, a cup of saved tea would be left to sit indefinitely.  In short – my tea would not be missed.  A tea that has sat for 40 years can surely survive a week in the fridge, I thought, but I was not going to have my way.  There was to be no affinity between the brew and its intended drinker that day.

It is not every day that one has the opportunity to try such a well-aged and rare tea, one that also carried with it my gratitude and respect.  Many people have tried 40 or 50 year old pu’ers, but there is a big difference between a 50 year old label cake and other pu’ers, for example.  Age is only a part of the story.  I regret that I could not share a special brew with my friend, to whom I owe many more pots of rare brews.  Perhaps Lu Yu’s saying will remind us to meet for tea again in the future.

Drink good tea and enrich your life.

Doing it up, Tang Dynasty Style

I was at the Flagstaff Museum of Teaware in Hong Kong over a year ago, so these pictures and this article are long overdue.  In the interest of full disclosure, I have to say that my pictures are of low quality, partly because of the yellowish-light used in the displays, but mostly because of user skill-lessness.  Photography is generally prohibited in the museum.  It was just my luck, though, that a group of art students from the University of Hong Kong were there that day to work on a project.  I had walked in with that group and the museum guide asked if I was from the University of Hong Kong.  Since I was technically a student there (on exchange) many years ago, I said yes I went there.  She waved me through and let me use my camera as well.  Sweet!  But she reminded me not to dawdle and to avoid using my flash, which is why my pictures ended up somewhat blurry and dark.  Ok ok, those “effects” probably have more to do with, again, the user.  Moving on….

The following series depicts the major steps for preparing powdered tea, per Lu Yu’s methods, during the Tang Dynasty.  Water, probably stream or mountain water, is heated in a charcoal burning stove.  The pictures are shown below, in order, with my paraphrased explanations for each step.

 

Step 1:  Boil the water until you see bubbles the size of "fish eyes.”  Yes, I realize that different fish have different eye sizes and shapes, but I’m guessing that Lu Yu meant common Chinese river fish.  No idea what type of fish those would be.  This is called the “first boiling.”

Step 2:  Season the tea with a pinch of salt.  I know, it looks like the preparer is putting in about 1/4 cup of salt.  Unfortunately, I don’t have a picture of the Chinese placard to reference what is meant by “a pinch.”  No worries, I can confirm next year.

Step 3:  Take out a ladle of the boiling water for later use.  Where to put it?  In a bowl of course.

Step 4:  Stir the boiling water with bamboo chopsticks.  This step is pretty straightforward; I have no sarcastic comment here.

Step 5:  Add the powdered tea into the boiling water.  Simple?  Maybe not.  There has been some gentle debate about whether the powder should be stirred as its added to the water or if it should be allowed to sit for a bit, be absorbed into the water, and then stirred.  I *think* Lu Yu said to stir as the tea is added. 

Step 6:  Reduce the boiling.  That ladle of water you took out earlier?  It has cooled a lot; add it back in and watch the bubbling ease up.

     

Step 7:  Serve the tea in a bowl.  Yes, I also wondered why the powdered GREEN tea that was added to the water turned BLACK in the picture.  As far as I know, salt does not interact with tea in such a manner.  That bowl of tea looks like it has pu’er in it.

Dwell Deeply in the Present

I recently went out with some old friends of mine whom I’ve known since my college days.  One guy in particular has great stories to tell from his past.  By great, I mean they’re really funny and often quite scandalous.  And they almost always involve quite a bit of alcohol.

Three glasses of red wine later (a very delicious, bold and deep Syrah, I might add) one drunken friend asks me:

“Rich, why don’t you have more funny stories like mine?  Maybe more alcohol would help.  I haven’t seen you since last summer, what drama do you have to share?”

Perhaps we are, methinks, a different breed.  I am a tea drinker. I dwell in the present, sipping each cup of brew as I take in the moments that pass me by.  However, I can still recall the bountiful bouquet of the Syrah that we enjoyed.  The aroma and depth were alluring. Wine was, after-all, once a deeper passion for me than tea. 

The magic of tea is that it reminds me to be aware of the present.  Wine, however, can become an escape, each goblet of it can alter my reality and my understanding of myself.  Tea can stabilize me.  Each beautiful brew reinforces the awareness of my present self.  I am here now, enjoying an oolong that will never be the same again, happy and cognizant of the fulfillment of my desire at this one point.  Wine may lead me to heightened states that reflect upon me an imaginative view of who I’d like to be.  A good cup of tea reminds me of who I am as a whole, dwelling deeply in a continued understanding of my satisfaction in the here and now.

It’s a good life. Drink good tea.

Tea Books – Fong and Fisher Reviewed

Roy Fong of the Imperial Tea Court is one of the first to make an impact on my personal understanding of tea culture (he used to have a teahouse near Seattle in the 90s) and his tea knowledge is quite vast.  I heard murmurs a few years ago that he was going to begin work on a tea book that he had been wanting to write for a while.  A tea book in the making by an accomplished tea expert, one that it seemed he was truly excited to write?  It would be a great read, I thought, as I impatiently anticipated its publication.

I bought the book from Imperial Tea Court as a pre-order late last year and the book was mailed to me after it was published in December.  In recognition of the patience of pre-order customers, our books were autographed (a nice touch).  However, the book, entitled Great Teas of China, arrived as a narrow and thin paperback.  For a book that costs nearly 20 bucks and took years to plan and write, I was expecting something substantial and insightful, a reflection of Roy’s deep knowledge of tea that I so respect.  I was disappointed by the “introduction to/basic-level” feel of the book, which outlines some of the better-known Chinese teas, interspersed with bits of Roy’s experiences in the industry.  I knew that since his knowledge and expertise span the major types of tea that this book would not be monopolized by oolongs alone.  However, I have a particularly soft spot for Muzha Tieguanyin and Dong Ding, the latter of which was relegated to a few verses in a short chapter that covered not a specific varietal of tea (which pretty much every other chapter did), but a general overview of Taiwan’s teas.  About 10 short pages to cover some of the region’s (some would use the term “Greater China’s”) greatest teas?  Really?!?  To be fair, I did find parts of Roy’s book to be enjoyable because of the stories he included of his own experiences with the tea, and his pictures, as usual, are quite nice.

Did I expect too much?  I don’t think so.  For an industry veteran with such a large amount of insight, connections and understanding of the industry, Roy has the unique ability to put together a substantive English tea book that, like his Imperial Grade Tieguanyin, can have character, body and depth.  There already exist many other tea primer and intro books, chief among them, the Heiss’ 430+ page The Story of Tea that is well-researched and comprehensive; hard to beat at less than $35.  

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Last month, I received a complimentary copy of Aaron Fisher’s (of “The Leaf” online tea magazine and “The Art of Tea” English publications) latest book, The Way of Tea: Reflections on a Life with Tea.  I also received a note from Aaron that I was free to write whatever I thought about the book – good or bad – or nothing at all.  I finished the book late last week and the following review of it will be posted web-wide a little bit later:

“I most appreciated the interweaving of history and tea culture as seen through the stages of philosophical and spiritual thought.  The intelligent and penetrating insights and interpretations offered by the author with regards to the major Taoist and Zen philosophies are engaging to the reader.  Fisher ably uses key examples of "tea Zen" from the ages to show readers that mindfulness can be found not only in each cup of tea, but also in its ritual and accompaniments.  A core theme of the book is that the essence of tea is found not in the debate or study of its characteristics or in the compulsion to find, grab and “own” tea wisdom & knowledge, but through a mindful approach to contemplating, enjoying, and sharing the beauty of each brew.  Overall, the book is a gracious offering by the author to share the life-altering experiences that tea can have, which I think many introspective tea lovers will be able to relate to.  I think this book will be well received by those looking for an experience of tea beyond the brew itself.”

I enjoyed Aaron’s latest offering.  I did find that the book was heavy on philosophy and spirituality, and I commented to him that I sometimes felt that the book was more about those subjects, with tea serving as a bridge to unite thought and material existence.  After some continued dialogue with him, I’m comforted by the fact that there are many more stories for Aaron to tell, and many more books that he will tell them in.  As for this one, it is an enjoyable read and quite an interesting perspective from a fellow student of the leaf.

A Visit to Hong Kong’s Tea Museum; Sharing a Cup of Old Pu’er

I like to visit Hong Kong, but only for brief periods of times.  The city is vibrant and fast-paced, but the sheer density of the urban areas makes it difficult for me to feel comfortable with the limited amount of personal space.  The city’s frenetic energy tends to stifle my thoughts until I can escape into the vastness of the New Territories on the weekends

Tea culture is decidedly different on the island.  The British influences of black tea and coffee, and mainland imports of oolong, green, pu’er teas etc., have crossed paths and produced interesting results.  HK-style milk tea (港式奶茶: black tea with evaporated milk and sugar), Yuen-Yang milk tea (鴛鴦奶茶: coffee, black tea, milk), and Taiwanese pearl milk tea (真珠奶茶: tea, various flavor additives, milk and tapioca pearls/”boba”) are some of the popular non-traditional tea drinks.  My favorite non-traditional tea concoction is cold lemon black tea with sweetener (凍檸茶).  Of course at dim sum, you will still have your choice of the traditional Chinese goods, staples like Tieguanyin, cooked pu’er, and Jasmine green tea. 

Although I’ve been to HK many times, it was only on my last trip that I made it out to the Flagstaff Museum of Tea Ware that’s located in Hong Kong Park.  It really is super convenient to get to, shame on me for not visiting sooner.  There are many displays at the museum that are on permanent loan to the museum from a private collection, one that includes very rare and old yixing pots and period tea wares.  I found two of the exhibits particularly interesting:  one was a step-by-step pictorial intro of the Song-dynasty style of whipped tea that was popular during that time.

The other exhibit was a pictorial intro of powdered tea consumption, one of the popular and predominant ways to consume tea during the Tang dynasty, which, as the exhibit mentioned, found its most famous supporter in the great tea connoisseur Lu Yu.

I regret that my pictures have still not been sorted from this trip that happened over a year ago.  I’m working on it!  The Tang dynasty powered tea preparation set of pictorials I have in its entirety; the Song dynasty one is MIA.

I was having tea with Daniel at Arts de Chine last week.  I told him that especially from western pu’er collectors and lovers, there is no small amount of opposition to the wet storage style of pu’er that is predominant in HK.  Daniel mentioned that of course the weather in HK affects storage of teas, but also that perhaps surprisingly, many HK people actually prefer the taste of wet-stored cakes.  Among his clientele, the preference is based on a desire to taste the unique tastes of older, wet-stored tea; a depth of taste characteristics that – for better or worse – dry-stored cakes don’t have.  Undoubtedly so, most old cakes have had some wet-storage (many of the remaining label cakes from the 50s and 60s have passed through wet-storage in HK or Taiwan before being resold elsewhere – many times back to mainland Chinese collectors). 

We broke a small corner off of my 73 brick, not an ancient pu’er, but one that has had no small amount of age for its leaves to soften.  By feel and sight alone, we knew that the cake had gone through a period of wet storage.  Boiling water was poured onto it as it sat in an antique gaiwan (a glazed thick-walled porcelain with blue highlights from the mid Qing era – a future birthday present to myself).  Clearly distinguishable camphor aromas, with some hints of various other herbs, were carried upwards by the rising steam.  Pour after pour yielded a medium-brown colored brew that was clean and not overly rich; one could still see the bottom of the pitcher through the brew.  The mouth-feel was near-complete and soft.  Its flavor was lingering; a part of its taste reminded me of clay.  The wet-storage imparted a unique depth to the tea, as well as some minor off-flavors that were apparent upon sniffing the gaiwan’s lid.  The tea has had more than 20 years of dry storage, though, so by the 3rd infusion, the true nature of the tea was quite brilliant and clear.

Daniel and I smiled at each after the 3rd infusion.  He said that there is affinity between tea, experiences and people.  I had the good fortune to come across this tea, and he had the good fortune to consume some of it with me.  I told him that earlier this year, my Dong Ding teacher told me that good tea will make itself available to a person when one is ready for it.  With that line, Daniel said perhaps it’s not his time to own a collection of pricey and old label cakes.  I’m sure his wife will be happy to know that their money may now be spent elsewhere!

20 minutes later, we were back at it, scheming over how to convince an old friend of his to sell us just a slice of his blue label cake.

Drink good tea and enrich your life.