2012 SampleTea "Yiwu Zhengshan", 2012 Puerh.sk "Badashan Autumn"

Unto thee, Teagangsters, the greetings of the season.  Independent of religious inclination, surely everyone appreciates a national holiday.  And good food.  And some decent bottles of plonk.

Family tradition in my house is that Christmas Day runs approximately as follows, which I invite you to compare to your own itinerary as may exist:

1. Heavy breakfast
2. Gifts
3. Optional Christmas Day mass
4. Light booze
5. Heavy lunch
6. Heavy booze
7. Games / booze / light supper / booze
8. Bed

The rather special example shown above was most kindly provided by a college to which both my brother and I used to belong: him as an immensely talented junior research fellow, at the start of his career as a cosmologist (which I like to refer to as "astrology"), me as a humble junior lecturer in a subject that is a little more down-to-Earth (and with far fewer gravitational equations).  

The college couldn't tell us apart by name, because we have the same titles and surnames (being brothers); this worked out very well for a while, because he was charged all of my battels [approximately: college credit account charges].  I bought things, and they were charged to him.  The system was obviously broken and required immediate fixing when he started to get my expenses payments.  "Oh, I thought those were little Christmas bonuses", he noted with a huge grin.

My bro has since moved to a university in London; I have since moved colleges here (where THE JAKUB came to visit me a few weeks after my arrival).  This bottle of port, then, is something of a sentimental treat, recalling to us both the fun days spent in our ancient little corner of the country, surrounding by crumbling architecture and Chinese tourists.  Happily, the various Chinese family and friends who were with us for Christmas liked the port most of all.  I noticed with pride that one visitor has since bought several bottles of more recent port to take home to Beijing.

The goodies move in both directions at Christmas: this xiaobing arrived in the last post before the Christmas break, from an outfit named Sampletea.  I was just about to write "I have no idea how they got my name and address", but then, on reaching my keyboard, have an inkling that I may have written the same before, in a previous year.  Perhaps, then, the mystery is solved.

Either way, I am most grateful to whomever sent this to me.  Especially, because it's rather tasty.

Neither my dear wife nor I could make out the xiaozhuan characters printed in red on the box, which also appear on the neifei.  It is possibly the name of the "brand" that Sampletea has adopted.  On more firm footing is the good ol' familiar "Yiwu Zhengshan Shengtai Qiaomu" [Yiwu proper-mountain ecological/natural arbor/tall-tree], printed across the homemade box.

The wrapper itself, pictured above, simply states "Yiwu".

The leaves themselves tell a more comprehensive story: they are mostly whole, all the way through the little 100g cake, and the pressing is light, as if performed by hand, using stone presses.  You may just be able to make out the similar red characters on the neifei as appeared on the box, in the above photograph.

I know absolutely nothing about this tea - as far as I can tell, it is not for sale anywhere.  This probably makes sense, given that the box has been created as a Christmas gift.  However, I get the impression that it might be quite popular if made available.  Certainly, I liked it.

The reasons for my enjoyment are many: it has the satisfying butteriness that indicates it is not very old, and has touched the wok fairly recently.  It is comforting, bitter-sweet, and properly cooling in the mouth.  The generic Yiwushan mixture of sweetness and leathery base is a welcome reminder of why tea from this region is so (very) popular, and this little cake is a very stable and charming example.  The cooling huigan goes to work in the throat long after swallowing.

A quiet, humble, well-made treat with which to enjoy a Christmas session.  I had a subsequent session with one of my Chinese visitors, and with Xiaohu sitting on my lap.  The little chap dictated the terms: "Make it now, daddy!  Make more tea, please!  The leaves go in there!"

A day later, Christmas is passed, and I have settled at the table with a sample of autumnal tea, kindly provided by Puerh.sk.  This one arrived at my laboratory a day before the arrival of the cake above, and may or may not be part of a new autumnal range from a teashop of which I have become something of a fanboy.  Peter seems to make solid, very reliable cakes, and then sells them at a very reasonable price.

I have something of a short history with Badashan cakes from this shop, because I found the 2011 to be delicious, while arriving too late to the party to buy any, and then managed to grab a tong of the 2012 which will probably be Xiaolong's birth tong. Both of those beautiful cakes were springtime productions - this is an autumnal version.

This is, also, not a cake.  Rather, it is maocha, and I am reminded of (i) how much I truly adore maocha, and (ii) how little of it I actually drink.  The leaves are truly lovely, shown above, being entirely unbroken and obviously of good quality.

The brew is so dazzlingly, startingly fresh that it is not just pure yellow: it is actually tinted towards green.  This does not seem obvious from the photograph shown below, due to my eternal (losing) battle with the colour balance of my camera.

It is cooling on the breath, numbing on the tip of the tongue, vibrant on the lips, and screams "yumptious" throughout.  It has an autumnal base of biscuit and dark fruitiness, which works very well with the brazen, straightforward, grassy power of Badashan.  Depending on the price (the product is not listed at the company web-site, as far as I can tell), I could easily imagine drinking this during my working day.  It would be committed to worktime brewing not because of a low quality, but merely because it is maocha.  Energetic, clean, and very well-made, it is everything that we have come to enjoy from Puerh.sk.

And so, I wish you the best of the continued season's blessings, and hope that you enjoy it in whichever means you enjoy it.  It isn't a "white Christmas" here, but even the rainclouds and darkness cannot expunge the genuine warmth of the Christmas spirit.

Seasonal Produce

seasonal produce

tetsubin iron

snoring baby

At the Maternity Ward

visitor

at the maternity ward

the old stork

2012 Chawangpu "Mangzhi Huangcha"

Guess who came to meet me at my college the other day?

None other than THE JAKUB.  What a delight it was - it's not often that I get to meet teachums (with the excellent exception of Apache), especially those from the Czech Republic.  We didn't get time for an actual pu'ercha session, but we did get to neck some conventional bevvies in the relative warmth of the Senior Common Room.

THE JAKUB had a confesssion to make.  He is, and I don't think I'm breaking any confidences here, a computer scientist.  First of all, I think it is wonderful that society has reached the tolerant stage at which it is completely acceptable to "out" oneself in that way, and admit to being a computer scientist.

Unlike every other computer scientist on the planet, THE JAKUB appears to have a girlfriend, and a most charming one at that.  Your computer scientist brethren raise their faded Metallica t-shirts to you in a gesture of appreciation!

We chatted about much, and this sample was kindly given to me as my two guests left.

I rather like Chawangshop.  There are bargains to be had there, especially in the cakes that bear the company's own "Chawangpu" brand.  I am very much in favour of personal-brand cakes being sold at pleasing prices, and I tend to avail myself of the opportunity to buy such things at distressingly regular intervals.  It is rather canny, I suspect, to sell many cakes at a reasonable price rather than a small number of cakes at a very high price.  Then again, I never was cut out for a mercantile life, so what do I know?  Answer: not much.

This is from the Mangzhishan in northern Mengla County, near Gedengshan, and is a traditional source of pu'ercha that is much overlooked.  The "huangshan" part of the name means "wild/desolate mountain", which is a little bit "Xizihao", but perhaps permissible just this once.

The yellow-orange soup is immediately sweet, very much like candy.  It combines with a pleasantly "cereal" base to give it a rustic, but endearing, character that seizes the attention immediately.  All of those characteristics get deposited in the nose after the swallow, and which combine with a very robust kuwei [pleasant bitterness] and a solid core of Xishuangbanna-but-sweet notes.  It lingers well, with a gently cooling finish.

It is so very sweet!

The plantation origins of this cake become more obvious after the tenth infusion, but it has done very well to get there.  The immense bargaination of this cake becomes evident when we consider the price: $12.50.  That isn't even £8, for a 200g xiaobing.  In terms of good pu'ercha per unit currency, this little fellow scores remarkably highly.  

We cannot be too particular at such a generous price; if we were, I might mention that it eventually takes a turn for the citric, but these are small considerations given the overall quantity of pleasure that is delivered for a small outlay.

Thanks again to THE JAKUB - I look forward to the possibility of our humble university being the home for two Czech computer scientists!

Late edit: since the time of writing, it seems that both THE JAKUB and his good lady have won scholarships, which suggests that the admissions system simply broke under the strain of trying to comprehend the existence of a computer scientist with a girlfriend.  Hefty congratulations!  Time to buy a pair of those Elizabethan graduate scholar gowns that we make you wear...

2010 Shangyuancang "Shirui", 2011 Shangyuancang "Zhiqingdaohe"

Hallowed days before the beginning of the Admissions interviews for this year: how I love thee.  Two days stretch before me, an infinity of time in which to drink some good teas.

Thanks again to Mr. and Mrs. Essence for samples of the last two of "Mr. Feng's" quartet of cakes being sold at Essence of Tea.  The first two (going under the "Qingchan" name), priced at £69 and £56 for a 2007 and 2008 cake, respectively, were enjoyable - sweet, classical, stable.

These latter two cakes are sold under the "Shangyuancang" label, a fairly tortured description of which (provided by "Mr. Feng") may be found at the company's blog.

The "Shirui" cake refers to a "stone heart", where the latter "rui" (pronounced "roo-ey") is the centre of a flower, according to my dear wife, perhaps approximately similar to the stamen.

This cake has sold out, whereas the other four have not, and I am unsure as to why that might be so.  It could be something to do with the product description which reads "An excellent tea.  I could drink this every day!"  If indeed that is why the cake has sold out, then vendors are undoubtedly taking note when it comes to writing future descriptions...

Getting straight to the point, I liked this cake - a significant amount more than I liked the two "Pure Zen" cakes from 2007 and 2008.  The leaves, as pictured above, are lovely to behold.  I noticed a complete absence of any scent about the dry leaves for both teas tried today, but that is perhaps because of the freezing-cold climate in England at the time of writing.  Certainly, the cakes were both lively enough, today.

This cake yields a soup that is really very solid indeed, completely filling the mouth with its padded fullness.  The sweetness is prodigious, and constant, and very large indeed, swelling to fill the throat, where it dwells for a goodly amount of time. 

The "Shirui" does indeed feel like it has a stone heart: it is so extraordinarily dense, and leaves such a "heavy" feeling in the body, that it is a great pleasure to drink and a very real comfort, in times of chilliness.  I am left feeling calm, serene, and rather full.  It brews this way for many, many infusions.

While it does not have a diverse range, what is present is solid, immense, and really rather dense.  I can see why Mr. Essence gave it such praise.  Were it not sold out, I would be tempted to take a cake for reference.

I mentioned my discomfort at the use of Zen as a means to shift cakes, and this pair sees us changing gear: the cake name (Zhiqingdaohe, "Djer-ching-dao-her") refers to "reaching pure Way harmony", approximately.  We have therefore turned to Taoism for this cake, in exchange for Zen, and complete the compliment by adding the opening passage from the Yijing onto the wrapper of the cake, which was Confucius' favourite text. 

Both of these cakes came from "Menghai", allegedly from a small village with old trees, etc.  I rather enjoyed flicking through "Mr. Feng's" holiday snaps from when he made these cakes, which you should be able to find at the company web-site.  Perhaps endless photos of trees and leaves are an acquired taste.

Unlike the "Shirui", this "Zhiqingdaohe" is actually a blend from 2008, 2010, and 2011.  The result is a maocha that is much more pretty than any of the other three cakes, with some really very pleasant leaves to gaze upon (pictured below).

This cake is differnt in style to the "Shirui" - it is not as pure and sweet, but it is more interesting: it has a thinner body, but a more complex appeal, and it actually evolves over the infusions, compared with the stable constancy of its cousin.  It is long-lasting, obviously of good quality, and keeps me happy while I rediscover that masterpiece from the late 1990s, "Baldur's Gate" (pictured below), recently re-released for the iPad in an "extended edition".

A cake needs to be good to tear my attention away from the intricacies of 2nd-edition Dungeons and Dragons, and this cake just about manages that epic task.

As always, we come down to the price.  The pricing of these cakes is such that they make one pause for thought, and compare what else we might obtain for a similar price.

The difficulty that (almost all) vendors face is one of "wiggle room": if we have yoinked up the prices of modern cakes to a "premium" price-range, then there is little extra room for increasing the prices as they age.  We end up, therefore, with the interesting situation that some modern cakes cost approximately the same as older cakes.  

This curious state of affairs is common to all vendors, and is not a criticism, but an observation: as a merchant, one wishes to demonstrate that one's wares are good quality, and charge an appropriately high price for them.  This is business, not charity, after all.  However, once the (let's say, for argument's sake) latest 2012 Hailanghao cake is priced at $200, how can one price older cakes in a consistent and realistic manner?

As many have pointed out before, it is often the case that cakes of similar quality can be obtained at a much older age for a very similar price to "premium" modern cakes.  A dilemma for the pricing of merchants everywhere, and perhaps for the buying habits of drinkers, too.

I imagine that we all have our individual solutions to that dilemma.  I suspect that you are aware of mine own solution, given my buying patterns.

Thanks again to Essence of Tea for an introduction to two lovely cakes; it is rather ironic that the cake I enjoyed the most is no longer for sale, but I imagine that those facts are not independent...

Ancient Heat

ancient heat -

at the old fireside

he shivers

2007 Qingchan "FD", 2008 Qingchan "XT"

With the advent of Advent, the pace and difficulties of Michaelmas term have come to a close.  

It is now "Ninth Week", which is a brief moment of peace before the university grinds into a state of (in)action for dreaded "Tenth Week", in which we focus on the admissions process for next year's cohort of students.  All four "dons" in my college spend the best part of one entire week dedicated to picking which nine students we will teach next year.  It is a gruelling process for the candidates (mostly students from British and Chinese schools, in my subject) and for the academics.  It must be hugely expensive for the university: as well as paying for each college's academics to spend one week per year on this exercise, there is an innumerable quantity of support staff, who are liaising with schools, checking application forms for plagiarism, arranging interview locations and times, and all mannner of other toil.

This means that I am treasuring Ninth Week while it lasts - it is the calm before the storm.

Many thanks to the proprietor of Essence of Tea for generously providing samples of the tea for today's session, which are cakes both created by a certain "Mr. Feng". 

This range of cakes appears to be called "Qingchan", which, as you can see from the wrapper, may be translated as "pure Zen", as in the clear purity of water (which forms the root of the character Qing).  I'm not in favour of using Zen in order to shift commercial goods, but I suspect that actual Roshi would take it with a wry smile.  

Damo (Daruma, Bodhidharma) would probably just chop off your arms* - something casual like that.

* Actual Zen story.

The "FD" is the oldest of the four cakes from "Mr. Feng" being sold, and is consequently the most expensive.

I like the cut of this tea's jib.  The leaves, as pictured above and below, are medium-sized fragments, and they look healthy, as if they have been stored well.  The product description indicates that the cake has spent time in Xishuangbanna, which is a good place to park tea.

Both of today's cakes come from the same region, which "Mr. Feng" describes as being the "border between Menghai and Lincang".  This is odd, given that there is no such border - the (fairly enormous) diqu of Simao lies between Menghai and Lincang, as far as I recall.  I imagine that this means the cake comes from northern Menghai county, perhaps near the Simao border - it has a little of both Menghai and Simao in it, to my imagine at least.

I like this cake.  It is solid, sweet, and lasts well.  The enduring impression is one of cleanliness and precision, as if well-made, from good leaves.  There is a gently cooling finish in the throat.  The texture seems pleasant enough, but I would probably disagree with the production description, which refers to it as being "thick".  I found it to be a touch underpowered, in that it needs quite a large quantity of leaves and extended infusions to get the best out of it.  Piling in more leaves than usual, and adding time to the infusion, results in a solid, pine-like, enduring sweetness that continues into a dozen or so infusions.  I enjoyed its constancy.

I have, in my diary, "FD" as meaning "Fairly Decent".

Continuing our pillage of Zen as a brand name, we have the "XT" cake from 2008, with leaves that come from the same region as the "FD", according to the product description.

Immediately, this cake appeals to me.  I enjoy the solid aroma of the dry leaves, which is complex, and has more than a single dimension to it.

As with the "FD", the "XT" has lovely leaves - fragmented, but furry and pleasurably dark.

I have a guilty secret: I actually enjoy cakes that have a nice flavour.  I know in this rarified world of pu'ercha we are supposed to subsist entirely on descriptions of chaqi, but I am a humble man, and enjoy cakes that have a complex progression of flavours and aromas, and which evolve accordingly through the infusions.  In addition to the almost-granary base of this border Menghai cake, it has a proper cooling sensation, far in advance of the "FD", which also numbs the tip of my tongue.  It lasts well in the throat, and just seems to be more enjoyable to me in all aspects.

The "FD" is made from better leaves: it marches on it its consistent, sweet manner for ages.  The "XT" seems to get a bit rough and green after a half-dozen or so infusions, but is all the more enjoyable (to me) for its rustic charms.

My diary has "XT" as meaning "Exceedingly Tempting".

Tempting, that is, until one considers the price, which is a decision that each of us must make in communion with one's own wallet.  It is irrelevant to discuss my own decision, but I merely quote the prices for your convenience: the "FD" is £69, while the "XT" is £57.

Thanks again to Essence of Tea for a most excellent tea session, which certainly has me ready for the challenges of Tenth Week.

Burst of Sun

burst of sun

on ancient pews

and ancient heads

2012 Canton Tea - Boxed Set

An interesting take on "taster sets", this box was kindly provided by Canton Tea.  The new London-based start-up seems to sell more to the "foodie" market - this word appears regularly on the web-site - which is to say, people who are nominally interested in good food and drink, but who might not know a huge amount about tea.  The teas on offer seem to reflect this, offering "selected samples" of various genres, and a novel sample-of-the-week club.  For the general (British?) foodie, this would probably work - most people have no knowledge or interest in the back-catalogues of hardcore pu'ercha vendors, let alone Taobaowang, and having some guidance is probably a good way to reach a larger non-specialist market.

You'll see where I'm headed with this thought in a moment...

 

The box comprises five xiaobing, each weighing 100g, for a total price of £45 (approx. $72).  The packaging is a plain white box with a magnetic fastener, which my dear wife has her eyes on for use elsewhere.

The little cakes form a cross-section of interesting cakes.  This article focusses on the spring 2012 cakes in the selection, while the autumnal 2011 cakes will appear later; you can tell which cakes piqued my interest the most, given that I tried the spring cakes first.

First, the Wujiazhai, which I select because it is (i) spring tea and (ii) from an area I've not encountered before:

Wujiazhai is in Yongde county of Lincang prefecture, not far from the Mangfei area.  This name might be familiar to readers of the Yunnan Sourcing catalogue from 2012, and I am told that Canton Tea had their cakes made by Scott.  (The Canton Tea 2011 cake that I enjoyed was seemingly made by Seb of Jing Teashop). 

Yongde teas are never terribly exciting to my taste, but I am always ready to be proven wrong.  Scott writes that this Wujiazhai is "probably the best Yongde cake" he has ever made, and, to cut a long story short, I am inclined to agree with this assessment.

It is an interesting cake: it takes ages to get going.  This can be a good thing, perhaps suggesting that there is plenty of content in the leaves, waitng to be suitably aroused before delivering a good flavour.  Even in those starting infusions, we are overcome by a strong, minty cooling sensation that numbs the tongue.  It is vibrant and very lively - and this is before it has warmed up.

I drank this tea over quite a long session, while Xiaohu was out with Xiaoyi [his aunt] and while Xiaolong was sleeping: it later developed a solid, profound sweetness that was entirely complementary to the sensations from the opening three or four infusions.  Hints of a tobacco base begin to exert themselves, which are most enjoyable and do well to prolong the evolution of the cake.

"Oh dear - that's rather strong", notes my mother, who has a cup in passing.

I later added more leaves, just to see what happened: the result was increased potency without negatively affecting the outcome.  I really rather like this cake - and this causes a problem which we will discuss in a little while.

Secondly, the "purple leaf" Dehong.  Scott has been making bamboo-wrapped Dehong for about seven or eight years now, and has recently started presenting these as bingcha.  Presumably, these xiaobing come from the same maocha: they certainly look similar.

Dehong is a long (long) way off the beaten track, and it appears that there may be some quality-control problems that do not occur with Scott's cakes from southern Yunnan.  Witness below, an actual chunk of house-decorating plaster, which I took care to remove.  Unfinished walls are everywhere in Mainland China, particularly where the standards of living are lower than in some cities, and plaster dust / plaster chunks are everywhere.  One needs to sweep the floor every day to keep on top of the dust and dirt in China.

"Ah well", I thought to myself.  "At least there's no plastic string."

Hmm.  I tried to remove this length of green plastic, but only succeeded in getting it to stand upright like an antenna, such was its embedding.  It looks almost natural.  Almost.

No one ever bought Chinese produce because they thought it was safe.  If you eat / drink Chinese, you do so because you like the risk.  "Am I going to live to see tomorrow?"  Such are the thrills of consuming Mainland Chinese produce. 

I do like a robust blend, but I tend to draw the line at brewing up sections of wood, and therefore chose to remove the specimen shown above.  You may be able to see the very strong purple pigmentation in the leaves, which is naturally occurring - the pu'ercha trees of Dehong are a separate entity to (and which seemingly predate) Camellia sinensis var. assamica.

You know what to expect with purple-leaf tea: it is fruity, sweet, and reminds me of autumnal pu'ercha.  I stopped buying it around 2007, because I am a touch skeptical about its capacity to improve greatly with age; or, rather, I prefer to use the limited space that we have to store cakes in which I have more confidence.  However, it is a charming and well-made tea to drink immediately.  Smooth, crisp, precise, and, once you get past all of the potentially-harmful additives in the blend, very stable.

 

Both the Dehong and the Wujiazhai cakes are good choices for inclusion in a "taster set" of pu'ercha: they are not orthodox, and represent some of the interesting regions of the gamut of pu'ercha.

 

This brings us on to the fundamental question about this tea: if I like it a lot, where should I buy it?  I happen to know, for example, that Yunnan Sourcing sells the lovely Wujiazhai cake for just $32 (£20), which is a very good price for 400g.  Therefore, we return to the opening paragraph: I suspect that this "selected samples" approach works best for customers that would not know about, or be interesting in, specialist vendors such as Yunnan Sourcing.

 

Thanks again to Canton Tea for the generous box.