It Tolls for Thee

...especially when Apache comes to visit.  Let's do this.

I love me my Dayi 501 tuocha.  Apache and I have been trying to recreate its genius of late, and had two attempts at the Dayi 502 tuocha.  The latter is double the size of the former, at 500g, and is the second batch (the "02" in "502") from 2005 (the "5" in "502").

 

This tuocha is the "sample A" version from the link above.

Sadly, even this "sample A" 502 version has sold out via Taobaowang.  Blink and you'll miss it.

As always, the leaves are small and dense.  They retain some of the vigour of youth, perhaps aided by the tight compression common to tuocha.

This is dry.  Really quite dry - but sweet, with tons to give in the wenxiangbei [aroma cup].  We kicked back for this first tea of the day, and enjoyed the "real Dayi flavour".  You may find yourself in the difficult position of not enjoying the real Dayi flavour.  It is an acquired taste, and not a refined one at that, but it is one that has been with me since I first started out in pu'ercha.  It is the taste of familiarity and comfort.

I would have liked to have more of this "sample A" version of the 502 tuocha, but have instead acquired another version that was still for sale.  That latter version sits unwrapped on my tea-table, waiting for me to find the time for a session.

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Apache has a certain skill at constructing the running order in a tea session.  With our palates awoken by a fresh young tuocha, we changed gear and headed into the lo-fi charms of a "25-year-old" old shupu.

If you're skeptical about all of those modern cakes claiming to be qiaomu [arbor / tall-tree], then how do you feel about the claims of a shupu having qiaomu leaves?  The thought of putting high-quality leaves through the wodui [composting] process used to make shupu is terrifying, and highly unlikely to have occurred.

This tastes very thick, and therefore marks itself as being a rather well-aged shupu.  We enjoyed the heavy flavour of Chinese dates.

The colour of the soup pictured above goes some way to reassuring us that this is very decent shupu.  Yes, it opens with the common "fishy" character for shupu, but it stays thick and actually develops as the infusions pass, which is a rarity for this often-simple genre of pu'ercha.

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I have a long relationship with the 2001 Menghai Yiwuzhengshan.  Check out the article in that link, if you will, Gentle Reader, and remind yourself of the notoriety of this cake.  It is the Menghai cake with the large green leaf design on the wrapper.  Thoughts of the Houde price-rush on this thing still send shivers of fear down my spine.  Talk about captive audience - in those days, there was no access to Taobaowang without a Chinese bank account (an actual account in a physical Chinese building), and even my wife found it difficult to access.  Hence, it was pretty much Houde, Yunnan Sourcing, and a few other early pioneers.  Methinks the proprietor of Houde (being a canny chap, and a doctor of engineering at my wife's university, among other things) must have made a righteous killing.  I guess that's what mercantile activity is all about.

Years later, the terror is diminished, and I begin to drink this tea carte blanche.  The soup, shown below, has a dark orange colour - but then, it always did, even when young.  It is powdery, smooth, understated and woody.

"Old taste", notes Apache.

Later infusions developed into a sharpness that was very satisfying.  Despite history, this cake has plenty to offer.  I don't know if I'll ever really enjoy it, though, due to the trauma of years past.

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This is the 2001 CNNP 7432.  Note, it is not the 7532.  The former had its recipe fixed in 1974 (the "74" in "7432") while the more famous latter cake had its recipe fixed a year later ("75" in "7532").  Both have smallish leaves (the "3" in "7432").

Apache notes the unusual character for chu (出) on the neifei.  In the wacky way of such things, this cake is called "sharp chu" because the top of its chu is not printed full-width.  It is such minutiae that allow hardcore enthusiasts to identify cakes.  I wouldn't say that I am a great expert of the printing of wrappers.

Apache, pictured below, points out the "sharp chu"...

This is not an inexpensive cake, with estimates in the range of £250-300 (approx. $400).  The blend, pictured below, has a little bit of everything within it - including stems and huangpian [yellow flakes].

The reason that the minutiae of the wrapper are A Big Deal is because the tea tastes fine.  The soup, pictured below, has that effect whereby the meniscus is thinner and yellower than the heavy orange of the body.

It is a bit ragged, actually, but has a lot of backbone - it is sharp and sweet, and heaven knows how tough this must have been when young.  This is despite the last five years being spend in Hong Kong. 

I like it.  I appreciate its violence, and I like the fact that it has plenty of potential for further aging.  "Induces perspiration", has my journal...

Apache tells the story of a Russian colleague whose "day was ruined" after drinking a single cup of this tough little tea.  What better recommendation could one have?

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"Game over", said Apache with a smile, on trying this last tea.

This old Tongxinghao might be the 1970s Tongxinghao that I encountered previously, and it is the king of the heap, today.

Soft, soothing... a sudden peace descends.  This is quite something to achieve in a household that has two very willful children. 

Xiaohu pummels a drum at my feet, and yet everything is entirely calm.  So... very... calming.

Long and sweet with proper chenxiang [aged scent], it is packed full of Chinese herbs and tastes like something you might get prescribed by a Chinese medic to treat cold limbs.  It combines being active and lively with being so mellow. 

It lasts forever, and we are happy.