2012 Pu-erh.sk "Bada"

It's not often that I drink a tea and then sprint upstairs to the computer to buy some.

Batten down the hatches and ready yourself, gentle Reader, for a force-nine gale of uncomfortably humid hyperbole...

I've been a quiet fan of Pu-erh.sk since Peter, the owner, was kind enough to send me samples of a range of cakes that had sold out ages ago, such was their popularity.  His productions have become popular, and rightly so.  I missed the party, entirely, because his web-site was a howling wasteland of nothingness where once there were cakes for sale.  In my article on his 2011 Bada cake, I wrote "I hope that he makes more cakes in 2012; I'll be hovering around the web-site like a moth attracted to a bright light."  

The lights are on again!

I liken Peter and his cakes to the dealer of dodgy substances that is confident in the addictive quality of his wares.  "The first hit is always free."  My first hit came in the unassuming little brown packet pictured above.

Go on.  Try ussssssss.

The leaves of all Peter's cakes are quite fragmented, as shown above.  Of all of his 2012 productions, the Bada leaves are the smallest, and the tippiest.  The scent is very fresh, very sweet, and, predictably, as grassy as Badashan leaves usually turn out to be.

"What an unexpectedly charming aroma this Badashan cake has!" I wrote to myself.  It is amazing in its complexity, passing from sweet grass, to gentle candy, to rich butter.  It is a most engaging progression.

Likewise, the first infusion is really rather special, packing in all of the sensations for which you would hope (thick soup, huigan, endurance, vibrancy) along with a slug of complex compounds that mix grass, flowers, butter, and all of the other transients that age, and infusions, will soon wear away.

The cooling sensation of the soup even penetrates under the lips and around the gums, eventually numbing my tongue.  This sounds dreadful, perhaps.

I brew this cake into the ground, pushing it to infusion after infusion, and am rewarded by a consistency of dense sweetness that is quite remarkable.  We must be wary of first infusions, with their transient charms.  The sixth-through-tenth infusions in a young tea are really what separate the men from the boys, and indicate the potential for aging, I believe.  Certainly, the cakes that are turning out to age the best for me are those that could be pushed (and remained solid for) large numbers of infusions.  Conversely, if a tea falls apart after repeated brews, then it may not well last under the action of the years.  I wouldn't like to make proclaimations on aging, but merely report my experience.  Naturally, there are exceptions, but the correlation is statistically significant - if my small sample size could be considered so.

I was left exceedingly happy with this little cake.  It is easily the best of the 2012 cakes that I have tried to date (including several that I haven't yet written about), and can heartily recommend it to you for at least a sample.  I notice from Peter's web-site that you can buy 10g or 50g subsections, which is a very sociable alternative.

Before we leave it at that, I should add that it appears I have rather come to like Badashan cakes.  I believe that there is something of Stockholm syndrome occurring here: for many months, a number of years back, all of my tea was in storage while our house was renovated.  I was only able to drink a Menghai "classic" cake, in my office, which happened to be from Badashan.  I abhored it at the time, as one would after drinking something mainstream exclusively for many months.  However, I notice that I have come to love that which held me captive against my will for so long.  Therefore, if Bada cakes are not your thing, then you're probably not going to like this.  It is a great cake in its own right, but, if you like Bada cakes, then you're in for a real treat.

I hope the postman hurries.  I might make this tong the "birth tea" for our expected baby, depending on the cake's progress.

When Rain Turns to Snow

when rain

turns to snow

wife with child

2011 Mengku Jinqiao "Xiaoyangchun", 2005 Jinuoshan "Taiyanggu"

Being a junior academic is a lot of work.  Specifically, attempting to get tenured is a lot of work.  It's like pulling teeth, and about as painful.  It is a siege that seemingly has no end.  Sieges are never very comfortable, both for the siegers and the siegees.  I'm still undergoing this particular siege myself; I may or may not be getting closer to the goal.  Time will tell. 

This agonising process is made all the more intricate by the Byzantine nature of the university that employs me and my dear wife.  I won't bore you with the details of the bizarre structure, which is the result of a long period of (very) gradual evolution.  Suffice to say that, if you want to achieve something, you need to be ready to engage in what Bismarck termed "the art of the possible". 

A consequence of this preternatural institutional convolution is that I end up moving around.  From year to year, I proceed in an ever-so-gradual series of incremental steps towards heaven-knows-what.  Looking back over the pages of this humble site, I see that some of these moves have made it into the images: my move to a college that reminded me of my grandmother's house (and to where Xiaohu has been going to nursery); a move to a little place famous only for having the fictional "Professor X" among its alumni; a move to a much larger place, famous for being almost entirely Welsh.  You can even buy stress-relieving "squeezy sheep" from the Lodge of that last one.

The academic year in England (and perhaps elsewhere?) starts in October, which means everyone's permutations occur in the preceeding months of summer.  Although not tenured, I have somehow been appointed as a Fellow of the college above, and a Lecturer of the college below, which are titles that are misleading when translated into the academic structures of other universities in England, let alone into those of other countries.  Fear not, I remain your humble, and entirely junior, dogsbody for the time being.  If there is some advantage in this latest move, it is that I will (hopefully) not be leaving these positions, as I have those in years past.  This place really needs an explanatory rulebook.  I first came here in 1998, and I'm still often taken by surprise.

After a hard day's politicking, the tea-table seems comparably straightforward, and a delight in its simplicity. 

This first sample comes thanks to the generosity of Bannacha, although it doesn't seem to be available there any more.  I appreciate the range of decently-priced cakes there, and have been enjoying some of William's samples lately.  

I found this Mengku Jinqiao cake for sale for 20 euro at a Barcelona outfit by the name of Cajchai, which, the web-site informs me, should be pronounced "chai chai".  They note that the cake froms from two villages near Xibanshan in Mengku county of Lincang prefecture.  The "Xiaoyangchun" name suggests springtime, but it is in fact an autumnal cake.

The leaves look healthy, and the blend comprises both tips and basis leaves, which may well help its cause by offering the best of both worlds.  

Oddly, while I was Googling for information concerning this cake, I came across a German web-site which (in German) was discussing my personal preference for Lincang cakes (!).  I should get some "I heart Lincang prefecture" t-shirts printed.  "Ich liebe Lincang", maybe.

Which gender is Lincang diqu?!

The buttery scent rather exceeds my expectations in its complexity and longevity.  For good or ill, I find myself becoming more dependent on scent when it comes to pu'ercha.  It is true that lighter scents are the first things to depart a cake as it ages, but that is not my meaning; rather, the content of a tea, in the relative presence of heavy and light compounds, seems readily identifiable in the scent, as well as in the mouth.  This scent is both in the wenxiangbei [aroma cup], but also in the dry leaves themselves.  The correlation between progression and components of the scent, and the progression and contents revealed by the soup in the mouth, often takes me by surprise.  Perhaps it shouldn't, given the nature of the olefactory senses.

I wrote in my diary that "this is not a grand tea, but it is rather good".  I should note that the seemingly low price of 20 euro buys you just 100g of xiaobing, and so, when scaled up to a full bing-equivalent 357g, it suddenly seems rather pricey.

There is a cooling sensation to be found, which is very positive, and, while it does have a low ceiling of green heaviness, it does a decent job of penetrating the mouth with its sweetness.  It has the nature of soft fruits, in keeping with its autumnal nature, but yet has some backbone - something autumnal teas can, from time to time, lack.  Perhaps if priced more reasonably, this would be a worthwhile punt.

Jinuoshan is what we drinkers may otherwise know as Youleshan, which is the old name for the region and the Chinese minority that live there (Jinuo / Youle).  Thanks to THE JAKUB for supplying this sample, which is called "Taiyangqu" [sun drum], and which is sold by Yunnan Sourcing under the name "Red Sun Drum" for $40.  Scott notes that it has been stored in Xishuangbanna, which is a good place to keep tea.

This 2005 tea is similar to the very strange 2004 version.  I couldn't get on with the latter, finding it to be almost processed to oblivion.  This 2005 tuocha has a fruity scent, and the body is particularly sweet.  It is remarkably cooling, suhhesting that the claim that the leaves come from 50-70 year-old trees may be true.  This is a better pu'ercha than the 2004, to my tastes.  Despite having generally similar processing, its cooling sensation and mouthwatering finish keep it interesting.  The yellow-to-orange soup has a body of malt and low, thick molasses.  It is quite strange, but good fun.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, it does not hold up very well in later infusions; tea processed in this manner tends to die quickly, both in later infusions, and when aging.  I wrote that it "seems to have had its heart cooked out of it".

As a most welcome diversion from all things academic, I am gratefully indebted to William and The Jakub for these two samples.  Thanks again, chaps.