Chunkynuggets

To my considerable frustration, it seems that having recently achieved the novelty of landing a "proper" academic job seems to translate to spending most of my life travelling.  This would have been a great thrill for the twenty-something, carefree version of myself, but poses difficulties for a thirty-something father.  On the bright side, my children are becoming used to receiving chocolate-based gifts from the around the world.

Today's session took place after a recent trip to Brussels, after returning from which I was greeted by a grinning eldest son running to the door to (i) apply the aggressive cuddles that only a three-year-old can manage, and (ii) determine the nature of the treats that I had inevitably brought him.

And yet what treats does his father have, hmm?  Well, this old 1990 tuocha, provided from the magnanimous charity of Peter of pu-erh.sk, certainly counts.

The eponymous little chunkynuggets of tea that make up this session have a "chenxiang" [aged scent], when introduced to the damp, warm belly of the tiny pot (pictured below) that I use for brewing some old cakes.  Even the first infusion, with the leaves still tightly compressed, has a tar-like, sweet scent and a substantially cooling sensation.

I am not a big collector of pots; in fact, I like to "simplify, simplify" whenever possible.  When I first got into tea in the mid-noughties, perhaps like most people I went a bit crazy and bought pots for every occasion one could conceive.  Roasted, green, old, young, frisky, rough, etc. etc.  These days, I drink almost exclusively from Zidu (my big ol' Zishahu that brews around 110 ml), with a tiny 70ml pot for those small samples as may exist of older teas.  I have a pot for green wulong and a pot for heavy-roast wulong, but those are more for fun rather than function.  Finally, I have a shupu pot and a hongcha pot.  Everything else (and there is virtually nothing else, excepting lucha) goes into a gaiwan.

This lovely little tuocha is crisp, smooth, and particularly sweet - it is perfect for my return to a dark, northern country which is entirely saturated with rain and winter chills.  It is hard to imagine that such a country exists after spending time away, even in Belgium, but exist it does.  The strange thing is that I actually come to miss the dark, wet little country when I am away/.  There truly is "no place like home".

What does one look for in an old tuocha?  Sharpness?  Pleasant sweetness?  Endurance, and strength?  This 1990 version has all of these virtues.  Even after some twenty or so years of aging, this tea caused my dear wife to observe "an aggressive aftertaste" - which is quite a compliment for an older tea!

The red-orange soup, which looks so invitingly thick in the photographs above, has a tangy, long-lasting scent that reminds of the benefits brought about by tight compression: though aged, it has the retention of some of the characteristics of youth that blend very well - it is a fascinating mixture of aspects that we might otherwise associate with both age and youth.  I deliberately brew it strongly to emphasise its considerable strength.

What a wonderful way to return home.  Thanks again to Peter for the session.

Before the Smile

before the smile

little lips vibrating:

the raspberry

Laow Maine

I like to pronounce "Laoman'e", which should be pronounced "LAO MAN-ERH", to rhyme with "chowmein".  There's nothing quite so pleasingly discordant to the ears as when we Anglicise something inappropriately.  It's one of my favourite games, and, it seems, the favourite of many Americans: I give you the US pronounciation "NOTER-DAYME" for Notre Dame, which is enough to make every Frenchman's ears erupt in flames.

Inexplicably, despite a healthy intolerance for the French language, Americans pronounce "herbs" in the French manner, without an initial "h". Is that just to upset the French?

Pictured above, the rinse from my dry teapot, before the leaves.  Zidu ["purple belly"] is reaching the stage at which he doesn't even need leaves inside him to brew something that tastes like tea...

So, what do we know about "Lao-Mayne"?  This particular example is both fruity and fresh, with leaves that look very health indeed (as pictured above).  The colour of the soup is properly yellow, which is a good colour for a European three-year-old cake.  The first infusion, though cloudy, is most pleasant: it is sharp and bitter, in the usual way for "Lao-Mayne", but has the charming, fruity complexity of the greater Banzhangshan region.

This one is clean and well-made.  The buttery scent is common to many young pu'ercha cakes; the bitterness is that of grapefruit - again, something that I have come to expect from "Lao-Mayne".  This works more better than you might expect.  Its solid texture and long throatiness are compliments to its tangy sharpness.  It is, without doubt, an "acquired taste" and perhaps not one to try out on non-teafolk.

Thanks again to Peter for the sample, which was thoroughly enjoyed.  His cakes are coming along very nicely, and I always look forward to seeing what else will be coming out of his stable.