2006 Liming "Tuowang"

"More tea?" says the kindly old porter with a grin...

Liming is a factory from the 1980s with a little history - they have already spawned a second company when, in 1993, a certain Mr. Huang Xudong (the manager) left to found the Nanqiao factory. It seems that in the tea business, you're not a real factory unless you've poached your personnel from somewhere else. One manager of Menghai (Mr. Zhou Bingliang) founded Haiwan, another Menghai manager (Mr. Ruan Dianrong) founded 6FTM, while a Menghai blender (Ms. Dong Guoyan) founded Mengyang Guoyan. I sometimes wonder who's left at Menghai.

This tea is from Bulangshan, famous for its brutal terroire. To add further kudos, it claims to be "qiaomu" [old/big tree] and "shengtai" [ecological - camphor trees instead of pesticides, &c.], recalling that qiaomu-claimed teas often contain more bitterness. Combine that with the fact that this is a tuocha, where high compression usually results in broken leaves, and so further increased bitterness, and I am scared of this tea before I have even unwrapped it.

The leaves are small (above), as befits tuocha, combining fragmented baby leaves with tiny tips. This is fine by me - I don't need a pretty tea, and it's only in the last few years that producers have been concentrating on making their tea look attractive.

It's not easy to separate this tea into individual leaves, and to attempt it would surely bring untold destruction (and agonising bitterness), and so I settle with some small lumps in the pot. The aroma is exceptionally fresh and sweet - it almost jumps out of the chahe, and disperses rapidly around the room. Great stuff so far, but I'm still scared.

The unusually aromatic nature of the dry leaves continues in the wenxiangbei: the first stage of the aroma (the beidixiang, or cup-bottom-scent), during which the "high notes" of the scent are felt, is very long and candy-sweet. Eventually, these high notes evaporate to leave a similarly long second stage (the lengxiang, or cool-scent), where the "bass notes" are evident - sticky brown sugar, in this case. Does this translate into good character and endurance in the mouth?

Indeed it does - there is a great deal "in the cup", even from the first infusion - I find this surprising, given that the tea has not fully separated out from its initial lumps; I was expecting a much thinner brew. Even the colour looks chunky, being a heavy yellow (above).

This is a dry, grain-like tea, with some of that lovely sourness that I associate with Bulang. Near the finish, there is a sweet smokiness akin to Germanic cheese.

As expected, there is plenty of acidity and bitterness, but (and this is the key factor for me) there is plenty of that complex grain-like flavour to accompany it.

This tea has to be respected, and brewed just right. The leaf quantity and infusion times are unforgiving: keep it short due to its potency, but not too short that it becomes thin. I make it out to the ninth infusion managing to balance the two extremes, and it pays dividends to be attentive.

This is a challenging tea, but a very well-made product. If your tastes run to the conservative in young shengpu, you might not want to spend much time on this. If, like me, you enjoy some rugged acidity alongside a heady mix of sour flavours, you might really enjoy this. I can believe that there is at least a portion of qiaomu-esque content in here.

Supremely energetic and brightening, yet without the caffeine-ache of coffee, this tea is at the same time soothing. That's the magic of pu'er.

(Pricewise: it's $40 from Royal Puer - worth a look, if you like a challenge. It's the Talisker of tuocha.)

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Addendum
4 May, 2008

Revisiting this tea, it seems to have gone a little quiet. I have downgraded by "to buy" list from its original two tuo to just a single tuo.

I am reminded that the abrasive character of this tea is not to everyone's liking, as my dear wife noted that, "This tastes like unpleasantly overbrewed green tea."

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Addendum
April, 2013

The price has increased from some $40 to $50 in around five or six years, which is not a great amount - and so, finally vindicated, I bought one tuocha, after so narrowly avoiding its purchase some years ago.

Liming Tea Co. is an old business, relative to the majority of pu'ercha tea factories, and yet their products do not attract a huge amount of attention.  This can be an advantage, given that far inferior Dayi cakes are the current target of speculation.

Much better, indeed, is it for this tuocha to be aging quietly, away from the spotlight, and away from dramatic increases in price.

Now seven years old, even the highly-compressed tuocha leaves have felt the effect of aging.  While the tight tuocha compression has slowed down the aging a little, there is a school of thought that believes tight compression, and therefore slow aging, can result in a better final product.  

Whether or not this is true, we can certainly see that the converse, excessively loose compression, taken to its logical conclusion in the uncompressed maocha format, leads to eventualy dissipation of a leaf's qualities.

The aging effect is most obvious in the colour of the tips that have been pressed into the surface of the tuocha - they have adopted the gentle orange rustiness of age.  Note that these tips do not run throughout the body of the tuocha, which is rather a silly, outdated practice presumably designed to make the tuocha look "better" than it actually is.  However, I often find that excessively tippy teas do not age well, and so this lack of tips in the actual body is not a bad thing, as far as I am concerned.

The dry leaves have, oddly enough, retained the slight smokiness that I detected in 2008, and which is usually associated with the youth of a tea, soon to vanish with age.  Perhaps its aging has indeed been slow...

The colour of the soup suggests that something has occurred in the intervening half-decade: it is darker orange than once it was, and the scent is strong, clean, and sweet.

The character has changed likewise in the body of the soup, with the pure aggression of youth diminished, although not vanished.  Much of the kuwei [good bitterness] has been exchanged for woody sweetness, reminding me of my own teas from this approximate age-range.

The base of molasses remains, which has been augmented by a reddened, malty character acquired from age, and which was largely absent in its youth.  This is the "proper" malt, acquired from age and not introduced via cunning processing steps, and is a marker of its acquiring some age.

Overall impressions are of this sweet, molasses mixture combined with a now-dominant cooling sensation that has become much more pronounced over the years.  It is sharp and potent, still, but far more drinkable, and has shown signs of genuine development.

What more can we expect from our teas?  That this has acquired some age without acquiring a dramatic increase in price makes me slightly less guilty about having missed this sharp, potent little tuocha the first time around.

There is a certain catharsis in being reunited with this tea, after missing it by such a narrow margin all those years ago.  I am encouraged to see that its storage (in south China) has only improved it, and that the obviously decent quality of its leaves has given it the evolution for which one would have hoped.

Straightforward, clean, strong, and very pleasant indeed - my old friend, the Liming Tuowang.

1999 Sunsing Shengpu

I recently wrote about a recent tea conversion that took place during one of my meetings, when Dr. Important enjoyed the 1990s Tibetan heicha generously provided by MYSTERIELLA. If you will indulge me, I'd like to recount the brief story of a less successful encounter.

Dr. Important is, as noted previously, Very Important in my field (limited though my experience is). Yesterday we had meetings with one of his bosses, Prof. Important. Research projects, even research departments, have been known to live or die depending on Prof. Important's whim.



One of my colleagues had just finished presenting his research to Prof. Important, who was leaning back in his chair with a thunderous brow, keeping silent. Discussion about the 1.5-year-long research project concluded, and someone deferentially asked the opinion of Prof. Important.

"I see no value in this research, and have said so from the beginning."

Uneasy silence. My colleague, all credit to him, looks stoic and unperturbed. Someone breaks the silence with a joke, and we move on.

"What's that tea you've got there?", he says, as I hastily whip out a few leaves of the 2007 Xingrenxiang [almond scent] dancong from Tea Habitat. I am obliged to refill the large teapot in the centre of the table, and add the remainder of the packet of tea.

It's my turn to present research.

Prof. Important: "This drink tastes foul, would you like to finish it?"

He then turns, scowling, to regard my slides.

Not the best tea conversion one could hope for, I think you'll agree - then again, he did seem to be happy to drink Assam that had been brewing for some 20 minutes.

(I am relieved to say that he seemed to like my work more than he liked the tea, which I consider a blessedly narrow escape.)

Torment over, we celebrate with some 1999 Sunsing shengpu, most kindly provided by a much more pleasant professor, GA - many thanks!

Sunsing have some fine teas. This one is made from small leaves, which have darkened through the years. There is a sweet shicang [wet storehouse] aroma that I enjoy - I don't have much shicang tea, so it's a real treat when I come across some.

Some of these leaves have pure white markings - is it paint? Guano? Nothing that boiling water can't sort out, so into the pot they go...

The wenxiangbei bodes well: the aroma is long in duration, and has a complex, malty background behind the familiar shicang scent.

It is a very "crisp" tea, with no muddiness of flavour - this is particularly impressive given its storage. It is approaching the sweet, sweet sandalwood character of matured pu'er, but retains some of its youthful bitterness and acidity. I am secretly glad, because I yearn for the bitterness and acidity of young shengpu. The maturing of tea is a fine thing (and I am enjoying watching our own tea gradually change), but the process definitely removes a certain something from the tea that I otherwise find very pleasant. This is counter to received wisdom, but it's the reason that causes me to enjoy young shengpu each day.

The colour of the soup rapidly fades up to its meniscus, which reminds me of the old adage that they repeat at wine-tasting events, where mature wines will similarly exhibit a strong colour in the main body, while becoming translucent long before the meniscus. I bet the two are analogues, given that both describe the maturing of "brew".

The body of the tea is gloopy - a fine consistency which easily forms large bubbles. It adheres to the roof of the mouth, and makes me feel as if there is something substantial in the cup - a property I look for in good tea. It's all about finding a tea with "lots in the cup", I reckon*.

Many thanks again to GV for this fine tea. Later infusions take on a vanilla character, which is lovely indeed. What a great end to a hard day.



*This train of thought reminds me of a study described in a research paper, published by a Chinese institution, in which they describe the role of various compounds within a tea. They suggest looking for teas which are high in these compounds in order to provide maximum contribution to the character of the tea. The reference eludes me at the moment, but I'll try and dig it up. I found it correspondent with the notion of looking for teas with "lots in the cup".

2007 Xizihao "Yiwu Chahuang" and "Kuzhushan"

Lucky us, blue skies today.

It's not been so fine since the Venerable Norpel visited, many weeks ago. Spring must be with us... and with spring, a new year of teas. Whetting our appetites in anticipation of their arrival, two Xizihao productions of last year.

These two teas are not-too-distant cousins, both being from the south of Yunnan. The "Kuzhushan" [Bitter Bamboo Mountain] tea was grown in the Simao region (Jing Gu town), not a million miles from the Yiwu area, where the "Yiwu Chahuang" [tea emperor] was grown.

Below, the Kuzhushan leaves - a contrasting mix of very dark and very light leaves that reminds me of the 2006 Xizihao "Banzhang". Whilst being similarly tippy and gently sweet in aroma, this one contains large segments of stalk:

Both teas are similar in price (from Houde), where it looks as if they have been advertised for quite some time, but they appear to have slipped quietly by - not even Houde has a product description of the Chahuang (pictured below). As ever, pretty and well-scented leaves abound...

Drinking tea means very much to me at the moment. These days, I find myself almost permanently entrenched at my computer, either at home or in my office, working on my thesis (see below). Tea provides a lovely means of escape back into the Real World, while also giving me invaluable time with my dear (and very patient) wife. The soothing ritual of doing something entirely manual is a fine way to dispel the concerns of research and writing, while the tea itself has a brightening and sharpening effect on the concentration well-loved by meditative monks through the centuries.

The Yiwu Chahuang (above) is a fine tea. The aroma in the wenxiangbei promises good things in its longevity and complexity, which are delivered in the soup: highly effervescent on the tongue, rich tobacco, with a sweet note to finish. With the 2007 Xizihao "Puzhen", it is very satisfying. It is dominated by a youthful acidity the likes of which I have not encountered for some time, but tires early - I boost later infusions with a small amount of extra leaf, which brings back some welcome tobacco.

The Kuzhushan (below) is a different beast. In early infusions, the brew itself has a green tinge, which doesn't fill me with confidence. It is similarly energetic to its cousin, suggesting that the maocha is of decent quality, is sweet in the throat, and provokes a penetrating huigan (to which Houde's notes accurately attest). It shows pleasantly sweet character, but becomes very simply very quickly.

San He Tang have got into the habit of selecting very well-handled leaves; compared with their earlier teas, they are clearly insisting on good leaf integrity from their suppliers. The Yiwu Chahuang is shown below - the leaves are of good thickness, removing concerns about overfarming.

The Kuzhushan leaves have fared less well, as shown below.

Were I to take a blind taste test, I would recommend the Yiwu Chahuang - especially if, like me, you enjoy a fairly chunky cup of tobacco and sweetness. (I bought some of this tea for storage.)

In that same blind taste test, I would assume that the Kuzhushan is a Changtai or 6FTM cake regular-grade cake - it's pleasantness would place it highly in such company, but, compared to its cousin, it pales.

When we consider the similar pricing of the cakes, the decision is further polarised in favour of the Yiwu Chahuang.

Refreshed, it's back to the thesis...

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Addendum
August, 2013

It seems that I paid a then-substantial $85 for this cake back in 2007...

This was perhaps the last year in which I was closely engaged with Xizihao, after which the bubble burst.  This particular cake gives me some very fond memories, not least of which are those from the humble desk at which I wrote much of doctoral thesis, pictured earlier in this article.

Again, as is my wont, the cake is untouched, suggesting that I tried only the sample.

The big leaves are dark, with a superb dark-plum scent.  This tea is both welcoming and encouraging, and seems to have "woken" nicely in the humid summer air.

The colour was once dazzling yellow, and the cool-and-humid English climate has acted to change this to an orange shade.  The scent in the wenxiangbei [aroma cup] is a good Yiwushan sweetness, with a low base and hints of malty age.  Its body remains strong and sweet, with a kick.  Underneath runs the heavy and delicious base of potent tobacco that caused me to love it so much originally.

A cooling sensation of good leaves fills the mouth.  The humid English climate seems to have nurtured and developed this tea, in its gradual way; the relatively low temperatures have prevented it reddening, which reminds me that Northern Europeans need to be patient when it comes to aging tea.

As the session continues, the colour of the soup darkens, and its woody, sharp, sweet, cooling, thick qualities abound.  The strong base of tobacco is "just my cup of tea".

It is encouraging to see solid little cakes going in the right direction.  It's not quite Wisteria Teahouse, but it is certainly good fun.

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Addendum
June, 2015

Short notes, in passing: this tea is now solid, sweet, and settled in age.  It is obviously very good.