Tag Archives: Teahouse

Brewing pu-erh in a relaxed style

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(IMAGE: The leathery leaves of a late 90s shou pu-erh, ready to be brewed in a relaxed style on a late summer’s day.)

Dear beloved blog readers,

As the last hot days of summer begin to shed themselves, the heat gives way to light breezes. In classical Japanese, the saying 天地始粛 (“てんちはじめてさむし”,”tenchi hajimete samushi”), literally “Earth and Sky begin to cool”, was often invoked to describe this natural phenomenon and is often met with a sense of relief. During these days, as the summer heat wanes, my tea brewing sessions tend to become more relaxed. No more is this more evident than in my approach to brewing pu-erh.

Brewing pu-erh (for most folks I’ve met in my travels) tends to be a pretty relaxed practice. Pu-erh is one of the most commonly consumed teas within China and has even become popular in Korea and, more recently, in the United States. In China, this is the tea that I will see people casually drink, paring it either with a meal (the whole act of eating dim sum in Guangdong evolved around drinking this type of tea, the meal is referred to as “yum cha” or “drink tea” in Cantonese), conversation, or just hanging out. As a result, the way I find most people drinking pu-erh tends to be quite laid back.

Today I find myself brewing a pot of pu-erh in this casual manner. For this, I’ve selected a basic “house pu-erh” that I had helped to bring in from China years ago. It is a very straight-forward medium-sized leaf shou pu-erh, picked and processed in the late 90s. The color of the dry leaves are typical of this type of tea: dark and leathery with bright orange-tan tea buds here and there, as well as the occasional stem (which helps to lend a sweet, “woody” flavor to the tea). Given its age, the tea should be very smooth.

I’ve paired the tea with a “Pearl of China” teapot, a classic shape for a yixing teapot. The spherical shape is perfect for this type of tea, allow the leaves to spin freely within the pot. Once the leaves settle, they should have enough room to open up.

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(IMAGE: A “Pearl of China” zisha yixing teapot for brewing shou pu-erh. This teapot has been brewing shou pu-erh in it for the past 5-6 years.)

The key to brewing pu-erh in a relaxed manner is to keep it simple: I will use just one kettle, one teapot, and one cup. Nothing else. The kettle will come to a boil and I will brew the tea. I will not be concerned with the time it takes to brew the tea nor the temperature it is brewed at. The teapot, which has relatively thick walls, will keep the tea at a pretty even temperature. The first steeping will be short, as long as it takes for water to evaporate off of the teapot, after which I will pour only a fraction out into my teacup. The remaining tea in the teapot will remain until I top-off the teapot for a second cup. As I continue to brew, the water from the kettle will naturally become cooler and, as such, I may lengthen the time of subsequent steepings.

The result of brewing in this fashion produces a liqueur that varies in intensity. The first steeping will tend to be quite light, expressing the woody notes of the tea. As the tea continues to brew, the flavors will deepen and the dark berry, earth, and loam notes will emerge. By the fifth or sixth steeping, this tea becomes quite dark, almost as dark as ink or black coffee. In some way, there is even a heartiness to this tea that surpasses coffee, both in its complexity and punch it delivers. By the twelfth steeping, the pu-erh begins to sweeten and brighten in color, shifting from a dark ebony to a light rose. The remaining flavors are almost sugary, akin to a yellow tea.

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(IMAGE: The first steeping of many of a late 90s shou pu-erh. The color of the liqueur is considerably lighter than subsequent steepings, offering notes of dry wood and fruit.)

On a late summer’s day, brewing tea in this manner just seems natural. As always, I am curious how you brew your pu-erh. Is it closely tended to? Or, is it like how I have done so today, casually steeped and enjoyed with the passing of one season into the next?

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Filed under Pu-erh, Tea Tasting, Travel

Drinking tea by oneself: appreciating Korean tea

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(IMAGE: Assorted implements for making Korean green tea… plus a Korean celadon water dripper for enjoyment)

Dear beloved blog readers,

I love Korean tea. Those close to me know this well. Those even closer know that I will go to great lengths to find this too-often-rare tea.

Today, I find myself sitting in the north-west facing room of my New York apartment enjoying a 2016 semi-wild jakseol Korean green tea (nokkcha) grown in Jirisan. The tea is a gift from a dear friend, a tea house proprietor in Seoul who, after many years of not seeing one another, had sent me the tea as a token of our long-distance friendship. As I sit and sip, I am left to remember those early days when I was first exposed to Korean tea.

Somewhere around 2008-2010, I began to travel to South Korea. Arriving there first in the dead of winter, the bitter cold of Seoul literally almost killed me (succumbing to high fevers that kept me bed-ridden for a solid week). Once out of my illness-induced stupor, I began to wander the streets of Seoul’s renowned (albeit rather touristy) tea market district of Insadong. Escaping the neighborhood’s flashy veneer down its rambling alleyways, I happened upon a few reputable sources of Korean ceramics and tea.

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(IMAGE: A grey-blue drip-glaze Korean tea set atop a wooden Korean tea tray)

Having already been captivated by the beauty of Korean ceramics long ago, I soon began to recognize the qualities inherent in Korean tea. Much like the celebrated tea ware used to enjoy it with, Korean tea seemed at first simple, rough, and lacking refinement. However, in the aesthetics of Korean tea, this roughness is merely the result of the appreciation of a “natural” approach to things. Whole leaves are often left closer to their natural state when compared to their Chinese and Japanese counterparts. Likewise, there seems to be an emphasis on retaining the “wildness” of some teas, especially those coming from the ancient tea farms of Jirisan in Hadong County. The flavors present, whether the tea is green, partially oxidized, black, compressed, or event ground (as is in the case of malcha), tend to have a pronounced minerality to them, which is both refreshing and unique to Korean teas.

Happening into the Sam Hwa Ryung tea house (which was and still is my favorite tea house in Seoul), I was given unrivaled access to excellent Korean teas (they also have amazing ceramics there as well). The proprietor, quickly recognizing my love of tea and interest in Korean tea, began to serve me the various varieties of tea produced in Jirisan, as well as introduce me to noted tea scholars within Seoul. Upon my second trip to South Korea, she began to connect me with tea farmers, sending me down to visit their farms nestled within the lush Hwagae Valley. Needless to say, this was an experience of a lifetime (which I may end up describing in more detail within a later blog post).

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(IMAGE: View of 2016 semi-wild jakseol tealeaves and assorted implements for making tea)

Today drinking the tea she sent me instantly takes me back to that time and place. The tea, as mentioned, is a 2016 semi-wild jakseol (“Sparrow’s Tongue”) from the farms in Jirisan. Like many wild and semi-wild teas, there are qualities within this tea that do not exist within the more-cultivated teas of Korea (mostly coming out of the Boseong and and Jeju-do growing regions). The leaves are more irregular (albeit, they are quite small, being an early spring-picked jakseol) and produce a bright, clean flavor. Unlike the intensely vegetal or umami Japanese green teas, or the more floral Chinese green teas, this tea is balanced with flavors ranging from limestone to (as I’ve heard others describe) egg white, with only the slightest grassy note. Unlike its Chinese or Japanese counterparts, this tea (and most Korea green teas) seems to perform well at higher temperatures.

While I often don’t wax poetic while drinking tea, I am always reminded of a stanza from the 1830 Dashinjeon (“The Story of the Tea God”) by the Seon Buddhist monk Cho’ui. In it he said:

“When drinking tea, fewer guests in attendance are better. With more guests, it becomes noisy, and loses the right ambience. Drinking tea by oneself is feeling the wonders of god; drinking tea with two is sharing the ultimate joy; drinking tea with three or four is fine and comforting; drinking tea with five or six is nothing more than plain; drinking with seven or eight is just doing a favor for others.”

There is something true to what Cho’ui said. Enjoying tea alone seems to allow the tea to speak to you more clearly. In the case of this particular tea, it speaks volumes.

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(IMAGE: A look at the pale liqueur of the 2016 semi-wild jakseol Korean green tea)

NOTE: Quote from Dashinjeon was taken from the excellent book The Book of Korea Tea: A Guide to the History, Culture and Philosophy of Korean Tea and the Tea Ceremony” by Yang-Seok Yoo, 2007.

 

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Filed under Ceramics, Education, Green Tea, Korea, Poetry, Tea Tasting, Travel

I’m Going to China: Where Should I Go?

For almost a year now, I’ve been saying to my friends and family, “I’m going to China.”   Continue reading

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Filed under Travel