Winston H. A. Remmington III Send Message

Praised be the astute and venerable person who originated the aphorism “good things come in small packages!” This satisfyingly rich mixture is indeed a small gustatory marvel! When I began to open the package, I could at once sense that this tea would be so. As my heart rate began to reach a seemingly inordinately rapid pace for the opening of a tea package, and as my agèd nerves once again felt the brisk and exhilarating quickness of youthful anticipation, I knew that this could be no common tea. And yea, I did experience this innate awareness again as I watched the small dainty balls of lightly compressed tea, each their own microcosms of a world of fantastic taste, fall with a supernatural grace into the seething water of my humble teapot. And oh, how right I was. The fine globes of tea slowly unfurled themselves, as does the dragon unfurl his long and noble body after a century’s worth of the most profound slumber, and as does the ivory-petal’d lily unfurl its soft beauty upon a bright world in glorious springtime. When Father Time did turn his hourglass at three and a half minutes to signal the completion of the tea’s deeply moving steeping process, I rushed to grab my cup to taste and behold this sweet and velvety chocolate wonder. The water in the pot had turned a shade of amber rich enough to surpass that of the jewels of Baltic princesses from the days of empires, and beautiful enough to rival the ethereal splendour of the wide Jordanian deserts.

This tea was such a warming, rich, sweet delight that I utterly neglected to pause Lawrence of Arabia when it automatically resumed on my television. It is no matter however; I own the film, but I only own a finite amount of this exquisite and aptly named Black Dragon Pearl tea. [My deepest apologies to the distinguished Mr. O’Toole…]

As I imbibed this buttery tea bursting with flavorful sugar and memories of warm crisp delights, the mysteries and enigmas of the universe were elucidated for me. There was only light; pure, soft light, as silken as the belly of a fur seal and as healing as the perfumed fountains of Mesopotamian princes of old.

I weep as I drink, I weep for the lamb-like boy I once was, brimming with curiosity and armed with a brave stomach capable of consuming dozens of sugar cookie bites without end.

Although the vulgar appellation given to this tea shocked me to the deepest core of my refined sensibilities, I was obligated to but try some, as it was a gift from my granddaughter who is alas too young to appreciate that which is finer in life than “monkey farts.” The mere act of typing out those two heinous words causes me to go cold inside.

But yea, I am deeply moved by this tea! So moved in fact, that only the Immortal Bard himself could adequately describe what I feel for this tea! What deep and full flavour! How truthful it is to that of succulent, creamy banana!

Of this ambrosial brew shall I never tire!

The moment the swimming gossamer surface of this heavenly tea did touch my heathen parchèd lips, I felt an instant sense of airy jubilation accompanied by the distinctive tang which is solely felt through sampling that which is of the Gods, with a touch of Goodwill towards All Mankind mixed in for good measure. I was immediately transported back to my childhood days of simple joy and naïveté in the lush primeval paradise that is the Garden of England, or for the ignorant among us here, Kent.

Such a sensorial pleasure is this tea that I dare not drink it in public for fear of losing what dignity that has been afforded to me by Providence.