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As a tea barbarian, I’ve braved the slings and arrows of young adult life leaning on flavored teas prepared so recklessly and uncaringly as to taste less pleasant and complicated than the concerningly flavorful supply of tap water in which it was made. This is a sure way to forget what tea tastes like, why it should be consumed, or what the meaning of life may be. Changing that begins with two things, and those are, firstly, a tea whose only flavors are the ones god gave it, and secondly, the ultimate symbol of status and sophistication: one faithful Brita filter to moderate the charming savor of PFAs.

The vendor says 175F so that’s what I gave it. It’s just as agreeable at 200F. The actual weight of tea used is anybody’s guess, including my kitchen scale’s, which seems to be notably receptive to the suggestion of minor adjustments to the position of the leaves on it. “3 grams? Or maybe 4 grams. What do you think? I guess it could be 2. 5 grams if you insist.” Assuming the FDA isn’t stopping in for a cup, I imagine that will do fine.

This tea is delicious after steeping for 3 minutes, but it’s also delicious after steeping for 2 days, so there’s that. It brews up crisp and clear, revealing a mellow tint of marigold the longer you let it play. The understated aroma of citrus and spices is a preview of the taste – each sip a gentle cruise over smooth waters scintillating with unexpected sweetness. The whole, unbroken buds are delightfully soft before steeping, like eager little ferrets in silky cashmere sweaters. I never strain these out because they’re a playfully bitter and irresistibly tender little snack, and anyway it would be a crime not to challenge this tea in all its forms through its own veritable Crucible of steeping abuses like a fresh recruit of the United States Marine Corps. I have a feeling this tea would come through just fine if you steeped it in a grease fire.