This is a very long-stranded, fibrous tea. I didn’t get anything much of aroma from it dry, though. I actually weighed this into the infuser, according to the 1 g per 100 ml instruction on the box. I forget the exact figures now, but it may have been 4 g (I checked the volume of water in a mug, first, and calculated accordingly). It seemed a hell of a lot of tea, probably two or three ‘haystack’ teaspoonfuls; it’s very light, of course—when I unpacked it I couldn’t get the full 100 g into a 100 g caddy. I brewed it for three minutes (the box says 2 – 5 minutes). Looking at the notes I wrote above, ten years ago, this batch is very similar to what it was then.
It made a very intensely-coloured dark red-brown brew—quite opaque.
There is a comparatively strong and very complex aroma to it. I get sweet hay, chocolate, something of aromatic herbs, something of the smell of hot pizza dough, freshly-mown lawns and something dry and slightly peppery which I find difficult to pin down. Weirdly, it seems slightly different each time I smell it.
There is all that in the mouth, not so clearly-differentiated, perhaps, and also something rather refreshing—perhaps just a tiny hint of something like mint or menthol or similar—again, difficult to name precisely—that I become aware of lingering in the mouth some time after I’ve had a mouthful. As I get to the bottom of the cup and the tea is getting quite cool, that note becomes noticeable in the aroma, too.
I like this very much, but I’m not sure I should be drinking this before breakfast as it seems a bit too refined and classy and I’m not sure that my morning toast and egg wouldn’t spoil the experience. This cries out for one to sit down with it alone and really savor it. In the hot weather we are having, this seems just the thing to sit down with when I’m having a break during the day.
I brewed a second infusion for three minutes. I waited until after I’d had my breakfast, flossed my teeth and taken a walk down to the local post box and back, just to be more sure my mouth was ready for it.
It is still an intensely red-brown brew, but lightened just enough for me to see that it’s quite clear—intensely-coloured as opposed to muddy.
I don’t think the aroma is as strong as with the first infusion, but, again, it seems slightly different each time I sniff. I can’t really taste much difference. If anything, the flavour is a fraction stronger. After swallowing, there is a range of notes processioning by the taste buds for a full five seconds or more—definitely more.
Now I’m a fair way down the cup and it’s much cooler, the aroma seems stronger, especially that ‘refreshing’ note. I’m not sure if each sip doesn’t taste slightly different, in addition to the nose varying … fascinating. It’s just occurred to me that the ‘refreshing’ note is reminiscent of the smell of dried basil.
I don’t really want any more tea but I’m going to make a third brew just for curiosity. And the colour is as intense as the second infusion, but with oily patches on the surface. I don’t think the aroma is much different to the second brew. But the mouth is; it’s noticeably weaker—perhaps a third brew is one too many.
This is really excellent, special stuff. It cries out to be savoured on its own—given one’s full attention and not accompanied by food, biscuits or whatever—a treat rather than everyday drinking. Having said that, at £25 a 100 g the price cries out for those things as well. Even without the price, I’ve been feeling a little ashamed about my half-pint mug—it feels definitely disrespectful to this tea. I need to dig out a delicate, little cup and saucer, if I still own such items.
