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Ana was right, this is almost too good cold-steeped. Hot, many of Lupicia’s teas are fun, happy, playful teas to me – but cold, just as many reach this whole new level of exquisite. This is one of those teas, and it’s a huge treat to get to try it with the last (almost, I think there’s enough for one cup left) of my leaf.

The sweetness and the vanilla notes in this one really come through in the cold brew and I absolutely love it. This tea needs a higher rating, and shall hence be awarded five more points.

I’ve been ridiculously busy – lousy timing, since I have samples from the ever-amazing Ysaurella that I want to try and write elaborate tasting notes for, but, alas, no such luck.

Okay, so looking back at the previous notes for this, I’ve really fiddled about with the rating. And it’s seemingly a never-ending story, because I’m going to nudge it back up to 90. I love this tea, and until I find a better pear tea (if ever) I want to keep it around.

The leaf is beautiful, the tea itself is fresh and clean and natural-tasting, and I enjoy it very much.

So much, in fact, that this tasting note will have to cover the four cups I’ve had over the course of the past two days.

I wasn’t going to drink this until tomorrow, but it was so appley and all-around tasty already that I couldn’t resist. Great tea for a cold steep – light, fresh, and crisp, like drinking a liquefied apple cloud. (Which, I guess, would technically be an apple rain, but nevermind.)

Perfection.

This tea, this tea, this tea. I know exactly when I first made it, how cool the counter was against my fingertips, where we went for dinner that day, what the text message I wrote just then said (you were barely awake; maybe I woke you up; oh you), and what this smelled like.

Exactly what this smelled like.

When I find a new scent or flavour, and it’s one of my scents or flavours, it feels like coming home; like simultaneously burrowing into myself and stepping outside myself. It’s one of the best feelings. There’s a distant little click as one of my puzzle pieces snaps into place and I am nudged one step closer to completion.

This one is also still very good, in spite of having been a travel tea on more than one occasion. I think there’s enough left for a cold steep of this one as well. I didn’t think I’d drink cold tea again for a while, but it’s 15 C/59 F in Rome, and very balmy; it might as well be spring.

I really love Lupicia’s peach flavour.

Oh, these were the saddest leftovers – just tea dust, really, enough for one cup, barely. And forgotten in a plastic bag since some time in October, no less. Insanely, it smells great, and tastes quite acceptable. Still my favourite strawberry.

Thankfully, I restocked when I was in Santa Clara, but I clearly don’t need to open that one for a while.

[Purchased at Lupicia in Honolulu, December 2012.]
[Polished off in Rome, January 2014.]

This is the last of this – me and my friend did a good job cleaning out the most of this tin when we were huddled under the covers in autumnal Venice. It did an exceptional job being our foremost biennale tea, however.

This is a potential restock in spite of its lower grade, because it’s been with me for so long (and we’ve done so much together, on three continents, no less) that I feel very attached to it.

Maybe next time the berries will show up for the party.

[Purchased at Lupicia in Honolulu, December 2012.]
[Polished off in Rome, January 2014.]

It’s been a while since I had this – I’ve been too busy trying new teas. I’m impressed by how well Lupicia’s flavoured greens have held up for this 1+ year I’ve had them. This one has lost some scent and flavour, but it’s far from flat or stale.

Either way, it’s time to start cleaning out the old Lupicia stash, so I’m cold-steeping some for tomorrow.

Rose can be really tricky for me – I got this one mostly on a whim. It’s one of the prettiest teas I’ve ever seen – it’s mostly rose buds, really, so it looks more like a potpourri. The same notion is very present nose wise as well – it smells like a high-end rose potpourri.

Obviously I assume it would be like drinking a potpourri as well (I think I just broke the record for the most times I’ve ever used the word ‘potpourri’ in one day.) but alas, I was wrong. The flavour is far more subtle and complex than that. I don’t get individual, discernible champagne and/or cream notes, but for me, they rather add to the complexity of the floral tea as a whole. It’s a very cohesive tea, all flavours weaving together nicely.

In spite of this tea not quite being for me, and much like the case of With Open Eyes from the same company, I think this is probably the rose tea to end all rose teas for those so inclined – it should definitely be tried by rose fans.

[From my Butiki order to Santa Clara, October 2013.]

This tea would have fared better if it hadn’t been the last stop on my Dammann Frères journey. It’s a bit unfair, I know – I will try my best to keep an open mind. It’s just that both the dry tea and the steeped tea are saturated with this – as I have now come to know it – unmistakable DF perfume.

I can’t really explain it, but it’s this opulent, contrived richness that just seems inescapable. It’s the tea equivalent of orientalizing, exoticizing 19th-century art, pretending to be something it’s not, glorifying something that shouldn’t be glorified.

I guess the evident response would be, ’It’s just tea,’ but I don’t think we should make it too easy on ourselves.

Either way, this is a beautifully scented fruity black. In the cup there’s a light peach-apricot presence, some floral notes, and a smooth vanilla to round it off. Again – and this is turning into a bit of a broken record, I know – DF’s vanilla isn’t really my favourite. It’s a little too much, a little cloying, and has the slightest aftertaste of alcohol.

For someone who’s into elegant fruity blacks, though, this would be a perfect choice.

[From my epic Instant-Thé order to Rome, October 2013.]