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Scent wise, this is very peachful and sweet with vanilla. The dry tea itself is not as beautiful as many other flavoured greens from Lupicia – there’s the occasional petal, but I see no trace of the cornflower and there are no discernible pieces of fruit.

Peach and vanilla with floral notes is everything I love in a cup – so it’s a shame the flavour is so subtle. The first sip, to me, is gorgeous, but my palate familiarizes itself with the main taste notes so quickly, it turns just a little bit too bland a little bit too fast.

Still, when I want a mellow, vanilla-infused peach, this is good tea.

[Purchased at Lupicia in Honolulu, December 2012.]

Lupicia’s fruity teas tend to be the standard by which I measure all others – I love their strong scents and sweet, juicy flavours – and most of all the fact that said scents and flavours hardly ever hit artificial notes. They’re such happy, friendly teas.

Sometimes, however, I want a tea that is somewhat more subdued in the flavour department, with a high-quality green base and a mellower fruit note. In terms of vanilla, Le Palais des Thés managed to maintain this balance very nicely in their Thé vert à la vanille, and I was excited to see how La Poire would fare.

In the bag, the pear is a perfect, natural pear, with a strong presence of green leaf – I found myself enjoying how intricately the two intermingle, to the extent that the usual three-sniff approach turned into more of a tensniffer.

In the cup, it’s equally satisfying. It’s a beautiful green laced with pear – the fruit is neither omnipresent nor static, bur rather surprises you at each sip; sometimes fully there, sometimes more elusive.

Like in the case of Kusmi’s lemon-ginger, I will remain on the lookout, but until I find the pear tea that renders all others obsolete, this will be my staple.

[Purchased at Le Palais des Thés in Tel Aviv, June 2013.]

This tea is lush in the bag, petals and fruit pieces participating without being showy, and it smells absolutely gorgeous.

What I usually say about Lupicia’s fruity/floral green teas coming off as very natural and fresh applies here, too. There is nothing artificial about the scent, which consists of a concentrated, ripe fruity base with hints of red berries, pineapple and mango, paired with a light floral note.

Lupicia are uncharacteristically vague in their description of the flavour, but the conceptual island flowers and tropical fruits do sum it up very accurately.

In terms of scent notes carrying through from the bag to the cup, this tea succeeds where Apple & Berry (which I talked about here http://steepster.com/annchen/posts/184943) failed.

I enjoy this very much – it’s a lovely tropical green and a perfect tea for summer.

Excellent re-steep.

[Purchased at Lupicia in Kyoto, July 2013.]

I can’t quite explain this tea. I stumbled over the just-opened Mariage Frères store in London in the fall. I sniffed my way through everything they had. I definitely wasn’t going to buy another rooibos. The only thing I walked away with was this.

What gives, Anna?

I gifted the one I bought to a person who doesn’t really like rooibos at all (but who hilariously hogged it to the extent that the wildest excuses were made to not share any of the tea at all). I then returned in the spring and did EXACTLY THE SAME THING (?!) but kept the tea for myself this time.

It’s nowhere near as pretty as the picture above – forget about seeing even half a rose petal. The scent isn’t particularly strong; there’s a solid, lavender-strewn body with a slight hint of something indistinguishable and vaguely exciting.

It’s not an exceptional tea. It’s an elegant, smooth rooibos that hits a surprisingly bright shade brewed. It tastes… just like it smells.

And yet is has that thing. A wild card, a ghost note, a secret, two pinches of je ne sais quoi.

And I can’t explain it.

And I can’t stop drinking it.

[Purchased at Mariage Frères in London, May 2013.]

This is tea #3 from the selection of four I first talked about in this post: http://steepster.com/annchen/posts/184829

I’ve had various golden needle teas before, but I’ve never brewed them myself. The long, spiky leaves aren’t really ideal for a one-cup infuser, but it worked out. I was struck by a brief wave of OCD desire to steep them vertically, but I managed to control myself.

Dry, this tea is very much a noseful of hay. Not dry, dead, hay, though, but grassy, sweet and springy. In the cup, it’s a very nice, smooth, elegant black. This is the kind of tea I’d keep at home, if I wanted to have a good basic black tea around – not overly characteristic, but with more sophistication and appeal than the average bag of leaves.

But, as it happens, I don’t feel much of a need to keep a good basic black around. I want more complexity and more surprises. I’ve finished the cup, and it was definitely nice and smooth – yes. I can see myself finishing the roughly 2 oz. I have left, potentially in a breakfast situation – yes. But it doesn’t really excite me, and there are many teas I would pick over it. My lower rating, in other words, has to do with my own preferences and not so much with the quality of the tea itself.

[Purchased/gifted at Teavana in Honolulu, January 2013.]

I find this (Christmas sale) tea frustrating. It’s full of promise – it’s beautifully chunky with fruit and it smells so, so good. There’s just no way all that lusciousness could be lost on the way to the cup.

And yet it is.

Following the on-bag instructions for the hot brew produces a nearly incomprehensibly bland tea. It’s completely flat, with a vague fruity note.

Cooling it, on the other hand, does enhance the flavour, but brings out a bitterness so pronounced it’s like a punch in the face.

I’m so frustrated I’m considering roasting it lightly in the oven and eating it dry as a snack, or an ice cream topping. It seriously can’t be any worse than drinking it.

[Purchased at Teavana in Honolulu, January 2013.]

What I wrote about basic, everyday rooibos teas in this note is applicable here as well: http://steepster.com/teas/tehornan/39015-champagne-gradd-champagne-and-cream

This was my go-to rooibos in the fall, and consequently I have only just a little left. I thought I’d top this canister right up again, but after drinking it nearly back-to-back with the champagne and cream from the same store, I find myself liking that one just a little bit better.

This is similar in that it isn’t overly rooibos:y, and that it has some complexity to it, but I miss the aromatic headiness of the other cup. Still, this is along the lines of what I look for in a sturdy rooibos. The dry tea itself is pretty, studded with whole berries, and the scent has a lightness to it that I really enjoy.

[Purchased at Tehörnan in Uppsala, fall 2012.]

This is the first apple tea I tried (that wasn’t of the super-sweetened Turkish variety) that I really enjoyed. To my nose, there is nothing artificial about the scent of the leaves – this is exactly what it smells like when you’re in your autumn kitchen, peeling harvested apples for jams and chutneys. Long, fragrant ribbons of tart apple peel spiraling to the floor. Dipping my nose into a sample of Tsugaru green, I can almost feel the stickiness on my fingertips.

I’ve said it before, but this is what Lupicia tend to do so well – steer clear of even the slightest note of artificiality.

The flavour is a perfect, mild apple. There is some tartness, but not the kind of tartness all too often found in certain berry teas – the kind that hits your tongue just before you sip the tea down, at the very moment you thought you were safe. No, this is a tonge-tip tartness, dissolving into sweet fruit. I like to let this tea cool a bit to get more flavour out of it. I have yet to try it iced.

Good re-steep.

[Purchased at Lupicia in Honolulu, December 2012.]

Note to self: add an English translation when this #¤%&/(! month long n00b ban wears off.

Oh, this poor tea. Forgotten at the back of the cupboard. Best before July 2012. Then again, the bags are individually packed in plastic, and what could possibly be better than some half-stale, artificially flavoured rooibos in the evening? It’s organic, after all!

Flavour wise, very wet cardboard. That might just be age, though, but decrepitude is hardly to blame for the somewhat vile artificial vanilla.

No, dumping the remaining bags into the emergency travel tea kit. (It’s so ‘emergency’ I think there might even be some Lipton in there. In other words, fit for the apocalypse.)

Instant pour-out.

[Purchased in Gothenburg a very very long time ago.]

So this is the local Uppsala blend – I don’t know if it’s specific for Tehörnan, or if I can find it in other tea shops around town.

I got it as a gift when I bought something else – this is definitely not something I would pick out. It smells vaguely spicy in the bag, the strongest note being cinnamon. In the cup, it’s pretty much the same. Black, generic tea with a hint of cinnamon.

In other words, completely pointless. It might be tastier with milk, but I don’t think it has enough character to make an iced Japanese-style milk tea off, which is what I prefer in terms of milk additions.

Definite instant pour-out.

[Gifted at Tehörnan in Uppsala, fall 2012.]