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I was busy losing my mind last night, so I couldn’t really write a review until today.

There’s scene in Field of Dreams where Timothy Busfield’s character, after trying in vain for most of the movie to get Ray to sell the farm, turns to his sister, eyes finally open, and says “when did these ballplayers get here?” And that pretty much sums up my summer of pu, tasting shengs, one after the other, too bitter too smoky too grassy too harsh too strong not for me, not for me. But I kept coming back. You’d think that at some point, more than a dozen teas in and well enough money spent, I’d stop. But I could not.

And then eventually there was a spark of something – some tea that wasn’t so bitter, not so displeasing to my palate. And so I tried more. I went back and tried teas I didn’t like, and tasted what wasn’t there before. Now, there’s nothing at all strange about a person’s palate changing. When I was younger I hated sprouts and broccoli rabe, now I love them both. While it’s odd how quickly it happened with respect to tea, the really strange thing I’m talking about here is the sense of familiarity that just never stopped nagging at me, never allowed me to walk away. Now, don’t ask me why that is. An Italian girl growing up in New Jersey for whom tea was something to be suffered through black with honey and cream and sugar, and only when sick – why now this thing with pu’er? It’s like when I met my wife, she was everything I never knew I always wanted. She grew up on another continent, in another culture, but when we met we were both home.

Which, strangely enough, brings me to Poundcake. Why, when I tasted Poundcake last night, did I freak out, run all over my house, ranting like a loon, drinking and drinking more, well into the evening, and not sleeping much despite having to work today? Pardon my salty language, but what the actual fuck is going on here? Maybe that doesn’t matter. Maybe I’ve entered some strange and wonderful tea portal. Maybe I just need to chill out and drink more tea. You know, go the distance.

Now that my metaphysical rambling is done, I need to go send an email to Shoeless 2Dawg Jackson about getting more of this tea.