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Until very recently, I was not really a fan of Senchas as I disliked what I found to be a slightly bitter and grassy after-taste. Being advised by a work colleague to steep the tea as normal and and throwing away the first infusion – i.e. only drinking the second and third infusion – was a revelation and I got a real taste for it.

Although I was aware that Madura had its tea plantations in Australia, I was amazed to learn that we had a small cottage industry of green tea. It would make sense in hinddsight as we have similar climates to parts of India and China although not the same amount of rainfall. I had read about The Tea Centre’s Australian-style sencha which is supposedly sweeter and milder than the Japanese Sencha, and having a rather nice tin with Sencha Tea embossed on the front that was yearning to be filled, I thought I would give it a try.

Opening the packet, the tea leaves are lovely long, somewhat uneven, dark blades of tea blended with light green stalks. I brewed the first infusion for a couple of minutes and let it sit for another couple of minutes before pouring into a French espresso glass. The colour is a pale and slightly luminous lime-green and there is no particular aroma to the tea apart from the vaguely ‘fishy’ or seaweed-like smell that put me off green tea for years. As for the taste, there is still that slightly bitter and almost acrid after-taste to it which seems to be inherent in Sencha teas. This is muted somewhat when I take smaller sips with plenty of air and if I don’t push my tongue to the roof of my mouth when I swallow. There is a slightly smokiness that I haven’t really noticed before except in Gunpowder teas. The smokiness is neither a positive or negative; on the plus side, it is definitely refreshing and thirst-quenching.

I don’t think I would care for honey or sugar in this. Some lemon or lime juice would probably counter the slight acrid taste.but there is no citrus in sight, unfortunately, in the two or three weeks since my doctor has put me on an Ayurvedic Kapha-pacifying eating plan which excludes citrus-fruits . . . thankfully tea is still ‘Kosher’.

And so, on to the second infusion which was steeped for the same amount of time with water at the same temperature. There doesn’t seem to be any real change to the colour of the tea or to the aroma. The slight bitterness has mellowed into the general smokiness of the tea and that after-taste has gone. I’m still not overly enthused about this tea. Maybe I’m missing the point and the bitterness and smokiness is what people love about Sencha?

Which brings us to the third infusion. Little change to the colour, and a slight trace of smokiness remains but there is a definite sweetness now which is quite enjoyable and still very refreshing. Over all, not bad and I will definitely drink again, but it really shouldn’t take two, if not three, infusions for tea to be worth drinking. Having said that, I appreciate that some of the finest oolongs need to be ‘rinsed’ once or twice so I will keep drinking this after throwing away the first infusion and see if it grows on me. After all, I should be supporting my native cottage industry!

This was one of the teas in a six-set Kusmi sampler that my parents brought back from their recent trip to Paris alongside some Damman Freres (although no Mariage Freres or hand-blown French tea pots . . . thanks, Mum!) although it is one of about ten Kusmi teas I have been interested in trying.

On initial inspection, the tightly rolled Gunpowder pellets are fairly even in size. The scent is rather strong, reminiscent of traditional boiled sweets or stodgy-English puddings and desserts. It’s not quite citrus and not quite caramel. The scent intensifies when hot water is poured into the tea pot.

After brewing for just under three minutes, the colour is a beautiful, light-caramel colour. My initial impression is that it’s an interesting blend, perhaps rather too complex to make more than the occasional appearance at afternoon tea. Perhaps future tastings may change this, but I find red fruits in my tea a little too intense to drink on a regular basis. The sweetness of the caramel tempers the earthy leatheriness of regular gunpowder tea and gives a full-bodied mouthfeel, the red fruits leaves a tingling sensation on the centre of the tongue between each mouthful, but I can’t really detect the vanilla.

It’s rather fitting that I’m drinking this very French tea – despite it’s Russian origins – out of those ubiquitous French espresso glasses which are just perfect for white, green and fruit teas. I would be interested in learning of any real connection that this tea has to St Petersburg, or is just one of a series of Kusmi teas bearing a Russian name? At any rate, I will definitely be trying this tea again, perhaps at a French-themed afternoon tea.

Tropical fruit in the Temperate and Polar zones, strawberries and currants in the tropics, wheat in the Americas, tomatoes and potatoes in the Old World: there’s a lot to be said for the modern day supermarket that allows what was once regional and season food to be available year round and worldwide. As a regular drinker of tea, and a curry addict, I would be the last person to criticise, but there has been something lost in contrast to what has been gained. There is a part of me that longs for the time when spices like pepper and cloves, or fruits like pomegranates and bananas, or other consumables like tobacco, could invoke a sense of the exotic, of faraway places like the glittering cities of Arabian Nights or fading lithographs of Cairo and Calcutta.

Which brings me ratherly neatly to this fruit tea by T2. Pomegranates were something I had never tried until recently, but was aware of from Greek mythology and Persian cuisine. The first time I tried it was when I went berserk in a spice store in London and spent about 100 pounds on various spices including dried pomegranate seeds. Unfortunately, the one or two occasions I had bought a pomegranate, it was so tasteless and colourless that I threw it out. An Iranian flatmate a couple of years ago had given me a small bottle of pomegranate molasses which I used in various pilafs and salads not just for its sweet and sour taste but also for its hint of the exotic east.

The description on the box says “The essence of the Turkish grand bazaar . . . a sweet, tangy and mystical flavour” which was enough to sell me. Sitting here nursing a glass, it got me thinking how even two or three generations back, my Scottish or Russian ancestors would never taste or perhaps even heard of foreign flavours like pomegranates, almonds, chillies, etc.

This tea is such a beautiful, deep red. There is the ubiquitous rosehip which I imagine is for the colour as much as the Vitamin C. Does it actually have a taste of its own? There is a full-bodies flavour, a touch of sweetness and a nice little tang of sourness. I wouldn’t mind a little bit more sourness to balance out the sweetness, but I realise a lot of people will refuse to drink anything that is bitter or sour whereas I quite enjoy having a range of strong flavours throughout my day – I can’t think of anything worse than the usual bland sweetness of the modern diet.

I really hope that there is something similar in the US and Europe, but for everyone in Australia this tea is worth trying. It makes a nice counterpart to Hibiscus tea, or lemon tea when you need a change from black or green tea.

Being in the middle of a heat wave, the various T2 stores in Sydney have different ice teas to try which has been an enjoyable part of my visits. I was interested to come across a flavour called “Turkish Apple” which seemed to be a component of many of the iced teas. Doing a little research on google, I learnt that this is a popular fruit tea in Turkey.

It is unfortunate that in England, and to a lesser extent Australia, that all of the many lovely tart apple varieties are disappearing from supermarket shelves due to the refusal of many children to eat fruit that’s not sweet. As children, my sister and I loved having mouth-puckering tart or sour fruits like various citrus fruits, pineapples and some varieties of apples alongside the more traditionally sweet fruit like, say, watermelon and mangoes. I also love various dishes, teas and tisanes from the Maghreb and Anatolia so with this in mind, I set off to the T2 store to purchase some of this Turkish Apple tea. On arrival, I was dismayed to learn that this apple tea is nothing more than sugar and nasty chemicals – if this was what I wanted, then I would just purchase a can of coke for a dollar rather than almost fifteen dollars for this tea. The leading brands of apple tea sold in Turkey and the Middle East were also just sugar and chemicals so I thought this was just going to be a write-off.

Chatting with some work colleagues, I was told about another apple tea by T2 called “Chunky Turkish Apple” which is pieces of dried apple and some apple flavouring, but no sugar or chemicals. I followed their directions to the letter – one teaspoon per 250gm and brew for two or three minutes – but what I got was just a drink that tasted very vaguely of apple juice almost completely diluted in hot water.

Before writing this off completely, I tried again but increased the amount of the Turkish Apple and the brewing time. This was more like it – a strong taste of apple, slightly astringent but perhaps could have been a little more tart. It brews almost completely clear with a thin film of natural oils at the top and a fairly generic “fruit” smell.

This makes a very good iced tea. I used five teaspoons of the apple, five teaspoons of T2 Very Berry and steeped in one litre of hot water for ten minutes with some slices of apple.

In future, I will experiment with making my own as it just seems to be dried apple pieces and flavouring so it will be significantly cheaper to prepare myself but I think this will become another ‘ethnic’ favourite alongside Moroccan Tea (with various combinations of mint, wormwood and orange blossom) and Chai.

I rarely find myself sitting at home craving a cup of orange-flavoured tea – or orange-flavoured anything, for that matter – which is unfortunate in some ways because this is a really nice little tea. A few weeks ago, I received a tin of Fortnum & Mason Christmas Tea and I had visions of drinking this tea around fairy lights and home made decoration, mince pies and dish after dish of delectable Christmas treats. This vision was shattered on the realisation that the tea was perhaps the most vile tea I had the misfortune to drink in many years. I offloaded all 200 grams of this tea onto a work colleague and the search was on for the perfect Christmas tea. For me, nothing says Christmas and Summer like cherries so I purchased a tea that was blended with cherries and chocolate but this was a bit too rich. On a whim, I purchased the blood orange blend on a recent visit to the Tea Centre in Sydney as I thought it would blend nicely with the cherry tea. As it turned out, it was absolutely revolting and the search for the perfect Christmas tea continues.

All this brings me to the Blood Orange tea. I can immediately smell the sweet, citrus when I open the packet. The tea is fairly uniform, with flecks of safflower and perhaps two or three pieces of dried orange zest for every couple of teaspoons of tea. After brewing for four minutes, this yields a strong, coppery liquor. There is no bitterness or astringency, and the taste of the orange is sweet but not cloying, with honey and vanilla tones. There is a slightly malty taste, and a nice full-bodied mouth feel. The orange taste is neither brisk nor flat, neither mellow nor bracing but perfectly balanced. The tea base is just right as well – flavoursome on its own terms, but sufficiently restrained for the oranges to yield their flavour. I’m not sure how this will taste with milk but I wouldn’t add sugar – although very lightly sweetened would make a nice dessert tea – and I definitely wouldn’t add lemon.

This rather unassuming tea will definitely be making welcome return appearances. I think this would be perfect with light cakes and biscuits for a garden tea party, and would make a nice after-dinner tea or with a dessert that’s not too strongly flavoured.

Despite being male and fairly indifferent to flowers – a 2010 visit to the Royal Hulticultural Chelsea Flower Show stands as one of the most tedious days out in recent memory – I have always loved the paradoxically pungent and delicate, earthy and transcendental fragrance of roses. I read once that the mystical scent of rosewater or rose otto is sufficient to open the third eye of a latent clairvoyant . . . I can attest to this, having been lost in thought for several moments with no awareness of the passing of time from smelling roses, transported to gardens in France or the Home Counties, or to bazaars and mosques in 1001 Nights. Even just the merest hint of rose, and I am lost in nostalgic memories of my Granddad’s Czech & Speake cologne or my Nan’s rosewater perfume and tonics.
But I digress.

It is a particularly balmy Summer’s day here in Sydney and I am sitting with a lukewarm cup of rose-scented tea. The rose fragrance is particularly strong and is only recommended for anyone partial to rose or floral-scented teas and suits the sweltering heat. The colour of the tea is a dark saffron, and flavour of the tea-base is full-bodied with hints of honey but otherwise fairly underwhelming. I would have loved a nice, nutty Keemun taste rather than the nondescript tea on offer here.

The tea does leave a somewhat acrid, chemical acrid aftertaste which leaves my tongue somewhat numb and tingling. This was particularly noticeable with the Twinings Rose Garden tea, to the extent that I found it really unpleasant and I put it down to Twinings usual poor quality of recent years. Perhaps this aftertaste is inherent in the rose petals themselves and a necessary trade-off for the fragrance so I won’t lower the rating for this, but I will have to deduct points for the uninteresting and flavourless tea base.

Twinings, you’ve broken my heart. After fifteen years of love and dedication, I can’t help but feel that there is some sort of je ne sais pas pourquoi . . . a distance growing between us. Where once every brewing pot was a joie de vivre, the thrill has gone and the experience is flat and uninspiring.

Take Earl Grey for instance. This was my Grandma’s tea of choice for everyday drinking; my Granddad was an anachronism – born a Scot but a Slav to the core, he preferred his Russian Caravans and his Lapsang Souchongs, brewed strong and black. It had to be loose leaf teaf and her preferred brand was Twinings and God help you if you served the tea in a mug or with milk. And so, over time, Twinings Earl Grey had also become one of my favourite blends. In fact, much as I enjoyed Russian Caravan, Prince of Wales and Ceylon Orange Pekoe, Earl Grey was my absolute favourite above all else and consumed throughout the day whereas the other blends were restricted to certain periods of the day.

If there was one thing that my ever so English Grandma despised – well, alongside the Scots despite marrying one, and the Irish despite having an Irish daughter-in-law and two Irish grandchildren (myself included – it was milk in Earl Grey. I actually enjoyed a splash of milk – it tempered the bergamot and I rarely drank tea black until the last year or so.

And therein lies the rub.

Milk and sugar tempers the tea, it eases the astringency and the tannins and harmonises the various flavours and tones much like salt does in food; and like salt, milk and sugar can also hides a multitude of sins – poor quality tea and ingredients, artifical or chemical tasting flavours and overpowering fragrances. Many teas which I use to enjoy with milk, I have found just not particularly enjoyable without. I can forgive blends like English and Irish breakfast, CTC blends or some of the Assam teas which are designed to be consumed with milk but I can’t turn a blind eye to a relatively expensive – although by no means a luxury or premium – brand that markets a tea designed to be consumed black.

There has been a lot of talk in the last couple of years of Twinings changing their Earl Grey blend in the UK and allegedly reformulating to a lesser extent their blend in other markets. There has also been mention of a gradual decline in Twinings products in the last ten years or so. I don’t know if this is necessarily true and perhaps my tastes have changed along with the way I consumed tea, but I now find the Twinings blend to be dull and flat. I love citrus fruits and the essential oils, whether it be eating the flesh of a blood orange, or a few drops of lemon or lime juice on food or in tea, the zest in salads and sweets, or the essential oils massaged into my skin on a summer’s day. Nothing seems to distill the essence of spring and summer like the fragrance of lemons. The scent is immediately uplifting and vivifying, so it seems wrong that a tea with the scent of the bergamot orange should be flat.

So I have started looking around for the perfect Earl Grey and will probably edit this post when I do a side by side comparison with three or four Earl Greys. Ideally, I would be looking for a strong bergamot which is pleasingly bitter and brisk, with an equally good strong tea base.

First on the list is the T2 Earl Grey. The very helpful lady in the Parramatta store gave me a whiff of the various Earl Greys available and suggested their standard EG blend. I tried a cup last night and I wasn’t overly impressed by it but I am sitting down now with another cup for review.

A few people had recommended a shorter brewing time with more water, so I steeped two teaspoons in 500ml of water rather than my usual 400ml. After three minutes, I took a few mouthfuls and while the bergamot was pretty close to perfect, the tea was so weak that I was essentially drinking bergamot oil in hot water, so I steeped for an additional minute.

The fragrance is beautifully strong which is just how I think it should be. Some people have commented that it is overwhelming, but this is down to individual taste and I love bergamot as noted above. The tea is serviceable, but the bergamot is the dominant taste – piquant and zesty, with gingery and slightly peppery tones, slightly bitter but an enjoyable, palatable bitterness. The colour is a strong, dark amber and the aroma is almost indentical to the taste.

I can’t say I enjoy the tea base, as this really needs to be full-bodied to stand up to and complement the bergamot. This tea base is mild with no real identity, which is all well and good if the bergamot was not as strong. I believe a strong bergamot really needs an equally strong tea base like a Ceylon Pettiagalla, but not as strong as, say, an Assam or a slightly smoked Chinese tea.

I will try my next cup with less water and brewed for three minutes and see if that makes a difference.

Although an avid tea drinker since the age of 19, I don’t think I’ve ever given Darjeeling the attention that the revered leaf deserves. My first experience was back in the days when Twinings teas were all available in loose leaf form – and I do mean every tea. In our humble little British outpost in the Southern Hemisphere, we had lovely little boxes in different colours for each tea with elegant fonts which more or less corresponded with the various editions of the tins. After “investing” – some would use a rather different description – all of my fortnightly student allowance on purchasing every single Twinings tea, I threw a tea party for my flatmates and one or two other friends who tolerated my various eccentricities. After sampling the usual suspects – the Earl Greys, the Irish Breakfasts, the Russian Caravans – the first unknown was the Darjeeling. I was vaguely aware that it was a former hill station during the golden days of the Raj, and that was the extent of my knowledge of Darjeeling . . . not exactly of much use when it came to the tea. We made the tea in the typical British/Australian manner – strong and with the addition of plenty of milk. Ok, not bad but somewhat weak and it didn’t marry with the tempting blurb on the box of having a “muscatel flavour” and being the “champagne of teas”. I called my Grandma for advice and was told that it is served black with a slice of lemon. Not being a fan of tea served black, we added plenty of lemon juice, drank half of it and then put the box back on display, never to be opened again.

Fast-forwarding a few years and living in England, I developed a taste for serving tea with meals. Still faithful to the Twinings brand, I served Irish or English Breakfast with the first meal of the day, and Assam or Keemun in the evening (or occasionally, Ceylon if I was enjoying a rasam or sambhar). For lunch, Twinings suggested a Darjeeling tea. If I had a small, plain meal – a sandwhich, or a salad for example – I loved having a cup of Darjeeling with its floral scent and delicate flavour. Due to my love of large, hot meals for lunch and my tendency of skipping lunch on weekends if I have a late breakfast, these Darjeelings were few and far between.

All this brings me – in my usual, florid round-about way – to this review. Of late, I have been exploring different tea regions and types of tea from green to black to flavoured/scented to pure, single estate teas as a result of the better quality water in Sydney compared to the hard water of London. Having found a Ceylon that I liked at the Tea Centre, I bought a 1st Flush Darjeeling on a whim. I vaguely recalled that the 1st Flush is usually more delicate and floral, and the 2nd Flush has a more pronounced flavour, but that was all I really knew. A 1st Flush was as good as any place to start.

The initial aroma is floral with a hint of cassia. It is reminiscent of elements of Japanese cuisine for some reason although for the life of me I can’t figure out why. The leaves are of various sizes, not uniform at all. Most of the leaves are the typical black colour, with a few leaves the colour of bark or cinnamon quills and the odd fleck of green. Brewed with boiling water for four minutes, a thin and bright liquor results. The floral aroma is still there, but the cassia has been replaced with the scent of an English gardens after a light rain – is that what they call Petriochor? Apparently “tippy” 1st Flush Darjeelings have this vegetal or grassy taste and aroma, so perhaps this is the Petriochor I can smell.

Taste-wise, it is a lightly-astringent and thin tea. The first time I tried it, the taste was somewhat musky and spicy which I was told was the muscatel. It left a taste in my mouth for hours afterwards and not a particularly pleasant taste either, but this has passed and one or two months later I am enjoying the occasional cup. The tea is a mellow, slightly fruity tea with a slightly sweet undercurrent.

The issue I have with this tea, is that it leaves me with the feeling of something being amiss. I am sure that there is no issue with the quality of the tea and maybe Darjeeling tea is just not for me. I think it is the thinness of the tea I find bothersome. Unlike a good Ceylon or Keemun, the taste of this tea is fleeting and ephemeral. Even with a Lapsang Souchong or a smoky Russian Caravan which I only enjoy on some occasions, the least that can be said is that it leaves a definite impression. I admit that this conflicts with the lingering taste I complained about when I had my first cup, but I can help longing for the full-bodied flavour of a Ceylon.

There seems to be a different recommendations in how best to prepare and enjoy Darjeeling – different water temperatures, rinsing the tea first before steeping, different ratios of tea to water, etc. – which I imagine is in keeping with the unique taste of the various estates and flushes. I plan on experimenting with different Darjeeling teas and preparation methods, because I feel as though the rewards of the perfect Darjeeling will make it all worthwhile. But for now, I don’t think I am even close.

This is a black tea with bergamot and pear. Despite the inclusion of bergamot, this does not taste like an Earl Grey with pear. Monk’s tea is apparently a recognised blend, but I am only aware of two other retailers who market a “monk’s tea”. T2’s blend is bergamot, pear and Jasmine flower and MlesnA’s is completely different (grenadine flavour, from memory).

I love the smell whenever I open the tin – a restrained candied fruit scent. The teas has tiny green flecks amongst the small, uniform tea leaves and it brews a light-coloured tea. The dominant taste is the crisp, slightly sweet, tartness of pear. I am unsure of the origin of the black tea, which has very little of its own flavour but is pleasant enough with no bitterness. I can’t taste the bergamot at all, hard as I try.

Despite the Tea Centre’s recommendation, I wouldn’t add milk to this the black tea flavour is mild and I don’t imagine milk and pear goes that well. The addition of a small amount of lemon will balance out the sweetness nicely. There wouldn’t be any need to add sugar unless that is how you would normally drink your tea. Personally, with the exception of chai and sometimes Moroccan mint tea, I never add sugar to tea and would make this tea a bit sickly sweet but to each their own.

One of my favourite teas. Not an everyday blend but perfect in the afternoon of a hot, sweltering summer’s day.

I’m somewhat torn about giving this a poor review. When I first became addicted to tea at the age of 19, four teas by Twinings became my favourite – Earl Grey, Russian Caravan, Ceylon Orange Pekoe and Prince of Wales. Russian Caravan and Prince of Wales complements each other perfectly, probably due to the Keemun being in both blends. If I understand correctly, Prince of Wales tea is Keemun blended with Ceylon or Indian tea, and Russian Caravan is Keemun blended with Yunnan tea and sometimes with the addition of Lapsang Souchong. Overall I had a slight preference for Russian Caravan as the Prince of Wales blend had a somewhat flat taste to – a surface taste of the Keemun with very little depth of flavour. Having said that, I still enjoyed Prince of Wales consumed with milk and got my flatmates hooked on it as well.

For about ten years living abroad, I couldn’t get Prince of Wales tea as Twinings no longer sold this tea in the EU so I developed a real taste for Keemun tea instead. I loved the nut-like flavour and beautiful aroma of freshly brewed Keemun tea in the late afternoon or evenings.

On returning to Australia, I was really looking forward to drinking Prince of Wales tea. The first thing I noticed was the flat taste and I forgot how much this becomes evident over time. In the last few months, I have started drinking most of teas black, occasionally with lemon. The Prince of Wales was completely undrinkable after the first cup, even with lemon and additional hot water. This may have been an off-day – maybe I brewed for too long, or perhaps a poor batch of tea. So I’m sitting down again with another pot of Prince of Wales to test.

Opening my Twinings tin (which must be at least 30 years old based on the lettering) I get a waft of that beautiful, nutty Keemun aroma. The tea leaves are standard Broken Orange Pekoe of fairly uniform length. The first cup I have made with soy milk. The taste is nutty, but the tea is pretty weak – possibly too much milk so I top up with the tea pot. Now this is more like it – there is still that nuttiness, but slightly sweet with a hint of chocolate and vanilla. There is a bit more depth and now I realise that what I had thought of as being “flat” is actually due to having one strong dominant taste, whereas Russian Caravan is a more complex, layered tea. I can’t really detect the maltiness that other people have found.

Now for the moment of truth – black without lemon. The aroma is lovely and strong, as is the colour. There is virtually no astringency or bitterness. The nuttiness is there and the sweet flavour, and it has a real ‘body’ to it. This wouldn’t be the first tea I would reach for if I wanted a cup of black tea as the milk tempers the tea and balances out the nutty flavour. Without milk, it tends to be a bit too strong and it is obvious that the actual tea is not the best quality (although it is far from being the worst). If I was going to drink black, it would be in the afternoon with something sweet like a few squares of chocolate.

So, an old favourite has been redeemed. :)