Ryokucha

I went for a couple of weeks without this holding court on my tea shelf and those two weeks have taught me that I’m not going to be able to let that happen again. I’ve been waking up with black tea in the hiatus, and while I enjoy a good black tea, it just doesn’t cut the mustard for me in the morning. [Where the hell did that saying come from, anyway? I could probably look it up…]

To be honest, it’s probably not entirely fair. Ryokucha is going to hold a special place in my heart for numerous reasons. A big one is because I credit it for being one of the first teas that really woke up my palate. A second one is the fact that it just spikes my energy in such a good way.

When this is combined with the fact that I can’t get enough of its vegetal sweetness with the toasted grainy taste of breakfast cereal and just a splash of creaminess rounding everything together into a little bubble of wake up and smile!

Happy sigh.

Ryokucha for me is the feeling of waking up in bed feeling refreshed after a good night’s sleep. It’s stretching out under the coolness of the sheets and the heavy fluffiness of the comforter and being ready to tackle the day.

And now, bonus. I hope that someday we’ll be able to review teaware and such things so that I don’t have to keep hiding these little things in my reviews and hoping that you Steepsterites stumble upon it, but in a recent order I picked up Samovar’s new travel tumbler. http://bit.ly/9SRrJt

I love it. I love it more than I was expecting to. It’s double-walled, so that the outside doesn’t burn your hand, the lid screws down to prevent leakage and keep things hot. And let me tell you guys – I drank some Ryokucha this morning as I was getting ready for class and set aside a second steep in this tumbler so I could take some to class. And then I realized that I left it on my desk when I got to the building. [It was one of those mornings.] Well, I got home and forgot that I had it at my desk, fell asleep because I was exhausted, woke up, had some other tea, did some work, and then had to get ready for physics. As I was getting ready to leave, I then remembered the tumbler. After half a second of debating whether I should bring it, I nipped downstairs and grabbed it, figuring I just wouldn’t drink anything caffeinated when I got home.

It was still hot. Not room temperature warm, definitely not cooled, but that nice drinkable temperature that’s levitating between hot and lukewarm. And did I mention that this was eight hours later? Eight hours later.

Tonight, I’m going to do an experiment. I’m going to make some Ryokucha before I go to bed and leave it in the tumbler and have it on my nightstand for the morning and see how it goes, because if this means that non-functional-me can have hot tea in the morning without having to do crap… FEAR ME, MORNINGTIME.

[All right, I looked up “cut the mustard,” and it appears that no one knows for sure. First literary reference was back in 1902. The more popular theories are that it either alludes to an old cowboy saying or the fact that mustard seed is very difficult to cut.]

This stuff must have crack in it.

There is no other reason that I would wind up craving what is, basically, a genmaicha. I don’t really like genmaicha. But this? SO GOOD. All it takes is for someone to mention it and suddenly I’m thinking, “Mmm, that sounds good. I need to make some.” And then I’m turning the Zojirushi down and pulling this out.

While it brews I think, “It can’t possibly be as good as I remember. It’s a genmaicha. Sure, with matcha but that’s never improved the experience for me before.” By the time I’ve pretty much determined that this is really just a standard tea and no, I must have been nuts the previous times, my little timer goes off and it’s time to go have some tea.

So I take the first sip. “Popcorn-y. Yep, normal. But wait… Ooo, that end taste is sweet and delicious. Need more of that.” Second sip. “Mmm, that’s creamy. And what is that aftertaste? YUM.” Third sip. “Mmm, milky. Sweet and toasty and creamy. And sweet. Ooh, and milky. This is sooo good.” And suddenly I’m holding my saucer because the side table is too far away for my cup to go in between sips. If I didn’t look at this tea I would swear it had been made with milk, not water. It is that milky/creamy.

And now my cup is empty and I am revealing in the joy of the afterwarmth for a few before I go get a second steep ready.

See, crack. There is no other explanation.

Well…alright, then.

This is going to be a long one.

I have finally had my cup of Ryokucha. It was one of the first tea tasting notes I saw passingly (before I even knew what a takgoti WAS ;) ) that interested me, and for the longest time they were out of stock, so my curiosity had to remain unassuaged.

I will admit that the instructions on the tin (which is pretty slick-looking, actually; it’s not fancy but it is black and fully labeled and why I expected it to be anything else I don’t know, exactly, but there you have it) made me quirk an eyebrow. A tablespoon? A whole one? The leaves were such tiny little slips of greenery, there seemed to be so much matcha…that was going to be one dense tablespoon. A whole lot different from a tablespoon of wiry, fat-leafed black or white tea. It occurs to me as I write this that my skepticism is probably symptomatic of the real problem here, which is that at this point I may need a scale instead of a tablespoon.

The brine scent was silvery and at the forefront of the smell of the dry mixture, shining high and not quite sharp on top of a foundation of toasted carbohydrates. It made for a strange mix. I admit that the smell of the brewing wet leaves was cause for some more quirking, as the ‘toasted’ scent became very heavy…less like popcorn and more like popcorn on the ‘uh oh’ side of done. Some part of me felt like a little kid again, and it was saying, ‘this smells like Honey Smacks!’ while the adult bit of me stood off to the side going…but…I didn’t like Honey Smacks. Or Corn Pops, either (and then I remember that I ate both of them by the boxfull when I went away to school). I began to worry.

And then, sitting and sniffing and anxiously waiting, it made a connection for me that merely reading the words ‘toasted rice’ had not.

I have had this flavor before, and it isn’t Honey Smacks or Corn Pops or even popcorn to me, either.

Suddenly I am in Japan again.

At the time of this triggered memory I’ve been there for almost two weeks, which is not even a fraction of the time that someone needs to experience Japan, but has already felt like a lifetime…because only the girl whose family I’m staying with, my roommate from school, speaks any English. No one else does. (In hindsight, this was probably a good thing. It was better for me to be more quiet, do more listening, than I would have been or done otherwise.) It isn’t conversation that’s most difficult, strangely; her mother and I, one afternoon, managed to fold origami together — she taught me some patterns — despite the fact that we understood not a single word the other was saying. The difficult thing was ordering food off of menus. Poor Eiko had to gamble at every meal on what I might like or not like, and even ‘safe’ dishes — like pasta — occasionally arrived with a surprise twist (as with the night that there was a whole octopus gorgeously arrayed on top of the noodles as though it were still alive, and I was faced with a horrifying decision: to send it back when it was so beautifully prepared and offend, or to…urp…eat it). Combine this hit-and-miss ordering with my growing teen years and the fact that Japanese eat far smaller portions than we get accustomed to eating, and I was often more than a little bit peckish.

One afternoon, we travel to see the Daibutsu (giant Buddha) at Kamakura. Afterward we wandered through the little market stalls set up off to one side to look at Japanese historical merchandise of dubious quality (katanas, tsubas and netsukes, oh my!), stopping where someone was cooking little rice cakes — sembei. They had all sorts of different flavors, soy sauce most common. The fresh ones were fantastic, but…lo and behold…they sold them pre-packaged, too. I enjoyed the fresh sembei so much that my hosts from that point forward saw to it that I had a pretty overwhelming supply of the packaged ones, and my vexing food issue was finally solved.

That is what this tastes like, to me. Not popcorn or cereal, though I can readily find that there, it makes utter sense, and probably would have gone to that flavor had my tongue not had this other experience…but sembei. Of course now that I’ve found it, I can’t escape it. That’s what I smell as it brews, too — those cruchy, slightly sticky, sweet-on-the-tail-end, savory snacks that I practically lived on for the last leg of my trip, and which Eiko was forever afterward bringing back to school with her from trips home, just for me.

Why does this surprise me so much? It really shouldn’t. Toasted rice, toasted rice cakes. Logic prevails. I had just not expected to discover it again. It’s entirely possible that other people will have had it without even knowing it; I gather that there are trail mixes that like to toss in chunks of stuff that taste almost just like sembei.

And this is already way, way too long now, so it’s time to abandon memory lane and get back to the tea that I’m now working on my second cup of. First cup I brewed for two and a half minutes and added just shy of the full tablespoon of, afraid that it looked awfully potent, wary of overdoing it. This cup I added the full tablespoon and went for the full four minutes, and I think I prefer this one…the sweetness is so much stronger, and it seems to come not just from the rice but also from the tea this time…two different types of sweet, with the tea sweetness softer and the rice sweetness higher. In the mouth the tea is thick and I find it easy to think ‘creamy’ without any objections from my tongue. It’s like creamy tea without the mouth-sticky that comes from actual dairy.

I’ve lost the brine. I think the reason for this may be that eating soy-sauce sembei has irrevoccably connected salty and savory together with the rice in my palate’s memory…so what I think of isn’t the ocean, but instead that giant, beautiful Buddha gently putting on a green patina just south of Tokyo.

I think this one can stay.

Edit: Worth a mention: a nice honey flavor toward the end of the second cup, lukewarm, especially evident on an exhale or cleared throat. Yum.

So this is the Takgoti tea I’ve been waiting to try. Now I’ve finally been given the chance to see if Samovar lives up to its lofty reputation or not. ;)

The dry tea smells mostly of matcha, a thick, grassy sort of smell with a hint of toasted grains. I accidently put my nose too close and inhale a bit of the green powder. Cue a violent coughing fit.

With my eyes and nose still running, I manage somehow to add the water without spilling or scalding myself. Instantly my senses are bombarded with the smell of toasted grains. It’s a rich, powerful, savory scent that rivals any of the genmaichas I’ve ever tried. My mug is black so I can’t really see the tea colour well, but even so I can see the water turn a cloudy green.

Now here it comes…the moment of truth….Drum roll please.

The taste is fascinatingly complex. I do get the roasted grains flavour at the tip of each sip, but not as strongly as I was expecting from the scent. Then the flavour fades into something like matcha but not quite. It’s lightly grassy with a thick, milky sort of feel in my mouth, but it lacks the bitter-grass tang that straight matcha will give you. The after taste is more roasted grains and tasting it is making me feel a bit hungry almost.

This is a lovely, complex tea; it wasn’t quite what I was expecting, but then I have no idea what exactly I was expecting. It’s a delicious-tasting savory tea that has a surprisingly amout of body and presence for a green tea. This is no delicate little Dragonwell! Two thumbs up Takgoti, I think you have excellent taste! :)

Buzz, buzz nom. Nom nom nom.
Buzz.

This is a nice tea. Very complex. In fact my first thought when having this tea was “mmm.. this is complex.” I am a genmaicha fan, and this is one of the better ones I’ve had.

It also has a lot of caffiene. Or at least I’m getting a serious buzz from this one. (Nevermind the fact I’ve had 3 other cups of tea today… :P )

This tea is the lovely green color others have mentioned, murky, deep, flavorful, and just pretty awesome. Liking this tea!!!

(And possibly twitching at this point, but I won’t dwell on that… )

This tea brews up to a neon retro lime green. What fun I thought! I had high hopes for this tea based on the reviews and my positive experience with Samovar. But, alas, I just don’t like genmaicha tea. I can’t get over the liquid popcorn taste. Worst, as I take my tea with sugar usually, the addition of sugar, only turns this into liquid kettle corn….

This seems like a fine version of a genmaicha although not my type. I will set my numerical rating to reflect the consensus so I don’t skew the ratings….

I’ve had this forever and just opened it this morning. Just had to share it with my co-workers who love genmaicha.

I was able to get 4 infusions from my 12oz mug.

This is basically Genmaicha “to the Max!!” (lol, that’s such an 80’s reference isn’t it?). It’s super toasty, super green, mostly savory but with a little sweetness…and a bit of seaweed?

I enjoyed this because I love genmaicha. But it didn’t knock my socks off. So, while this was good, I’m not sure I’ll re-order once this tin is empty.

But it’s a good tea to share.

(hmm…I wonder exactly why I don’t love this? Since I find it good but not amazing, maybe the Samovar love spell has passed me over? ;) )

Thanks to AUGGY who sent me a generous sample of this. I thought I would probably like it because I’m fond of sencha and genmaicha. The roasted rice adds a very nice nutty flavor to these teas which always seems to result in an irresistible aroma and taste.

I am not on the fence at all, but I do have quite a few other genmaichas that I like. I’m going to give this one another go. It may be essential to keep it in stock. It’s salty-malty; it’s ricey-nicey; it’s sweet and beautiful. Splendid aftertaste, too.

“This smells like a fish tank!”

That’s what my boyfriend exclaimed after he opened up the little Gladware takgoti sent me containing Ryokucha. I laughed at the time, but I couldn’t shake the idea that it kind of DOES smell like a fish tank.

Anyway, Ryokucha, Samovar’s version of the popular genmaimatcha blend. It’s neon-green from the matcha, filled with powdery-ness, with little bits of puffed rice and sencha. Certainly one of the more bizarre teas that I’ve come across, but I’m pretty much up for anything. If I lean in a bit closer, I can pick up traces of nuttiness and a buttery note. I got some of the matcha on my fingertips while trying to clean my teaspoon, and those were definitely highlights of the scent.

Anyway, steeping this up was a memorable experience! It looks like an explosion at the fields surrounding a nuclear waste facility. Cloudy neon-green murkiness, random leaves, bits of rice floating at the top. The entire thing is really bizarre.

The pour is pretty weird too. Now I have radioactive liquid in my cup, and there’s all the sediment left behind. The wet leaves smell a lot like puffed rice cereal. Very toasty and delicious smelling. I was tempted to eat the rice out of the pot, but I didn’t think that was such a good idea.

The tea itself smells really, really good. Very roasty-toasty buttery notes. Mmm.

So how does it taste? Very, very complex, for starters. I guess the best way to describe it is if your morning cereal got invaded by marine life and grass. I should probably explain that a bit further. There’s the toasty component of the puffed rice, which adds a delicious nutty note. There are hints of a milkiness that come across a lot in the aftertaste and sweet taste that lingers on the palate after every sip. The forefront of the flavor is an almost oceanic taste, with a slightly grassy component. Maybe like kelp. But in a good way.

As it’s cooled, the milky taste becomes more prominent, overtaking the puffed rice taste. This tea is thick and silky. It definitely has a mouthfeel, and it’s almost making me feel full. I haven’t felt that way about a tea before – it is like a meal. And for the sweetness in the aftertaste, you can almost certainly pick out very savory components as well. I could see this making an excellent foundation for soup, as they prepare it at Samovar.

The very bottom of the cup is a tiny bit astringent, but the rest was silky smooth. I usually drink my tea with a spoon at the beginning, that way I can sip it when it’s very hot. I used that spoon to continually stir it, so I don’t have any dregs at the bottom. And yay, you can finally see the bottom of the cup! Cause this stuff is MURKY. SWAMP MURKY. SWAMP THING IS IN MY TEA.

I think I’m already starting to feel the effects of the caffeine, even though I haven’t finished the entire cup yet. This one is kind of more than a tea. It’s more of an experience. A foodie experience. A radioactive foodie experience.

Yeah, I think the caffeine is definitely kicking in. I’m hyper-concentrated, but at the same time, prone to just random tangents of nothingness.

Okay, I think it’s time to end the review now, before I start jumping around and breaking out in song and dance.

And this was such a rational review before, too!

Amazing tea. I love the smooth and rich taste of the toasted rice blended with the sencha and matcha powder. It has a great grassy/kelp taste that deepens the overall flavor profile. However, my only gripe about this tea is the brewing instructions. The Ryokucha video online recommends using 16 ounces of boiling water added to 1 teaspoon of tea infused for 1-2 minutes. Yet, the can recommends the traditional preparation with the cooled water, 1 tablespoon, and 2-4 minutes. What do you guys recommend? I basically did a hybrid of the two and met in the middle.