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“These dry leaves are delicate — thin and fluffy. Steaming in the gaiwan, they smell like cardboard boxes in a cinderblock basement. The rinse tasted like licking the walls, so I dumped the balance....” Read full tasting note
Puer drinkers will already be familiar with huangpian, the material made from the larger, yellow leaves that are typically sorted out after the initial frying of tea. The material for this tea comes from leaves picked during Shuangjiang in Heishi Cun (village) in Liu Bao. This tea is notably sweet and low in bitterness and astringency. The light coloured soup produces a crisp pear fragrance, but lacks in medicinal fragrance, which is usually common in aged teas. Overall, this tea doesn’t go the deepest, but is still highly enjoyable and easy to drink.
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Bitterleaf TeasThese dry leaves are delicate — thin and fluffy. Steaming in the gaiwan, they smell like cardboard boxes in a cinderblock basement. The rinse tasted like licking the walls, so I dumped the balance. Adding water immediately disintegrated any large pieces nearly to fannings.
First proper steep after a few minutes of rest gave up betel nut, cherry pit, basement camphor with a big hole in the middle. Wet leaves started opening up to something reminiscent of a spicy brown cocktail or brandied spice cake.
Is it possible this tea is dropping off at the second steep already? I adore huangpian, but it would certainly create the possibility. I let the third go for a minute or more, and it does indeed seem to be fading. Camphor numbness, alcohol muted by mineral water, with what feels like a metallic patina layered on top — a bagfull of rinsed beer cans.
And it appears: grandma Alice’s basement, flooded with twelve inches of water, hundreds of Old Milwaukee cans lazily floating around, the sad clank-dank-clank when my dad started wading through. Chucking the empties down the stairs and forgetting about them seemed like such a good idea before then, I reckon.
Flavors: Alcohol, Brandy, Camphor, Cardboard, Cinnamon, Metallic, Mineral, Spices, Wet Rocks, Wet Wood
Oh dear
indeed
Beer cans and flooded basements — your description takes me tova time and place I’ve been before. Whether I like it or not, I don’t know, but those sense-memories are ingrained.
Something about basements seems to carve them a little deeper for me. I wonder why that is.