Buchun Dawon "Unong Hwangto" Balhyo Cha • 부춘다원 "우농 황토" 발효차

Buchun Dawon "Unong Hwangto" Balhyo Cha • 부춘다원 "우농 황토" 발효차
Buchun Tea Garden "Right-Agricultre Yellow-Ocher" Fermented Tea

Hwang cha, yellow tea (황차/黄茶), is a relatively new tea on the Korean tea market. Kkik Da Geo started marketing it heavily about six years ago, even featuring their own brand. When Prof Ahn first introduced it to me, I wasn't very impressed, though. I didn't let on but, actually, I didn't care for it at all. I was still enthralled with the floral, peachy sweetness of Li Shan oolong and the more savoury, piquant intricacy of hwang cha was lost on me.

It slowly grew on me, as they often served it in the shop, spreading the word, but it wasn't until a few years later, when I'd moved to the countryside and hadn't been back to Seoul for a few months, that I suddenly found my body craving it. Around that time, I happened upon a small tea shop that I've once lived and worked just a few blocks from when I first came to Korea, but had never seen before. Inside, I greeted the owner and she offered me a cup of hwang cha she'd just been brewing and I loved it. It was different than the one I'd had in Kkik Da Geo, a much deeper and richer taste and mouth feel, more calming and less heady. It could come down to it simply being from a different garden, but I also wondered if it had been aged longer than the ones I'd tried in Seoul.

Buchun Dawon (부춘다원), is the garden that this tea came from and Unong Hwangto (우농 황토) is the name of the tea, "Right-Agricultre Yellow-Ocher". "Balhyo Cha" (발효차) is literally "fermented tea" and is interchangeable with "hwang cha" in Korea. The garden is located in Hadong valley, in Jiri Mountain, the heart of Korean tea country. The leaves aren't named like Korean green tea is, but I'm quite sure jung-jak, third flush, leaves are used.

The leaves are long, twisted, and wiry, springing back when I try nudging the longer ones into the pot. They are a very dark, dusty charcoal with hints of brown. A strong, slightly spicy scent of the fermented leaves wafts from the package. After sitting a few moments in the heated pot, the smell intensifies and sweetens. It fills your throat with a sticky, spicy sensation. My mind wanders to childhood memories of my father's garden in late fall, long after harvest, when the leaves and vines of the garden began returning to earth.

Like previous observations, the colour of the brew is also much deeper with this tea; orange, not the bright yellow this type tea is named for. The taste is not easily describable, it's not quite like any other tea. Comparable to Chinese red tea, but bolder. The sweet and bitter of this tea are both present but neither exceeds the other. They balance each other in a savoury blend that reminds me of roast squash. The overall rustic character of this tea is fitting of traditional Korean aesthetic. The last, extended steep does have a predominant sweetness, with a pleasant, flavourful undertone.

The steeped leaves reveal to a muddy-green colour with bright rusty edges and stems. A pleasant warmth has consumed my body, a welcome sensation on a soggy winter morning.