Aged Old Bush, Wu Yi "Shui Xian"老歲水仙茶

After being amazed so far by every tea I've tasted from cliffs of Wuyi Mounatin, and Da Hong Pao being the very tea that first got me interested in Chinese tea, I decided to order a small amount of aged "Shui Xian", harvested from 100-year-old trees to further my figurative exploration of the mountain.

Before we get into the tea itself, I'd like to delve into its name a bit. Shui Xian is actually the name of the cultivar that all Wuyi "yan chan" (cliff teas) are produced from. There are several translations for its name, including Narcissus, Sacred Lily, Water Fairy, or the name of a Taoist Immortal. According to the Chinese character for Xian (仙, person + mountain/person on a mountain), it has the connotation of a mountain hermit which is what the Taoist Immortals essential were. It also fits with the tendency of famous teas to have some mystical legend attached to them. Another theory claims that the Shui Xian cultivar originated not too far north of Wuyi mountain, in a cave called Zhu Xian and the local dialect lead to the confusion of "Zhu" with "Shui" (水, water). There is also speculation that Zhu was the local word for pray, which could mean it was a cave where an Immortal prayed and perhaps he found a tea bush which he cultivated and passed on to the local farmers or the farmers may have named their local cultivar in honor of him.

Alas, a tea by another name would still taste as sweet (or bitter), so let's get brewing...

Looking at the leaves, the first thing that caught my cognition was how dark they are. Certainly putting the "oo" in oolong, except for slight reddish-brown highlights, they are the blackest oolong leaves I've encountered. It would make sense if these were, in fact, the leaves that gave oolong its name.

The scent was rich, the heat of the high-fire roast apparent, quite similar to the aroma of dark-roast coffee beans. The leaves were so dark that even an instant rinse is darker than many puer teas I've drank. The first full infusion was even darker, as black as black could be (The photos below start from the third steep. I was so consumed, that I forgot to take a photo, twice...), fading to brown around the walls of the cup. The aroma of the tea soup was consistent with that of the leaves. Though it definitely tasted like tea, with a slight woodiness, and a strong presence of charcoal, it was very reminiscent of a strong cafe mocha or a shot of espresso (is that a thing? maybe it should be! or maybe I should just stick to making tea...). I found the residual taste of the firing quite strong but enjoyable. After all, it's part of what interested me about this tea. With trends pushing tea farmers more and more towards lightly fermented, barely roasted teas, a good traditional oolong like this is becoming rare. I'm also thinking perhaps this tea was recently re-roasted and just needs a few more months to soothe and mellow.

The leaves proved to be durable and consistent. Personally, I felt they lacked the "pow" of Da Hong Pao or the intricacy of Ruo Gui but since the price was comparably to an average grade Da Hong Pao and a quarter the price of a medium grade Ruo Gui, it stood its ground. Since Da Hong Pao, Ruo Gui, Tie Lo Han, and all the other Wuyi varieties, are essentially Shui Xian, and the variations are a result of the different growing conditions. My reasoning may be off a bit on this, but as they all do share a unique characteristic that makes them Wuyi Yan Cha, I consider this a good standard yan cha for comparison.

Phoenix Dan Cong (flower flavor) • 鳳凰單樅花的味道

Phoenix Dan Cong (flower flavor) • 鳳凰單樅花的味道
Fènghuáng dān cōng huā de wèidào

With my first order from The Chinese Tea Shop, Daniel included a sample of Phoenix Dan Cong "flower" flavour. It was much like the lightly fermented Phoenix Dan Cong from Kkik Da Geo, but the leaves looked slightly more brilliant. Bursts of yellow and red in the long, twisted leaves made them seem other-worldly, perhaps grown in the garden of the Jade Palace, where a Phoenix makes its nest.

The rinsed leaves became even more radiant, aflame with vivid hues radiating from the pot. As I continued through each steep, I couldn't resisting admiring the leaves before replacing the lid, possible negatively affect the infusion.

The session turned into an outright marathon with these nutrient-packed leaves. It started off as expected, building an elegant, floral, slightly bitter flavour over the first few infusions until by the fourth, a thick, salty after-taste, characteristic of Phoenix Dan Cong, had build in the back of the throat. After the fifth cup, there was an expected decline in intensity but instead of fading like a cloud of smoke over the next couple of steeps, it kept smoldering on and on until nearly two hours later, after the sixteenth infusion, there was no more room in my belly (or my bladder) for anymore and little left to be extracted from the leaves, even if I weren't about to burst.

The final treat was examining the leaves. I'd never seen leaves like them. Psychedelic-jelly leaves or down feathers left by the departed Phoenix as it fled back to paradise?

Unfortunately, this particular Dan Cong is out of stock at The Chinese Tea Shop, but I'll certainly be trying his others in future orders, and if this one returns, it will be on my list, as well!

Phoenix Dan Cong (orchid flavor) • 鳳凰烏龍蘭花味

Phoenix Dan Cong (orchid flavor) • 鳳凰烏龍蘭花味
Fènghuáng Dān Cōng (lánhuā wèi)

It was a long time before my tea-making skills even began to match that of the folk at Kkik Da Geo. I still have a long way to go but I remember the excitement I felt when I was first able to get eight nice tasting infusions from a single pot, getting passed four was a huge step. Or even getting one great tasting cup, I used to exclaim to my wife, "It tastes like Kkik Da Geo!"

I was so fond of Phoenix Dan Cong that it was the first tea that I began to master. One day, after having a particularly successful Phoenix Dan Cong session, I dropped by the tea house just in time for the start of another pot of Phoenix Dan Cong.

With the taste of my earlier tea still lingering in my mouth, I couldn't wait to sip Mr Ahn's to confirm how similar my technique had become. My arrogance was quickly squashed as I raised the the first cup to my mouth, failing to observe the color and smell and took a sip of tea that that was absolutely nothing, NOTHING like my own.

"This is Phoenix Dan Cong?" I asked. With a grin, as though he knew my mind, he explained that it was a lighter fermentation process, only 25%, compared to the 50% fermentation of the "honey" Phoenix Dan Cong I was accustomed to. The leaves are long and twisted, like the "honey" one, but most similarity ends there. Compared to the "honey" leaves' dark, rusty colour, these are more green with streaks of yellow and hints of cranberry.

This lighter one is said to have an "orchid" fragrance. My first impression was that it tastes like what I'd imagine a lotus flower would [but doesn't] taste. It eventually conjured strong memories of the Tiger Lilies that grow on Lower Mill Road, where I grew up. Having since had green tea that was mixed with orchid blossoms, this tea does have a remarkable orchid flavour.

Mr Ahn recommended filling the pot very full, about 50%, with the young leaves and using cooler water than usual, around 70°C. I've had a poor success rate with this tea, on my own. I tend to land either on the bland or harsh side of the complex, floral textures of the tea Mr Ahn severed, confirming that I do indeed still need much practice!

Anxi Tie GuanYin (Iron Goddess of Mercy) • 安溪鐵觀音

Anxi Tie GuanYin/Iron Goddess of Mercy (winter harvest) • 安溪鐵觀音（秋收冬種）

After Taiwan invaded the tea world with their light/non-roasted, high mountain oolongs, China responded by reinventing an old classic, Tie GuanYin, 鐵觀音 (or Iron Goddess of Mercy/Iron Buddha as it also goes by).

Traditionally, this was a heavily roasted tea but the non-roasted teas coming from Anxi, 安溪, are some of the most remarkable teas in the world, and also some of the most expensive.

The moment you see the beaded tea scooped from the package, you can see something is different. The green is brighter, like bits of emerald protruding from a mossy stone. The scent of the leaves is intensely sweat, a floral lilac scent, at first, with a sharp, sticky sensation that lingers in your throat.

After rinsing, the leaves explode, nearly filling the pot and a lovely floral aroma rises with the steam. The first pour is pale emerald. The initial taste is soft and sweet on the tongue but quickly hits the back of the mouth and throat with the most unique sensation, a slight tangy bitterness except it's not really bitter at all. It's more like a tiny grain of bitter encased in an iron frosting. The mouth fills with a sharp, sweet tang. If prepared well, this taste will last through several infusions. Though oolong usually takes three infusions to reach its full potential, I find the first steep of Tie GuanYin the most remarkable.

After the first steep, I usually find my pot overflowing with fully opened leaves, a sign of my own over zealousness, but using many leaves helps retain the iron-frostiness through out the session. The color of the liquor brightens and becomes more yellow as the session progresses. The remarkable element of this tea remains the lilac-like sweetness that builds into a heavy aftertaste. It's truly incomparable in any other tea.

Examining the open leaves, the edges are ragged and broken. This is from the extensive bruising the leaves are given during processing to release more of the tea juices and augment the development of flavour during fermentation.

Of the five yearly harvests, winter is in the middle as far as quality, but the over-all quality of this farm is so high that even the winter harvest is excellent. Kkik Da Geo only recently connected with this producer, so I'm really looking forward to when the top-grade spring harvest arrives!

Pouchong Qing Cha • 包種青茶

Pouchong Qing Cha • 包種青茶

The name Pouchong, 包種, literally, "wrapped with seeds", is a sentimental reference to how this tea was once gifted, long ago, wrapped in paper with seeds still clinging to its twigs. It is an extremely light fermented oolong, also classified as a qing cha "teal tea", 青茶. Pouchong is actually one of the lightest fermented teas, with only 10~20% fermentation, so it retains some green tea characteristics. During the 1990's, it became popular amongst tea fanatics

The leaves are deep green, long, loosely twisted, with very long stems. A pot with a wide opening is convenient for fitting the leaves in without difficulty. The aroma is much like a green tea, but with a deep floral tone. The first cup is actually strikingly reminiscent of a light, high quality Tie Kwan Yin. The flavour mellows quickly in the next steep to a more floral aroma, similar to a high mountain oolong, only smoother. A gentle, green melon taste looms through out most of the session.

Pouchong's light character doesn't make it an especially durable tea, but the first few steeps are as lovely as any other tea I've had. So lovely that it's currently one of my favorite teas! I also suspect that since this tea was harvested nearly one year ago, its taste has slightly diminished. I'm hoping that Kkik Da Geo will decided to stalk it again in May, when it's fresh.

Pouchong Qing Cha from Kkik Da Geo (Pochong Cheongcha • 포총청차):
http://kkik.webpy.co.kr/bbs/view.php?uid=50&startPage=2&boardid=in_chinaboard&category=%C0%FC%C3%BC

2009 Medium Roast Wuyi cliff tea, "Da Hong Pao" • 武夷大红袍

2009 Medium Roast Wu Yi cliff tea, "Da Hong Pao" • 武夷大红袍

After going close to a year without Da Hong Pao, I went all out and ordered a 300g package from The Chinese Tea Shop. I recognized the package from Kkik Da Geo, in Seoul, as one of the lower graded imitation Da Hong Pao, but I'd always been pleased with it in the past.

Here are my notes from a session with this tea ❦

For Da Hong Pao leaves, a standard Biao Zhun pot suits the twisted leaves best. For a solo tea session, I have a tiny 25 ml Yixing pot especially for Da Hong Pao. Some may be skeptical of the usefulness of such as small pot, but the smaller the pot, the lesser the margin for error. Besides, it fills my favorite cup perfectly! The stony character of the tea can handle boiling water, and though I'm an advocate of very short steeps, this is one tea that I'll make an acception for. For this session I did stick to a standard 15, 10, 15, 25, 35, 45, 55, 65... second schedule.

After heating the pot and gently nudging in as many leaves as the pot could hold, I close the lid and let the leaves warm for a moment while I heat the cup. I remove the lid to smell the leaves. They are rich, warm smelling with an herbal quality that lingers with sweetness in my throat.

Once the leaves are rinsed & the first steep is poured, the leaf smell is more awakened, with a lively, high-tone sense in the nostrils. The scent of the lid is similar to that of the warm leaves but deeper. It gives me a pleasant impression of what's to come. The tea itself smells rich and chocolaty. The medium roast is full but soft in the mouth. The taste is most evident in the throat as a strong, bitter-sweetness emerges.

The second cup has a more noticeable mouth feel than actual flavour. It's warm, velvety chocolate. Again, the taste emerges on the way down the throat. The scent of the tea oils oxidizing in the cup is amazingly sweat, with a rich, roasted note.

After the third cup, a strong, ashy aftertaste is beginning to develop.

The fourth cup has a slightly woody, chocolate smell. The bitterness is sharp, but pleasant, penetrating the back of my tongue and throat.

In the fifth cup, the chocolate has faded but a deep woodiness continues to build, especially in the throat. The after taste is very strong and enjoyable.

For the sixth infusion, the leaves have been polished down to their stony character. There is actually more of an initial flavour developing in the entire mouth, now, rather than just an aftertaste.

The seven cup has toned down on its bitterness, and I'm surprised to find a rich chocolate taste has returned.

The eighth & ninth cups still have a nice golden brown colour, and a faint sweetness in their scent but the taste is wearing thin, reduced to pure, roasted stone.

Finally, the tenth cup has exhausted the leaves and all there is left to admire is the leaves themselves.