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Thanks to a mild case of jet lag exacerbated by Billie Eilish’s impeccable new album that robbed me of valuable sleep during my flights this morning, I am doing exactly what I intended not to do: cracking into yet another sample from my vacation loot, perhaps the most eagerly anticipated. Oh, lord it is worth it.

Almond Sugar Cookie commands my attention with such authority that I paused my music to focus on it. First and foremost, this decadent treat presents sugared almonds and vanilla in exactly the proportions you would taste digging into a sinful batch of – you guessed it – almond flavored sugar cookie dough. And it is specifically dough, because Cameron B’s description of “creamy” couldn’t be more accurately stated – the flavors come sliding in carried by a gentle, buttery sea. But I can’t stop there, because with it comes a nostalgic element that took me a minute to nail down:

Ice cream parlor.

The balance of flavors here perfectly collude to impersonate that plush creamery atmosphere, an incredible replication of the exact complicity that occurs between the sugary waffle cones and liberal scoops of cookies and cream flavor ice cream. Almonds, sugar, butter, batter, crushed Oreos, vanilla, and even milk comprise the flavor polycule of my dreams in this spectacularly crafted cup.

I need a Lactaid after writing this.

Wow. Wow! Wow.
When I picked this up, I chose it based on a preliminary whiff from the sample jar and, in conjunction with the name, was of the impression this was a straightforward pancake or sticky bun blend. Syrupy, rich, warm, nutty, and raisiny, I smelled everything I got from Tin Roof’s oatmeal raisin cookie blend and assumed this traditional breakfast in a cup was pieced from similar ingredients. However, peeking at the credits on the website, I am stunned to see that I was wrong. Now of course I am happily surprised to recognize this warm, toasty-sweet character is unmistakably chestnut. Still, the tea carries a golden lyons quality heralding the phantom presence of dates and sultanas.

What distinguishes this one from TRT oatmeal raisin cookie is partly the base. The malty assam really shines through with a little dryness despite the heavy smog of added flavoring and, notably, this blend leans into its nutty nature to derive its warmth as opposed to oatmeal raisin cookie with its spice. The comparability of the blends is simultaneously exactly what I expected and a pleasant surprise.

After 10 days of action-packed exploration, I have finally returned from my half-planned excursion through the wilds of Washington State and the Oregon coastline touring all things natural, historical, and Twin Peaks-related. Within minutes of walking through my door, I have already begun catching up on work from home and, of course, brewing the first of my haul in tea recovered from the distant western territory. Buckle up, Ashmanra!

I’m drawing my first cup from the sample of strawberry black tea I picked up in Seattle’s Pike Place Market area, and it smells rich with berries and cream. I don’t have a lot to say about this one, being a somewhat straightforward blend. The flavoring is strongest in the aroma, and the mingling of strawberry and black tea brings out an almost roasted quality to the fruit, the flavor of which is authentic and melds the qualities of sweetness and fleshy tanginess you get from the real deal. Smooth and quenching, it may not be a standout for any unique reason but it’s a solid cup and performs the role of the classic ably and to a good standard, which is a good omen for the rest of my samples.

This morning I followed the museum weather to tour a nearby collection on the history of country doctors. I carried off a decent haul of relevant literature that demands a tea equal to the task, or more accurately, a tea that is randomly chosen in the hopes that it will be found equal to the task – more specifically, this tea.

The smell is something I instinctively wanted to call leaf-litter but have since settled on tobacco foremost. It’s a complex mingling of sweetness, dryness, and bitterness that is distinctly inanimate: wood, subtle hazelnut, and chocolate all come to mind, but the taste is mild, clear, and refreshing. Paired somewhat redundantly with a cigar, it could be almost indistinguishable from a good puerh. The resteep is decently comparable but I don’t think I would push it as far as a third cup. My overall impression is that this is what it would taste like to be one of the antiquated medical texts I viewed this morning, or perhaps a forgotten lamp with a crown of dust in the study of an affluent but incredibly stressed lawyer.

This morning I woke up with a neck so sore that I am not certain it’s the same one I went to bed with. I nearly scrapped all of my plans for today to pencil in some therapeutic wallowing but was unexpectedly revitalized just in time to make it to a library presentation on obituary-writing. For my bravery, I believe I have earned the selection of a new tea from my admittedly overstocked cabinet while I reflect on my fondest memories of myself to immortalize.

I was uncertain how a oolong would respond to my unsophisticated methods, but this one clearly needs no help. I was stunned by the richness and fullness of the aroma, warm and intensely nutty – walnut or brazil maybe – with a vegetal or hay-like sweetness that clings coolly in your mouth. Near the bottom of the cup, I got a much more specific read on it that took me back to a barbershop-turned-bar where I once had a carrot juice cocktail and a dish of perfectly steamed edamame which, minus the delectable sprinkling of everything bagel seasoning that I have preferred on my edamame ever since, tasted not dissimilar to this tea.

If you are a berries-and-cream-loving little lad, this is the tea for you.

This smooth blend tastes and smells just like sugared strawberries – the tartness of the fruit is subdued in the manner of a fruity syrup without being artificial, and the coconut isn’t prominent but works to emphasize a sweet cream element that makes this cup truly dessert-like.

I’ve made this tea a couple of ways, once following the directions, and then again in an infuser stuffed with fresh cilantro. This is probably a product of lunacy on my part, but I swear it works and would probably feel the same with a sprig of mint or some basil leaves – the citrusy, herby note is the perfect garnish to balance an otherwise quite indulgent sip.

After a long, stressful week of 12+ hour workdays, I am finally settling in to a hard-earned weekend. I have stolen hasty cups of this tea all week as able, but having put away a tasty chestnut ale, I finally find myself prepared to settle in to a review while I rewatch Twin Peaks. And with this blend, we achieve redemption for the rooibos experiment.

This earl grey is everything it should be, with brisk bergamot tinged with the acidity of lemon and the familiar, dusty floral of lavender atop a balanced blend of sweet, mild black teas – an ideal base for a london fog or a strong contender for any earl grey lover. Nothing is lost between the dry leaves and the brewed cup; here’s an earl grey that keeps its promises.

There are two defining elements to any successful earl grey (change my mind) and those are 1) the unmistakable taste of an acrid soup made from the juices of 83-year-old window blinds and 2) Froot Loops?

Maybe this is a personal delusion, but wherever I smell lavender and lemon together (or cardamom alone), I smell Froot Loops. Does anybody know what on earth I’m talking about?

The weather was so favorable this morning that I had no choice but to agree with its prediction for the tone of the day, which calls for a very special tea indeed and can only mean one of a few from the selection in my cupboard. I have had this tea for two or three years and have quite simply been too excited about the prospect of drinking it to dare crack it open, but sitting down to an episode of ‘Murder, She Wrote’ after a leisurely drive through sunny and verdant scenery, I could hear this tea crying out in indignation demanding to be tasted.

First impression unsealing the bag: delight. The scent wafting to greet me is nothing short of a summer day spent over a pitcher of sugary-sweet grape Kool-Aid, but the complexity of the flavors really blossom in the cup, where the artificial grape candy flavor assumes a muscatel character and the rich depth of warm jelly that takes me back to a delectable Polish blueberry jagodzianka. Even a pervasive effervescence seems to emulate the crackle of a delicate pastry glaze, but it pulls me in a few different directions: on one hand, it’s giving the crispy candy shell of grape Nerds candy and the scintillating spark of sourness that follows it, but on the other hand, the intermingled strawberry notes point me toward a bubbly rosé. A little astringency cuts the sweetness to perfection. I have no choice but to be obsessed.