20 Tasting Notes
Cold brewed this one overnight out of curiosity. Not bad, but it doesn’t have the same magic or subtlety of the hot brew. Much more vegetal, strong grassy tones, and that dusty punch of a stronger green.
I could have had the same result using much cheaper and less interesting tea, making this experiment feel slightly wasteful.
This is it: The last tea in my Verdant sampler. Having never had a Tieguanyin, I left this one languishing in the box for last. The other styles were familiar; this one was saved as the capstone.
Dry leaves smell like alfalfa and resemble rabbit pellets (either the kind they consume or the kind they produce). And that’s where the strangeness of this tea begins.
Having spent the last year drinking almost nothing but green teas, I expected there to be at least a hint of vegetation in my first cup. It’s almost never that a tea smells that strongly of grass and doesn’t brew up with some kind of a grassy note. But the Tieguanyin? Nothing. The initial 25 second steep yielded a cup of apricot and lime. And while I don’t enjoy apricots at all, that flavor is actually quite satisfying in the context of this tea. Perhaps I’ll go buy some apricots and see if they’re better than I remember.
A second steep at 30 seconds causes the leaves to expand to their fullest, exploding into an indistinguishable mass of greenery. The aroma while pouring off the tea is strong orchid. The flavors shift a little here; the apricot note becomes strong, punchier, briefly disappearing under a layer of heavy cream before re-emerging and mellowing out into lime and toasted graham cracker. (I avoid reading Verdant’s notes before tasting, but as weird as it sounds, it’s quite clear where they came up with “graham”. It’s impossible not to identify.) There’s an initial meatiness to the flavor profile when sipped that I can’t quite put my finger on. We’ll go with the generic “brothy” and “buttery.” Don’t care for that note, no matter how brief? Slurp and bubble. Continuing this tea’s strange complexity, that note disappears entirely when well-aerated, and orchid instead appears out of nowhere.
Unfortunately I ran out of filtered water before I could make a third cup. I’ll definitely be enjoying more of this after a trip to the store.
WITCHCRAFT! WITCHCRAFT AND MAGIC!
Opening the packet, I was greeted by the familiar smells of malt and cocoa powder. Brewing it up, I got a gorgeous copper liquid with a malty smell. Taking my first sip, it’s rich dark chocolate and malted barley. Like drinking a warm, chocolatey beer. But not at all as disgusting as that might sound. (And nothing like Guinness.)
Second steep tones down the malt while the cocoa note takes on a thicker, slightly less dark feel. A smooth cocoa at the front and the back with a little punch of chocolate syrup in the middle. Faint hint of walnut and spice.
It’s the most unique black I’ve ever tasted. Surprising, easy-drinking, creamy, and perfectly smooth, with none of the punch or astringency you’d expect from an Assam or Ceylon black.
Lazy morning. I’ve already rolled over and gone back to sleep twice. So lazy I’m totally uninterested in turning on, tuning in, and dropping out into the world of tea. But the Verdant Yunnan White Jasmine leers at me suggestively from its shipping box, one of the few remaining unopened samples.
I settle for a western brew, putting on the kettle and the Beatles’ Revolver. Opening the packet, I’m overwhelmed by the gorgeous white needles and the fantastic scent. There are even a few jasmine blossoms hanging around. Verdant recommends a teaspoon per cup. I’m not sure how one measures a teaspoon with a leaf that’s a good inch-and-a-half long, so I settle for enough to cover the bottom of my cup and a tiny bit more. Steep time is two agonizing minutes, during which I bury my face in the amazing scent coming off the brewing vessel.
Pouring the tea off into my mug, a few needles slip in. As I watch, they attach themselves to the bottom of the cup and loll around, upright and waving like kelp or fauna at the bottom of a jasmine-scented ocean. Apparently I signed up for the psychedelic experience. I rush for my phone and snap a shot of this, concerned nobody will ever believe me. Two needles break free of the surly bonds of gravity and dance about, still upright, mid-beverage. This tea ain’t right.
Undeterred by the possessed leaves, I take my first sip. Banana and hints of jasmine. I certainly wouldn’t go for a banana tea on purpose, but it’s not offensive. It just is. Clean, light, perfect for this summer morning where it’s already 97 (36) outside. The strange tea disappears down my gullet and is quickly replaced with a second steep. The banana becomes smoother and less pronounced; the jasmine becomes clearer but not overpowering. The needles do not repeat their pageantry. But with a giggle, they release a hint of cinnamon they’d been secreting away for this occasion.
Do we dare try for a third? Yes. Yes we do. Here the flavor profile gets interesting. I’m sure now I must have dropped acid and not realized it. Maybe the jasmine blossoms were laced with it. In the mouth, it’s clean jasmine. The finish seamlessly transforms from banana to cinnamon to pine to a lingering green apple.
All in all, good even with the banana notes. I’m excited to see what else this one will reveal with different brewing styles.
After spending a year and a half focusing on greens, I decided to mix it up and try an oolong that arrived in my Verdant sample box. The leaves are gorgeous, twisted, enormous dark things with an amazing smell fresh out of the package. Super duper tippy magic pekoe this clearly is not, but there’s no breakage to speak of and the leaves are pristine both dry and after they unfurl.
My first and continued thought about Shui Jin Gui Wuyi: WHAT IS IT? Sitting there with my first cup, brewed as a compromise between western style and gong fu, that was the question that came back to mind with every whiff and every sip. It smelled oddly familiar, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. It tasted familiar, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. And I still can’t assign any specific name to it. Earthy, water chestnutty, coppery… but not quite. Like sucking on a dirty, tarnished penny… but not exactly. I realize I probably don’t make it sound particularly appetizing, but there’s something satisfying about it that demands continued drinking.
Second steep: The indescribable flavor continues to dominate, slightly stronger and with added notes of fire-roasted hazelnuts. For an intriguing juxtaposition, it also develops a cloying honey, slightly-fruity (summer melon?) finish that lasts between sips. (Verdant and other reviews describe it as elderberry; this Swedish-American doesn’t find that in his cuppa.)
Third steep: The sweetness moves into the main flavor profile. A more relaxed cup.
Fourth: Slightly more astringent cup. Scent now resembles a green. Flavors very mellow. Roasted coffee note develops. Continuing this tea’s trend of unexpected contrasts, the finish is heavy on the floral (citrus blossoms—a scent and taste I know well) with a hint of caramel and a slight creaminess.
Fifth: Very light liquor. Probably should have steeped longer. Grapefruit. Lingering citrus blossom/jasmine finish. Slight, passing copper note on the finish.
Sixth: The leaves aren’t spent quite yet, but results are getting light enough even with extended steeps that I called it quits. Copper moves up in the flavor profile, grapefruit moves back. Finish is extremely sweet with no hint of flavor.
There’s green tea in this?! There’s lemon in this?
Great bottle, but I don’t know why they’re filling it with… whatever factory rejects they’re filling it with. Watery. All you can taste is the vanilla and sugar. Occasionally you’ll get a burn of ginger as an aftertaste. There is no universe in which this murky vanilla-flavored sugar water is worth almost $3.