Lungjing, I’ve a feeling we’re not in China anymore…
Well, this tea lacks character. Not the tea itself, as a whole, but Adagio’s product. The flavor is just a bit… safe. The leaves are also very often broken. Adagio says its “First Grade” – and, well, it sure is pretty elementary.
Well, this is another tea that my own experience prevents me from really enjoying.
So, I brewed the leaves the only way I find natural now – in a cup. (actually, it should be a glass, but my “glasses” are plastic.) For all you people brewing this in a pot, and timing it… forget it. Leaves, cup, water. That’s all you need. Start sipping after a minute or so, and you’ll enjoy it more.
This is a habit I picked up in China, because that’s how they do it there. My father and I visited the beautiful country around the time of a lungjing harvest in April, and almost everyone was serving it – cafes, restaurants, you name it. They also often serve plain, in-the-shell sunflower seeds with the tea – why, I don’t know. But it was a great combination.
So, not only was I able to experience this tea fresh from the country, my father and I, while in Hangzhou, visited the Dragonwell village. My mother has Paris, I have Lungjing village, I tell you. That was my first time seeing, in person, acres of tea bush. Gorgeous. And every home there processed and served their own tea – the taste varied from house to house.
I never liked Dragonwell until I visited China.
So, on that note…
I can’t really enjoy this tea. It’s not fresh, and I’m not in a Chinese person’s house, trying to buy a tin through a language barrier, or sipping it next to the West Lake. Adagio, you can sell me the mediocre tea, but you can’t sell me the things that should go with it.