sophistre

Tough time rating this.

I think that Bai Mu Dan is just not one of my favorite whites. It’s slightly…what? Vegetal? Musty, in addition to being sweet? What’s the adjective I’m looking for?

Anyway, I was still pleasantly surprised by this. I’d forgotten that it included rose petals, and experienced a minor moment of apprehension when I read the ingredient list on the cannister — rose tea is just not my favorite thing, either, and I was beginning to worry that I’d made a very strange, silly decision.

Not to worry, though; the berry taste sits first (it doesn’t scream fresh strawberry to me, but I don’t have any trouble identifying the flavor as strawberry) and the rose is actually a rather lovely complement. I can see the shreds of coconut in the leaves, but I have a difficult time detecting the note in the tea, which is sort of disappointing — I love coconut — but may be a good thing; I’m not sure whether or not the tea would have too much going on if it were more present than it is. Maybe it’s worth locking up a small amount of this with some additional coconut shavings to see what happens.

A very pretty tea with a very pretty flavor, and a nice change of pace from the solid, unflavored teas I usually drink. I’m not sure whether or not the taste would hold up to being chilled on ice, but it could be fun to try.

Hello, steepster! I’m trying to catch up on my ‘follow’ stuff — I haven’t changed that in months. I will probably be adding people willy-nilly over the next few weeks (or months).

Anyway, tea! Not my first cup of tea since getting back from my travels, but close enough. Decided this morning that I was feeling lazy, wanted to toss two teaspoons of tea into my travel tumbler from Teas Etc. (since I didn’t get to use it after it came in!) and just continue to top it off with fresh water whenever it got sort of low. Usually I’m pretty militant about my steeps. This morning? This morning I was bunkered down into some sort of creative maginot line, trying like hell to put sentences together in comprehensible English after two weeks without writing, and could absolutely not be fussed to bother.

It held up rather well to that sort of abuse, overall. Subsequent ‘steeps’ in the running chain of repours were good through several trips to top off the tumbler, but kind of uninspired. It’s a solid green oolong, floral but less buttery than some others I’ve had. It’s tasty, but there are no revelations in store for the sipper.

(Even now, some five hours after the fact, a sip from the two or so inches of liquid left in the tumbler — in which the two teaspoons of leaves have been wallowing throughout — produces a mellow, standard green oolong flavor. It’s neither oppressively buttery nor uncomfortably astringent in the bitter-green and vegetal sense, and would probably make for a very forgiving iced tea if brewed this way (though I personally find that green oolongs lose a lot of their character when they’re on ice. Refreshing but insipid when cold).

Steepster! I miss you, steepster. I am just insanely busy and, in fact, the only reason I have a few moments this morning is that I’m packing to go on a trip. But I do miss you, and all of your wonderful tea discoveries!

This isn’t one of them, sadly. I’m slowly beginning to come to terms with the fact that I’m running out of Jackee Muntz, and I’m in need of a really solid Keemun to replace it, so I’ve begun the hunt. When Teas Etc. shot me an email about a crazy keyword deal, I decided that the time was nigh. Unfortunately, this isn’t going to be the staple replacement I’d hoped for, but it’s a pretty good tea — it just doesn’t knock my socks off the way that Muntz does.

Reading the scant notes about this I can see that one person thought it was weaker than usual (Auggy) and another person thought it was stronger (someone I don’t recognize). I’m leaning in Auggy’s direction. I’m not sure what I was hoping for, but there isn’t much punch to this one. In the interests of full disclosure I should say that I’m slightly stuffed up from allergies, so part of this is probably not the tea’s fault, but I did steep longer than my standard for new blacks of three minutes, in the hopes that my water would continue to turn amber, which took quite some time.

On the plus side, the flavor is clean, there is a pleasing sweetness present, and even if the cup is slightly watery compared to the Keemun I’m searching for, there isn’t a hint of astringency to be found, which might make it a pretty swell afternoon cup.

And that’s it for me! One brief and inadequate half-asleep cameo before I dash off to shower and throw a few more things into a suitcase so that I can wing my way south for a family reunion I am not even a little bit prepared for. Whee!

Hope all of you marvelous steepsterites are beating the heat with endless pitchers of iced tea.

I can’t believe how remiss I’ve been about adding tasting notes. I didn’t even have this one listed as in my cupboard, but I’ve had it for quite a while now…I’ve gone on to two other tea orders since then! Shameful.

This is a good Assam. The aroma — both of the dry leaves and of the tea itself — is really nice (I don’t ever talk about the smell of the wet leaves because for some reason, the smell of wet tea leaves of any variety is sort of gross to me).

I’ve noticed that many Assams have a sort of berry undertone for me. Sinharaja has that same sort of thing going on, despite being a Ceylon. It’s very complementary to additions of turbinado sugar — something in the molasses content blends nicely (though I tend most often to take my teas, even my black teas, straight).

Not the stiffest Assam I’ve ever had, but pretty stiff, and it has that honeyed biscotti sort of flavor that tends to define the ones I like most. Those people grieving the inevitable emptying of their tin of Thomas Samson might consider this as an alternative, with those shared notes…though it’s definitely a bolder cup of tea than Thomas, and may not tickle every fancy.

Not sure on my steep time here. Less than five minutes, but more than three. I’ve already written tasting notes for this tea, so I don’t think I need to revisit them, but it’s worth noting that I’m digging this one at 190…discovered by accident this morning through a zojirushi oversight. The slightly more bitter astringency is nowhere to be found, and the cocoa notes are much stronger.

There must, I thought, while I stood here at my desk sniffing this package of tea, be something wrong with the inside of my head.

Flavored teas aren’t really my metier. I’ve been curious about them lately, though, and had enough success with the stuff I got from 52teas that I’ve been somewhat emboldened to branch out, after having been thoroughly chased away from them by Teavana.

Still…pear? All of the pear teas that I’ve tried have been abominable failures. One of them is probably what I would consider my arch enemy, in terms of tea, because I want to like it…I should like it…it initially promises me that I will like it…and then I spend the next quarter of an hour rinsing my mouth and wondering why I can’t learn that it’s horrible.

So, yes. Pear tea. Pear ginger tea.

It’s actually pretty good. I think the leaves are CTC leaf…they don’t have the appearance of pellets, per se, but they are very small and shredded in appearance. The pale yellow petals in the blend are quite pretty.

I think this blend works for me because it’s subtle. The pear flavor is there, but it doesn’t taste like stewed fruit. The ginger is there, but it’s even more subtle than the pear; it’s mostly notable in a gentle warmth that haunts your tongue after you swallow, with the sweetness of the pear just peeking about its edges.

I’m not sure whether or not I would rebuy this. I think it would make a fantastic iced tea, actually…

The good news is that Tao of Tea has a sort of frequent-buyer program. Every dollar spent with them earns you a ‘tea leaf’, and these can be used to buy…more tea. Or teaware. Or anything on their site. It’s pretty nice.

It’s also nice that you can buy their tea by the ounce…I bought a whole slew of 1oz bags of tea. It seems pretty inexpensive, as well.

I’m having a difficult time rating this tea today. It’s…very unusual.

Earl Grey is probably the tea that drew me to tea, years ago…strange but true. Especially strange in light of the fact that I tend to have an aversion to intensely perfumey sorts of teas.

This one combines lapsang souchong and earl grey, and there is definitely no mistaking that fact: you can find both very powerful, very fragrant notes together here.

I’ve read that other people have thought ‘smoked pork’ when they smell lapsang souchong, and I’ve always been a little bit tickled by that; for me, lapsang souchong has always just smelled like a campfire, more pine-like than meat-like.

This is the first time I’ve opened a bag and thought…oh…definitely smoked pork.

The tea does not, thankfully, taste like smoked pork.

I’m sort of reminded of Samovar’s Scarlet Sable, unsurprisingly, but I think I prefer this one. The longer I sip it, the more I’m enjoying the sweet, citrus-floral component. It seems to linger on the palate just as well as the smoked lapsang does, making this tea feel lighter than your average lapsang despite the fact that I think it’s really not, in actuality. It does lack the harsh, acrid tar element that some lapsangs seem to tend toward, but since that’s my least favorite quality of lapsang souchong, I can say I’m pretty glad that it does.

This was definitely not the tea I wanted when my order from Tao of Tea came in, but I was so curious about it that I couldn’t help myself. I’m not sorry that I had some. It’s a strange combination, but it works! Citrus and floral and smoke. Gonna have to say…this tea…is a harlot in a housefire.

A little bit more in-your-face with the flavor than many teas I consider staples, but one of those blends that probably occupies a space that no other tea can wholly occupy.

I am increasingly fond of this chai. There’s something remarkably uncommon about the smoke-laced depths of it. It still reminds me of re-enactment villages and antique shops, and the stony fire pits of the Anasazi…or maybe venerable old houses made of good, creaking wood, with big flagstone fireplaces.

Something about it smells almost undeniably feminine to me, too. I cannot for the life of me tell you what the reason for that might be; the tea doesn’t smell floral or sweet or fruity, but somewhere in the back of my mind, it sets off little bells of familiarity strong enough to warrant the thought.

It’s not the chai I reach for every day, but a definite ‘reorder me’ tea even so.

No notes yet.

So, my 4-Hour Work Week Samovar thingy came a few days ago, but I hadn’t had the chance to open it up until today. And…I discovered that the included book is missing! This is actually not a huge problem for me, since I ordered the special for the yerba mate…but even so!

Anyway, I must be seriously insane to be sipping on yerba mate at nearly 8pm in the evening. I’m questioning my own judgement here…but really, it smelled nifty and…new tea! Too weak to say ‘no’.

I’m really digging the smell, honestly. It’s very grassy…but less like the soft green grass of summer, and more like pond reeds of some kind, or something slightly woodier, something thicker, with a stalk. Bamboo, maybe. Not quite sure. It’s an earthy, nutty, but grassy (reedy) smell with a green note at the very end.

The description notes that there’s licorice root in here somewhere, but if so it’s so subtle that I’m not able to isolate it on its own, which for me is a good thing.

It almost has a savory chalkiness to it. That sounds terrible, but I’d say that it reminds me of…I don’t know…oats or some other grain before you turn it into granola or oatmeal or what-have-you. Not chalky, per se, but…

Oh, I’m totally spacing the words that I want. Maybe finishing this cup will help!

This is a pretty robust cup. I can see people either loving it or hating it, but I definitely dig it. I’m really looking forward to trying the other two that came in the set!

Whee, 100 tasting notes. I sort of felt like I ought to have a really rarified tea for my 100th, but then I had one of those mornings where everything that happens seems custom-designed to frustrate and annoy. I couldn’t help but to reach for something sweet.

I’ve been awfully lazy about tasting notes lately. In point of fact, I have none for this tea, but my pouch of it is very nearly empty now, which saddens me. I didn’t expect to like it as much as I have.

There’s not too much that I can add here that other people haven’t already. The shavings of coconut are large; the vanilla is very subtle. The black tea holds up well to both. While it’s a decent tea without any additives, making it like a chai on the stovetop — sans sweeteners, but with a very generous spoonfull or two of sweetened condensed milk added along with regular milk — makes for a completely decadent treat.

I wouldn’t say that it’s a substitute for pie, of course…or even that it tastes exactly like coconut cream pie, when consumed hot…but the results are so delicious that this hardly matters, in my opinion. Thinking about it, I wonder if the viscosity and sweetness when served iced would make the difference?

Regardless…this was just the cup of tea that I needed for drowning a very cranky start to the day. It’s not an ‘every day’ tea for me…but it’s quite nice to have it on hand, and I think I can probably find a regular spot for it in my cabinet.

Upped the amount of leaf significantly this go-around to see if I could pull a more saturated liquor out of the leaves. I think I did…but the result is still undeveloped and somehow unconvincing to sip on. It’s completely inoffensive as a tea, but there just isn’t much substance to it at all, and what is there isn’t intriguing enough to make hunting for it with focus a worthwhile time.

Not bad. I would drink it again without hesitation…but I won’t be sad when I run out of it.

Hands down, without a doubt, one of my favorite teas that I’ve ever encountered, and it deserves a big rating bump for that. It’s true that I go through periods where I really don’t want that high and shining note of darjeeling-esque tartness, but this has ever so much more than that going on. It’s so incredibly rich…it smells like a fruit I’d want to grill, cut up and serve warm on a salad drizzled with citrus dressing. The more I drink it, the more I adore it. I won’t reorder every tin I’ve ever purchased from Samovar…but I have a hard time imagining being without this particular tea.

Expended all of my extracurricular babbling on yesterday’s tasting note, alas, but I don’t need to write much to say what I want to say about this one (especially since I’ve already written one for this tea):

Yummy. Apples are sweet, and it’s good with black tea, and I like it.

I’m still not really sure that I get more than the very barest impression of honey here, but it doesn’t matter, because the apples are sweet, and it’s good with black tea, and I like it.

Cheers.

Based on a true story:

The life of the would-be author is as stymied in the modern era by a blank screen as those who went before found themselves daunted by the empty page. The subconscious processes data in images, symbols, rather than words, and so words are in themselves merely placeholders for symbols, and symbols are powerful things. We assign them omenic power over our creativity, but perhaps none of them are so potent as the empty page, significant not for what it contains but what it does not.

The difference, one supposes, is the readiness with which the screen can be made to do distracting tricks, all of the colorful, noisy glamour of the modern era at the touch of the button. Procrastination is practically effortless.

A piece of paper will simply lie there and stare you down. I’m not disciplined enough as a writer yet to win that particular staring contest. Not that I can claim to have beaten the blinking of an upright cursor yet either, mind you; that infernal flickering line is fairly adept at marking the endless stretches of minutes during which absolutely nothing of any value occurs to me to type about or, worse, I find midway through my typing that what I’m typing has none.

Blast it.

I have to be in the mood for this tea. There are times when the immense pressure to create something (see: sludge into a diamonds) sends me running for the cabinet in search of something comforting. You’ve (I’ve) got to get out of the trenches, abandon the maginot, and convalesce.

Sit. Sip. Ruminate. You get to a point where you think in words, after a time, which would be horrifying if you didn’t like them so much. If you didn’t enjoy them beyond the point of practical decency, even; to a point of near-obscenity, nursing a deep and secret love of language at the very real peril of turning your lexicon into a purple, frothy, reprehensibly verbose mess. Place them mindfully onto the page, don’t sick them up everywhere, for the love of all that’s holy! But these words exist, anyway: bituminous, intaglio, abrogate, effulgent. Mental snack food, chewy and easy to over-do it with, completely without substance in and of themselves.

Still, you sit and sip the tea and indulge in a few minutes of shameless inventory of various adjectives to describe it, and finally arrive at the right one.

This tea, I think to myself, when properly timed, is sublime.

So you stop, and mull, and look into your cup.

Sublime: it is a word that has roots of slightly muddy origin. Generally assumed in casual conversation to be synonymous in many ways with ‘divine’, there is a great deal more to the nature of the word than first appearances suggest; its etymology connects it to ‘lintel’ (Latin: ‘limen’) — the crossbeam that forms the apex of a doorway. ‘Sublime’ must therefore be extracted thus: to pass beneath a threshold, therefore through a door. The awe and divinity encapsulated within the word are very specific, then, as pertaining to the exaltation and rapturous euphoria one experiences as they pass into the unknown across some threshold, real or imagined.

In this roundabout way, you come across the hot iron of a fresh idea, and strike. The tragedy in the tale is that the cup of tea that served as your muse for the evening sits nearby, nearly-and-not-quite finished, and goes cold, but in a surprise twist, is every bit as sweet on the tepid finish as it was a few minutes — no…what, really?…make that…two hours? — before, when it came to your rescue while you flagged at the keys.

I’m surprised I hadn’t rated this by now, but I’m sort of glad that I didn’t, as I don’t think I’d tried several Golden Monkey cups of tea before I bought this. I would’ve missed the similarities, or at least not have been able to spot the differences. I’ve had it for quite a while, and just been off on other tea adventures since then.

It has that very same bake-y, flour-on-the-bottom-of-a-loaf-of-rural-bread flavor as Golden Monkey does, but the flavor isn’t quite as ‘clear’, prominent (either in the nose or on the palate) or as dry. There’s more fruit in the mix, too, but dark fruit…the flavor is, overall, a bit shadowy, but not too heavy.

I suppose I can interpret what I’m tasting as the cup cools as either cocoa or spice. I tend to lean toward cocoa, though, especially now that the tea isn’t as hot anymore.

Overall, not a bad cup of tea for this morning. I wanted something different and bracing, but with less caffeine than the Dawn I’ve had over the last several mornings (which seems to pack a pretty strong punch for me, for whatever reason).

An interesting tea. I’m not sure how I feel about it. Now that I’m thinking about it, I’m not sure that I’ve had any other Nepalese tea.

It’s certainly an unusual flavor. It seems to be caught somewhere between a lighter, greener oolong and a darker, more chestnutty oolong. The result is…a bit nutty and a bit floral, all at the same time, but only very loosely. That’s the best way I can explain it — the tea’s flavors are loose. It gets sweet or tart toward the end, and after the sip.

I’m sitting here wondering if I’m crazy, because the combination of flavors results in something that seems to be like…floral, but also something a bit like…coffee. Which is not to say that the tea tastes like coffee at first sip, but while I’m wading through the melange of flavors here, or even the scents from the tepid cup, I keep thinking that there’s something about it that reminds me of it…as though it were barely there, and I had accidentally steeped a very mild, florally fruity oolong in a cup in which I had had coffee at some point (I don’t even own coffee, so that is assuredly impossible).

It’s drinkable because it’s very mellow, but I don’t think it’s the kind of tea I need to have in my cupboard. Maybe I’ll try it over ice next time, though.

Matcha!

Been a while since I had any in my collection. The only matcha I have ever bought and personally owned was from Teavana, though I’ve sipped it in restaurants and other places. This, then, I will only really be able to compare to Teavana’s matcha in terms of the quality of the powder.

Not an easy prospect, because of the way in which this is blended with the freeze-dried strawberry powder. The resulting color of the matcha is pretty dark…more like a drab, olive green khaki color than that electrified, super-saturated emerald-green that I’ve come to equate with good, un-diluted matcha powder. I will have to give them the benefit of the doubt as far as that goes, and assume it’s because of the muddying of the strawberry.

There’s really no mistaking the scent, either. Anybody to have bought cereal with freeze-dried strawberry in it, or tins of unsulfered, completely dried fruit will immediately recognize the smell, sweet and, to me, slightly starchy or bready in some way.

I decided, since I haven’t had matcha in a while, to have it this morning in my very favorite way to have it: as a latte. Taken this way, it’s quite a treat!

For reference: 2 1/2 cups water heated over medium heat on the stove in a pot, until steaming but not simmering or boiling. Add 2 rounded teaspoons of matcha, sifted (I use a wire teapot infuser basket and grate it through with the end of the teaspoon). Whisk! Added 1 cup whole milk, whisked until foamy and fluffy and steaming again, then poured into a cup.

Usually my proportions here are different, and usually when it’s regular matcha I add a blob of honey, but I didn’t want to tamper with the flavor of the strawberries. I’m glad that I didn’t — that starchy, powdery aftertaste of the dried strawberry goes really well with the creaminess of the milk.

Taken this way, the matcha tastes essentially the way that it smells, but less sharp, which may very well owe itself to the milk. I like that the matcha isn’t crushed out by either the milk or the strawberry, too…it’s a really decadent trifecta of flavors. It has me thinking that it would make a really delicious ice cream.

The Simple Leaf is two for two with me.

This is a complex tea…and so probably destined to become one of my favorites. I chose this for this evening because of the leaves, which are quite lovely in their variegated appearance.

Tankha, it must be said, is remarkably similar to Samovar’s Royal Garland while hot. It’s not nearly as rich, and it’s a lighter cup of tea by all accounts, but there are striking similarities…the fruity, shining darjeeling flavor with a lingering, nectary, honeysuckle element. It lacks the thicker taste of dense fruit…and yet I hesitate to call it ‘floral’, though I suppose there’s something to that toward the last of the sip, and definitely some of that in the nose. I’m…actually having trouble pinning down flavors with any adequacy. I would not mistake this tea for Royal Garland…and yet, comparing the two is the closest I can get.

The second steep brews to a slightly darker shade, and produces a softer flavor…with, interestingly, a distinct aroma of lemons, without the sharpness you would expect.

Yum…yum…yum.

I cannot (in this instance) tell a lie: I have been sort of afraid to place an order with 52teas.

I’d have to say that flavored teas aren’t really my go-to cup. I really marvel over the wide variety of flavors that Camellia Sinensis is capable of producing all on its lonesome, or at least with a little bit of environmental coaxing.

More, I’m wary of flavored teas because often, the flavors are…not believable.

Today I’ve had two offerings from 52teas, and I’ve liked them both. This is my second, and to be honest it was sort of an unusual flavor for me to choose, as apples are not really my go-to flavor for much of anything. Something about the combination of apple and honey was appealing enough for me to want to give it a try, though, so…here we are.

It’s a subtle tea, to be certain, but quite good. There were chunks of dried apple in the tea leaves. Despite the warning that ‘this tea may be sticky’, there was no rampant clumping of honey-saturated leaves going on, which is good. ;) The smell of the dried leaves doesn’t quite reflect the taste of the tea.

And that taste is…again, very subtle. There’s mild black tea as a base. You sip, and if you hold the tea in your mouth, you get the taste of dried apple…and then on the swallow you get a little bit of its sweet tartness unfolding in your mouth, especially along the sides of the tongue. Definitely apple. Honey may have a presence here, but if so, it’s very mild.

I seem to remember someone always searching for well-done apple teas. I am sort of hoping it’s Jillian so that I can send her some in recompense for my perpetually delayed shipment of sample tea!

I am seriously drowning in tea now. My orders from 52teas and The Simple Leaf both came in today, and now I’m starting to think that investing in a better tea storage solution is completely critical. This wouldn’t be such a disaster if I were capable of ordering just one or two samples, but I’m really not. My counter is a minefield of new tea.

Soooo, anyway!

What can I say about this tea that other people haven’t already said?

Opening the bag, you’re hit with the scent of cocoa powder — the light, fluffy, dusty kind. To me, the aroma was a lot like chocolate milk. Everyone to remark on the leaves themselves is utterly in earnest — they are incredible. Thick, woody, substantial, smooth. They are tea leaves that you could kill a man with. They have heft.

They are also very difficult to estimate by eye, reinforcing for me that a scale is something I’m overdue to invest in.

Steeped, while still very hot the aroma slips occasionally toward something distinctly honey. Honey and cocoa are definitely there…and so is a woody depth that reminds me not just a little bit of Golden Moon’s Imperial Formosa Oolong. You never lose sight of the fact that this is tea, either; what I think of as the quintessential tea flavor is there, but darker, shadowed.

The other note I can identify is one I’ve gone back and forth about adding here for reasons that will become obvious, but it’s just so prevalent that I can’t really see any way to get around it:

Cannabis.

Not fresh. More like…hash. Why yes, I did spend a few years in my youth doing things you’re not technically allowed by our country to do!

Seriously, though, it’s there. In small quantities, and more like the memory of something than the fact of it, but recurrent enough that this note would be incomplete without its mention.

For all that the list of flavors is dark…the tea itself is surprisingly not so, with a very low and subtle sweetness on the tail end that uplifts the oolong-like fullness in the mouth.

A delicious tea, and completey worthy of whatever ranting and raving people have been doing.

PS: Good for a second steep.

Last of the bags that Jillian sent.

This tea is pretty forgiving, it seems; the second one I had I forgot in my cup thanks to a phone call and it was still delicious. Something in the combinations of the spices seems to linger after you swallow, hanging out in your belly like a warm battery, and there’s a sweetness that makes it really appealing even now, when the sun is finally out and the holiday season is the very last thing on my mind.

While it’s not a huge production for me to brew tea — since I use an in-cup infuser in a 16oz cup, and the zoji keeps me flush in hot water — it’s sort of nice to have bagged tea around too, admittedly. This probably makes me the laziest person on earth.

Yeah, I’m a fan. I definitely plan to nab a tin of this, when I finally place a proper order.

Thanks, Jillian!

Almost the last of this sample. I’ve now tried it two ways; the first was at a lower temp because of the green tea in the blend (175), steeped for a longer period of time. This time, because I’m having it in the morning, I kicked the temp up to 205 and steeped for a shorter period of time.

Really, I can’t seem to recall any distinct differences between the two methods, though I will grant you that I had this tea at the lower temp more than a week ago, so my memory is broken across the rocky, beer-foamed snarls of a raucous convention weekend. The cup I’m drinking is alright, though. The most intense flavor — after the tea, and insofar as order of noticeability, rather than what I would consider literally intense — is the guava by a wide margin. It makes identifying the strawberry independently difficult to do, but you catch some trace of it toward the end, along with a tang. I assume this is the hibiscus, but I’ve had hibiscus in blends before, and it by no means screams HELLO at your palate…in fact you expect that mild tang to be there, because the guava scent and flavor are enhanced by it, and predict it.

This tea is just fine hot, but let’s face it — it’s practically destined to be iced tea. Sweetened with a little bit of honey and slapped into a pitcher, this blend would be a perfect porchside companion.

Another of the teas that Jillian sent me. Actually, this is the one I was curious about when we discussed a tea-swap, and with guests in town and PAX and all sorts of craziness, this is the first time I’ve been able to sit down and actually try the stuff.

At the time I’d asked for it, I’d not had another Russian Caravan. Now I’ve had A&D’s, and while I can say that I prefer that one, this is a pretty good alternative in a slightly different way.

It doesn’t have the same ‘bottom end’ as A&D’s Caravan. It’s a milder, brighter tea with more lapsang at the front end, but less on the tail end, of the sip. It feels thin but not watery; I never forgot that I was drinking tea. Maybe the additional brightness and general ’tea’ness comes from the darjeeling?

A good cup, all in all, though I think when I turn to smokey teas I’m specifically looking for something more robust and full-bodied, not necessarily gentle and on the weaker side, so there are probably other teas I’d reach for in order of preference…but it was an interesting tea to try!