Bi Luo Chun

If you had asked me a few months ago, I would have said that I didn’t like Chinese greens pretty much as a general rule. To me, Chinese greens remind me of that time in college that I wondered about the little mineral stones I’d give my hamster and so I licked one of them. (It was a new one, if you were concerned. No hamster bits on it.) Salty, mineralish, briny, drying… I mean, I was glad my hamster liked it but it wasn’t something I wanted to include in my regular diet. Which, yeah, was pretty much my thought on Chinese greens (in both taste and dietary inclusion).

But stupid Chicago Tea Garden. Making me reevaluate my entire policy towards Chinese greens! How dare they?! I mean, first I had good success with their Lu Mu Dan Flowers. Then, more recently, I fell in love with their Wu Yu Jade Mist (which I just ordered 50g of, by the way). And now this sample. Dang it. I like it! I still like the Wu Yu more – it’s more nuanced and exciting to me – but this is a really tasty tea.

I think the main thing I like about this is the zero astringency bit. Sure, some tea descriptions will say that, but this tea actually delivers. Instead of having an astringent (or briny) endnote, this one is all smooth and sweet. The whole tea actually is smooth and sweet. And maybe a little bready – like a very light rye bread or something. So light (very pale) honey and a non-dark rye bread. That’s what this tea makes me think of. Yum!

And now my cup is empty. And I have to go refill it. And find a new stance for my Chinese green related tea thoughts.

When brewed right, these tiny, fuzzy, tender leaves work wonders. When brewed wrong, you’ll be lucky if the liquor merely turned out insipid: oversteeped biluochun takes on the taste and feeling of rubber bands. I got through the majority of my bag making it various degrees of Wrong before the tea gods blessed me with a ~20oz pot of ambrosia. I was completely winging it, turning off the kettle when it felt right and counting off 40 sec before starting the pour from the pot, which I’d left unlidded this time. I have a kyusu, a gaiwan and a Korean infuser mug—which can all pour much faster than this ungainly 32oz pot that drains slower than glaciers do—but past attempts to strictly control all the parameters ended up failing anyways. So imagine my surprise when the mug touched my lips and the liquid poured in as a sweet, gentle caress. It had an amiable sweetness and an airy lightness. The fragrance was fruity (specifically like honeydew, if you want my subjective, unreliable observation), which is a quality I find a lot more pleasant than the grassy or floral notes from other greens or green oolongs.

Tastes, looks, and smells more like a white tea.