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Well, the upside down part is right: I turned the whole tin upside down in search of fruit chunks (there aren’t enough to suit me). And the cake part is just right: lots of brown-sugary pastry goodness. But pineapple? Not so much. No worries—it functions nicely as a fall dessert tea, but if I want more pineapple, I’ll have to toss in some dried chunks on my own.

So…when fall weather finally arrives, what unflavored tea do you crave? I’ve got my gingerbread and carrot cake and chai all ready to go, but the one variety I associate with autumn is a good Keemun Congou. This one is especially fine. When I underleaf (my worst steeping habit), I can’t catch it, but I threw caution to the wind this morning and in addition to the burlap and leather vibe, there’s a lovely apple-peel note as well.

It’s catch-up time: the heat was so miserable for such a long stretch, I didn’t want to waste new tea or samples from friends on a cup that got two sips before my internal temperature started to boil. So with apologies for the delay, thank you, Martin, for my first Sonnentor tea!

This is a bagged green tea with lemongrass, simple and understated. The lemongrass whittles any vegetal edge off the green tea base and adds a little crispness to the cup. The Sonnentor website calls it “zingy.” I think I’d tweak that down just a little bit, maybe to “perky,” but it’s all relative, isn’t it? Tomato, to-mah-to…

An anniversary surprise from my Beloved Enabler. I love a good apple tea, and I wondered if the fruit might be overpowered by the rooibos. Happy surprise—it’s a nice pairing. Though I didn’t see any apple bits as large as the ones in the picture, it’s in there somewhere—very fresh and cidery. Not tart like a Granny Smith; more like a Fuji or fresh Red Delicious.

Family needs took us to Haysville, Kansas, which is not what we’d recommend for an anniversary getaway; however, on the way home, we grabbed a pizza from a favorite local establishment and ate it al fresco at a rest stop picnic table near Beaumont, on a blissfully silent little hillock in the Flint Hills. You could see 20 miles in every direction and we watched dragonflies do touch-and-go’s among the Black-eyed Susans. Sometimes it doesn’t have to be where you are. Sometimes it’s just who you’re with.

Most companies get the ginger part right but completely miss the pastry side of their gingerbread/cookie teas. (Yes, this means you, Bigelow Ginger Snappish. Sorry.)

Our H&S friends have nailed both elements accurately. Not so much ginger it burns; and just enough “cookie” to make it believable without being cloying. Nicely done. Thanks, ashmanra!

Derk tucked a couple of packets of this in her last care package, and while my addled brain can forget why I walked into a room, I actually remembered having a taste of the same tea in the past. I waited to enjoy the encore cup before reading my previous review so as not to skew the results this time around. And with both cups, oolong + salted caramel = banana. Good banana, but not an equation one would expect!

Labor Day weekend was still beastly hot in our part of the world (it’s September, weather pixies—get with it!) so anything I drank, I drank iced. This fruity little treat worked well, Martin! If I’ve got my information correct, it contains bilberries, which I’ve never sampled before. I described them to my husband as “blueberries once removed.” Even with rose hips in the mix, the blend was gentle and not a bit tart.

I’ve always been an “eh, chamomile always tastes like chamomile no matter what” drinker, but Harney’s variety tasted a little less musty than others I’ve encountered. Might’ve helped ease some kinks out of the back of my neck on a stress-uous (rhymes with “tempestuous”) afternoon.

Whenever I open a tea (sample, in this case) for the first time and see a mix of blonde and brunette leaves, whether they be twisted, straight, or curled (also in this case) it immediately makes me smile because those are the leaves that most often yield my favorite tea profile in the whole world—wheat bread and chocolate.

Yunnans are often noted to have a little pepper in the mix, too—if there was in Adagio’s take on Yunnan, I didn’t notice it. Didn’t mar my morning cuppa at all. Based on the age of the reviews I’m seeing, this has been one of Adagio’s consistently quality offerings for years.

One of the reasons I love Basilur is that their fruit is fruity without a hint of hibiscus tang. Frosty Afternoon (I still think it’s a funny name for these ingredients) is beautifully juicy and citrusy, both hot and iced. The orange side of the flavor balance is redolent of citrus peel. (That’s the fanciest word I’ve used in a week.) The passionfruit side, well, I wouldn’t recognize a passionfruit if you threw one at me, so I can’t vouch for its accuracy, but it hits some high-end citrusy notes very nicely. Thanks, Martin!