It is transmitted in the form of rituals, writings, and treasured objects that have been preserved for our present enrichment, and to be passed down yet again.

In some circles, the highest form of tangible tea history is said to be the Ido chawan.

The Ido story begins in Korea, where potters made these rustic bowls for everyday use. Many say they were intended as rice bowls. The wheel-thrown shapes were rough; often uneven or showing finger marks.

Another sign of their humble beginnings are the wads of clay in the center of the bowl. This technique was used to stack several tea bowls together in order to fire a larger load, without allowing the glaze on the piled bowls to fuse together.

It is not clear when this style of pottery first became known in Japan, but by the time of Sen no Rikyu and his disciples, the bowls were touted as among the purest expression of their wabi esthetic, and highly prized by both the tea men and their patrons.

There were other types of Korai (Korean) bowls imported by the Japanese chajin, but Yamanoue Soji is credited with identifying the Ido bowl as the best among them. He even selected an Ido chawan for the collection of Toyotomi Hideyoshi.

Another disciple of Rikyu, Oribe Furuta, sought inspiration from this pottery in order to infuse more of their wabi character into his own chawan designs.

Looking to get even closer to this ideal, he sought to understand the construction of the Korean climbing kilns, and recreate them in Japan.

Due to the rising popularity of the style, Japanese began making commissions to Korean potters or sending their own designs for teabowls to be fired in the climbing kilns. Unfortunately, with the chajin in service of the war thirsty Hideyoshi, this voluntary trade soon turned very bloody for the Koreans.

Hideyoshi had deluded himself into thinking that he could capture the many riches of China, if only Korea would guarantee him safe passage through their peninsula. When the Korean envoy rejected these terms, Hideyoshi pressed on to war anyway. He never reached China, but the Japanese army razed the settlements of Korea almost beyond repair. As a spoils of war, they returned with dozens of Korean potters as their captives, and set them to work back in Japan.

From that point on, the nation of Japan continued to toil at extracting the wabi essence of the Ido chawan, but the original is still considered the pinnacle of the form.

The chajin struggled with the idea of creating wabi, as making something that appeared to be without intention was naturally an intention itself. Perhaps the failure to surpass the character of the Ido chawan is proof that no amount of force (of will or military conquest) is capable of coercing real beauty.

Perhaps reaching for something and never quite grasping is part of what wabi is about, after all. One may never reach this state of imperfection perfectly, but while we ponder it, we have Ido to enjoy.

Further reading:
Chanoyu Quarterly #18
Dawan, Chawan, Chassbal
Toki
Warrior Tea Man (Manga)

Visual Inspection:

left: 90s meng­hai grade 2 loose
right: 80s meng­hai white nee­dle golden lotus

The White Needle Golden Lotus, a legend of the Menghai Tea Factory, has tiny buds coated in a delicate white frost.

Its younger brother, Menghai grade 2 loose puer of the 1990’s has a smaller percentage of buds, a more thorough wo dui (wet piling, the artificial fermentation process), and a rusty coating in place of the frost.

Visually, it is not easy to distinguish between the two. In fact, the younger tea is often passed off as the famous White Needle of years past.

There are other reasons to pair these teas, however. The 90s Menghai represents my favorite style of cooked puer (excepting the WNGL), and is considered a very good tea in its own right.

First Cup:

I brewed the teas side by side in a tiny pair of matching teapots, using only 2 grams of each.

The WNGL (right) brewed a darker cup, with a more dominant golden rim.

This difference was consistent across 10 or more infusions, not a result of slight differences in brewing time.

Hui Gan:

The hui gan of the WNGL is very subtle, and probably overpowered by the ‘richer’ cooked puer. I have just finished tasting the WNGL in isolation and notice a very long but subtle mineral finish, combined with the senstation of mint and a strong reaction from the salivary glands.

The 90s Menghai has a much more typical coating effect with a sweet, malty finish. Somewhere between grains and hay.

Down The Hatch:

With the WNGL, no strong presence manifested in my throat, which is just fine. I could feel the warmth go all the way down to the top of my stomach on the very first sip.

The 90s Menghai coats the throat nicely, but rarely ventures any further.

Cha Qi:

I have tried these teas several times in an attempt to accurately transmit the complete experience through writing. I am prepared to admit now that it just isn’t possible.

I can offer that the cha qi of the WNGL is strong, but straightforward. It leads me down to a quiet, meditative state — far deeper than my usual rock tea. I have a feeling that this alone is what makes it so sought after. In fact, it provides more quietude than many of its aged sheng contemporaries.

It provided some strong pressure on my brow, and a gentle warming.

The 90s Menghai provides a stronger warming, but in the end, it does not lead the mind nearly as far towards a contemplative calm as its older and wiser sibling.

Verdict:

The White Needle Golden Lotus truly lived up to its legendary status. The 90s Menghai was a good tea we can enjoy with frequency.

Now that we have some practical examples of what separates a good tea and a great tea, I hope we can continue to refine our sensitivity and share in the joy that comes from experiencing tea.

You could substitute most of these qualities in a dozen other ways. So why would someone focus as heavily on tea — and tea alone — as those reading here are known to do?

For those most passionate about tea, our ideal for each and every cup is to stimulate the mind along with our senses. This factors heavily into how we judge tea. Someone just beginning their tea journey may be surprised to hear that some seasoned tea drinkers rank initial taste as one of the least important forms of sensory evaluation.

Before diving into what makes one tea good and another tea great, we should very briefly introduce some ways that tea can excite our other senses. For some people, it will take time to develop the sensitivity to describe these sensations, but it helps to know what areas to be mindful of.

After initial taste and aroma, the first thing tea drinkers are likely to focus on is known in Chinese as 回甘 [huí gān]. In English, a near literal translation is “Returning Sweetness,” but we can think of this loosely as aftertaste. You can experience this clearly in most good teas, and probably already have. In the best teas, though, the taste can go on for hours.

The next place to focus is feeling in the throat. Tea here can be cooling or warming, rough or wet. Often drinking good tea will give you the sensation of a ball in your throat. It is good to consider how far down the tea goes — in other words, where the sensation is no longer apparent. If the tea slips down without any notice, it is just a drink. Many good teas will stop somewhere in the middle of your throat. If it gives a pleasant feeling all the way down to your core, it is truly something special.

A good place to first look for throat feel is Wuyi Yancha. This tea is often said to be unique for its prominent 岩韻 [yán yùn], or “Rock Feel,” evident in the throat.

Possibly the most nebulous of tea’s qualities are ascribed to 茶氣 [chá qì] — a tea’s “energy.” Most readers will probably be familiar with at least some of the wide ranging effects it is attributed with. Practically any physical or mental stimulus outside of the mouth, nose, and throat falls into the realm of cha qi.

Some more obvious manifestations of cha qi are a heating or cooling of the extremities (eg, sweaty palms when drinking a ‘warming’ tea like aged puerh or heavily roasted oolong), a flushing of the face, or a measurable change in mood. In a small group, tea can either lead to deep conversation, giddy laughter, or contemplative silence.

I find that the stress of the day usually accumulates in my shoulder, and I greatly appreciate tea’s ability to trigger relaxation in tense muscles.

In teas with the most powerful cha qi, a person can feel “blissed out” and start to notice a feeling of pressure around the head. Pressure on the top of head, brow, temples, or a feeling of tightness in the jaw are all feelings to look for, and are all indicators of strong cha qi.

There are of course many other places you can find cha qi — a favorite description of mine comes from Matt, who related that the tea we were sharing felt “like a warm hug around the belly.”

If any of the descriptions here are unfamiliar to you, that is perfectly normal. Just enjoy the tea and remain mindful. Drinking with others is a good way to find out what others are experiencing, and see how you can relate.

In the next post, we will put the language of experiencing tea to work, to help explain the difference between one good — and one great — tea.

In the Western market, tea drinkers often end up buying a few pots in the beginning that don’t quite “fit.”

Maybe the size is wrong, the clay is poor, or is simply not a match to any of our desired teas. Perhaps the shape and craftsmanship are just not pleasing to us.

Owning bad teapots, experienced collectors will remind you, is “tuition” that helps you start to recognize better teapots from the others.

After a handful of these tuition pots, this shui ping was the first pot I purchased with both excellent clay and artistry, and it has been in continuous use ever since.

A few months ago, I knocked it off the table and onto the floor while rushing to set up for tea. I could hardly stand to look at the damage, let alone take a photo. There was nothing to be glued back together, the tip of the spout was completely pulverized.

By some miracle, teachum Pamela was on the scene — with a Master’s degree in jewelry design and a penchant for digging up unusual materials.

Inspired by a 19th century repair, she crafted a silver cap to replace the damaged part of the spout.

For bonding, she managed to secure a small amount of medical grade silicone along with a hardening agent. This is the same stuff used in prosthetic limbs, and now, in prosthetic teapots.

With its new spout affixed, my teapot is back in fighting shape, and looking better than ever. It seems like it might even pour a bit faster than before.

I couldn’t be more pleased to be brewing in my favorite pot once again.

This blog has usually eschewed discussing a single specimen of tea. These teas are exceptional in this regard not because they are unique or have any particularly outstanding quality, but because they challenged my expectations.

When Pamela arrived at the house for tea, we started with something that was a known quantity for me.

This 7532 copy was produced in 1996 by the Fu Hai tea factory according to the recipe developed by Menghai Tea Factory.

It is traditionally stored, and aligns very well with my past experience with 7532 from this period.
(In fact, I have had 4–5 examples from the very same year — it is one of my favorites.)

I thought that we would breeze through this tea and dedicate most of our attention to the genuine Menghai articles — a pair of samples from generous tea chum Will. I had been saving these for some time, waiting for the right moment to share them.

Wanting to examine both samples in depth, but also compare their differences, I prepared them in matching teapots (40ml Yixing).

We tried 6 infusions of each alone, before beginning to brew them side by side. After 3 or 4 infusions both teas began to show more balance and sweetness, but the “7532” remained a bit more robust.

However, the smoke and tobacco of the 7532 surprised me, having come to expect something thick, creamy and mellow. Perhaps there was a drastic difference in storage.

Several infusions on, I started to find that the two teas tasted extremely similar — not just in the late infusions, but throughout. Was my small sample actually 7542, or had these two teas — procured in separate shops — been stored in just the right way to achieve such a similar result?

We decided to award the round to the 7532 — or whatever it is — by a small margin.

But we really preferred the smoother taste of the “knock off” — 7532 from Fu Hai Tea Factory.

I transfered it from a gaiwan to a larger teapot to enjoy the later infusions of this tea at a leisurely pace.

Before the cha qi of all this aged tea could send us into a deep sleep, I sent Pamela off with a pick-me-up from this winter harvest Tie Guan Yin.

A bit later on, I asked Will about the provenance of the tea. He mentioned that the shop stocking the 7532 had quite a few items that didn’t seem entirely right — but tasted good nonetheless. “It doesn’t really matter what it is … It’s just tea,” he offered.

So which teas here were real or fake? The Fu Hai? The “7532” that didn’t match our expectations in taste? They were all delicious and calming.

Most of us are not existential enough to stop seeking information about our tea, but as long as it is good tea, perhaps that is all that matters.

“The old teapot is different from the newer teapot because… the craftsmanship is very obvious.”

“It’s ability… when it’s perfect, but not mechanic. When it’s mechanic — it’s like you are printing a straight line with a computer, using a printer. But if you draw a perfect line with your bare hand, that’s the beauty of art.”

Kingston teaches us about a pair of late Qing dynasty Shui Ping style Yixing teapots — made of Duan Ni clay — for King Rama V of Thailand.

Afterwards, leading lady Dae took some great photos of the pots.

Michael began with a young, unblended single estate tea, 2008 Bing Dou. Timothy contrasted this with a semi-fermented, classic Menghai recipe, 2002 7352.

The duo did their best to explain the differences between the small batch and factory teas, but having a full house of new and old tea lovers alike, a number of insightful questions arose.

Why is one cake looser than another?

Factory standards are most often produced with hydraulic compression, which usually results in a fairly dense tea cake. The tea businesser who commissions a special production may request that the cake be compressed in the old style — the bag of tea leaves to be pressed is placed between two parts of a stone mold, and a worker stands on top of the mold. Compared to the mechanized approach, this yields a loose cake, where one can easily flake off a piece by hand.

Why not loose tea?
One guest noted that we often enjoy puerh tea in loose form as we do with oolong. So why do we see most puerh end up in compressed shapes?

The reason, as most readers have already guessed, is ease of transport. A dense tea brick takes up much less space than the same weight of loose “mao cha” and made a more efficient use of carts traveling on the Tea Horse Road.

Much further along on our temporal Tea Road, we have discovered that blending and compression (now favoring cakes over bricks) results in a more complex aged tea when compared to loose puerh.

OK, I get the different ‘blends,’ but what does this Recipe Number mean?

At first sight, we often have nothing but an opaque number and our own senses to go by when judging a factory tea.

I decided the best way to break down the code is in a graphic — I hope this will not offend the designers in the audience too greatly.

The first portion needs little explaining — this 7352 blend was first used in 1973.

The “average” grade of leaves I believe to be somewhat subjective. Puerh leaf is graded by size, 0–8, with 8 being the largest leaves. This is simply a measurement and not qualitative — that is, there is no ‘better’ end of the scale.

A cake is a blend of several grades, and the middle digit represents a rough estimation of the mean leaf size.

Please elaborate in the comments if you can do better!

The final digit represents the tea factory who processed the cake. Under socialist control, there were 3 factories of note.

1. Kunming
2. Menghai
3. Xiaguan

All three factories are operated privately today under the same numbers, but many other numbers have been added. Cataloging them is left as an exercise to the reader.

Say, what’s that other number?
OK, nobody asked this, but anyone still reading obviously has a strange fixation with numbers, ala Lennon.

Today, a second important number is printed on the face of a Dayi wrapper. It indicates the year and batch of production. Ex. 801 represents the first batch of 2008, while 809 represents the 9th batch of the same year. Some collectors seek out the 1st batch each year, while others contend that the quality of each batch is indistinguishable from another. Quite often, the first batch is sold at a small premium.

This batch labeling began in 2004, but the astute reader will notice that this short hand only accounts for a 10 year span, and the planet recently turned a decade older. 2010 productions, 2nd batch begin again as 002.

Usually, the year in long form will be printed on the back of the wrapper, so no need to worry about the sorry lives of tea anthropologists in the distant future (after all humans are killed by poisonous robo-gasses).

When did Menghai become private?
Menghai Tea Factory started producing commercial products in 1989 under their own Dayi brand. By 1996, all of the products were of the private brand. During the transition period, foreign tea orders (including Hong Kong) were made only via the government’s CNNP, until reforms finally allowed the original tea factories to fill orders directly.

But…
Many of these details are less important than the experienced gained by drinking the tea itself. The way the tea tastes, lingers in your mouth and throat, and the way that it makes you feel are the most important parts of judging the tea. But the curious among us simply cannot resist digging deep into the provenance and history of tea.

Perhaps this short primer will inspire someone to take a closer look at some facet of tea they have yet to uncover.

There have been wild accusations around the ‘net of me being one to spill the beans. To live up to this unsavory reputation, I offer you all a tour of the as-yet unnamed collaboration between The Tea Gallery and The Mandarin’s Tea Room.

Somewhere along the way, we noticed that the phrase “The Tea Gallery slash Mandarin’s Tea Room” is a “mouthful.”

There are still mountains of boxes to be unpacked, but I was invited to visit the new tea room on the twenty-sixth anniversary of my birth.

 

Tim tells us that his esteemed Anxi mentor keeps up a menu of no less than 20 unique TGY teas each year.

The gang are currently evaluating a slate of even more Shui Xian teas for their new menu.

Many readers know that I can’t get enough of this tea, and at one point counted 15 unique styles on hand in my personal tea room.

This was another high fired style, but was quite distinct from the 3 Stamp already offered by The Tea Gallery. A sweet, cherry syrup added to the already rich flavors this tea is known for.

This might have passed as the perfect tea for my birthday celebration, but Michael is not one to leave “good enough” alone.

He shocked even Tim by brewing 20g of his 1950’s Shui Xian in a pot of roughly 180ml. A fitting gift to someone who can’t make tea too strong.

It seems certain that with two driven tea lovers like Michael and Tim challenging one another, we will all benefit from a higher level of tea.

But wait, what are Winnie and Dae up to?
Check back soon!

One year after our first meeting, inaugural members of the NYC Tea Club gathered once again at The Tea Gallery.

When all the guests finally arrived, Winnie suggested a matcha to lift everyone’s spirits. She prefers to use a new tin of matcha fairly quickly to enjoy its freshness, and fearlessly ladled several large scoops of bright powder into her chawan.

The initial result was some of the strongest Usucha style matcha I have experienced.

Not one to be outdone, Michael stepped up to prepare a second round of matcha, this one even thicker than the first. The texture of his tea was no less than a mousse. The quality of the tea shined through here, revealing no bitterness even at this concentration.

Michael brewed two rounds of green puerh to contrast their unique character. The Mandarin and I goofed off for the camera.

The Mandarin got serious with a 1960’s baozhong.

His source tells us that this was prepared in an earlier style for baozhong than the fresh spring greens we enjoy today.

The dry leaf smelled of honey suckle, and the tea produced a strong feeling in the throat. Perhaps his blog will soon educate us on baozhongs now and then.


I had a chance to brew next, serving two aged Liu An. The first was a bit of a mystery, and although smooth to taste, it gave some guests a slightly uncomfortable feeling.

The second had a stronger earthy aroma but was already showing signs of sweetness and a comforting feel. Winnie plans to continue aging this tea, hoping to recreate the soothing feeling of her favorite aged Liu An.

Starting to feel hunger pangs from all the old tea, we agreed to end with Michael’s speciality, a Wuyi rock tea. He selected one easily, but reminded us to taste first, ask questions second. It was revealed to be a 2004 Tie Luo Han.

Everyone enjoyed the aged aroma of the tea, but we had to rush out to satisfy our cravings for spicy and greasy food at a Sichuan restaurant.

The group parted from there, ready to embark on our second year of tea discovery.

And Now the Conclusion…

After testing the pot with water, the logical next step is to add tea to the equation.

The most obvious thing to do might be to add some leaves, hot water, and taste some tea.

Instead, this test allows you to diminish the differences in thermal properties or pour times that might add variables in such an experiment, and focus for the moment on the effect of the clay on the tea liquor.

To have enough tea for the experiment, brew two rounds of tea in a gaiwan and combine them in your faircup. Fill the preheated teapot with half of the tea for the pitcher, and once again leave it for a moment.

In your matching cups, serve one cup per guest with water from the pitcher — being brewed in the gaiwan, this has no influence from the pot.

Next fill the second set of cups with tea from the pot, either directly or from a separate faircup. Taste the tea side by side and make note of the differences. We did our testing with an aged Lao Cong Shui Xian, and found that high floral notes were muted by the teapot. This might suggest that I was correct in pairing this pot with much deeper Hong Kong style roasts.

To expand on this idea, you should of course repeat this process with other teas. But I also like to share with guests the comparative strengths and weaknesses of two teapots by performing this method side by side. Instead of serving tea straight from the gaiwan and then from the pot, simply compare tea left in two distinct pots.

I can’t wait to hear what additional experiments you come up with.

Credits: Photography by Dae. Handsome modeling by David. Narrated by Majel Barrett.