Canton Tea Co Blog

Canton Tea Co. employee Kate recently visited New Zealand, and had just enough time for a quick visit to a tea plantation and a few cups of local Oolong…

The Oolong tea plant growing on the estate

Oolong tea has become a great favourite of mine since starting work in the world of tea early in 2011. And so, when I booked a holiday to New Zealand and was informed that there was a tea plantation that makes Oolong tea on the North Island, it seemed the perfect opportunity to go and meet some fellow tea enthusiasts.

It seems that tea grows particularly well in this part of the world, though not many people know it. Travelling around the South Island, whenever I told a New-Zealander about my upcoming tea-estate visit, the usual reply would be something along the lines of, ‘We grow tea here?’. However, in Hamilton, the surrounding area of the tea estate, New Zealand’s tea-growing potential is better known. As I arrive at the airport, the super friendly airline crew chat about New Zealand Oolong tea, and know the staff of the tea estate by name.

Fabian preparing the Oolong

Approaching the estate in the pouring rain (Spring weather in New Zealand is just as changeable as in the UK, apparently), the rows of green, lush tea plants still look stunning. I duck into the estate restaurant and am welcomed by the steam and aroma of freshly brewed tea, enough to make me forget the miserable weather outside.

Kate inspects the Oolong tea plant

Fabian, a serious tea aficionado, expertly prepares the New Zealand Oolong, and we drink many small cups of the tea in its three forms: pure, aromatic, and roasted. I am told about the production of this tea: once picked, the leaves are processed on the same site as the estate, often by expert tea-pickers from Taiwan, and then rolled, like Tie Guan Yin and Yellow Gold, which unfurl when infused to reveal full green leaves.

Finally, when there is a short break in the rain, Fabian shows me some of the tea plants, telling me about pure soil, air, and sunshine that help the tea plants thrive. Unfortunately for us, that sunshine is hiding today, so we dash back into the restaurant to drink and chat about tea some more. Drinking the Oolong and sitting in those beautiful surroundings, it seems to me that New Zealand tea should be less of a well-kept secret.

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The unique flavour of a Darjeeling tea is often described as a ‘Muscatel’ but the flavours vary with the season – and it is the plucking period that defines the season. There are four harvests a year in India: First, Second, Monsoon and Autumn each producing teas with different characteristics. It is a common misconception that the earlier the flush the higher the grade, but though the First Flush is highly sought after because it contains the new buds, it is possible to have an extremely high grade, very desirable tea from the Second Flush as well as having a lower quality tea from the First Flush.

Darjeeling leaves growing on the mountain-side

First Flush, Easter Flush (March – April)
After the dormant Winter months, the bushes have delicate new shoots and the leaves are tender with a very light grey-green glazed appearance. The infused leaf has a prominent lime greenish brightness and a floral scent and the liquor has a clear, fresh, bright, lively character with a brisk flavour and a pleasant hint of mild astringency.

Second Flush, Spring Flush (May – June)
The succulent leaves have a purplish bloom and are picked with a sprinkling of silvery tips – the leaf buds. The liquor is more rounded and mellow with a slightly fruity flavour. The liquor has a distinctive amber colour and the famous ‘Muscatel” flavour becomes more pronounced.

Monsoon Flush, Summer Flush (July – September)
During this period the liquor changes and it develops a stronger profile but retains the classic brightness and character with a rich and full-bodied aroma. These ‘Monsoon’ teas have more colour, are stronger and make up the bulk of the ‘breakfast’ blends.

Autumn Flush (October – November)
The Tea now has a light coppery tinge and the liquor has a delicate Autumnal note.The liquor takes on a light copper/brownish tinge with a delicate yet sparkling character and a quite distinct from the Spring and Summer teas. The infused leaf has a coppery gold brightness with a sweet, fresh aroma.

Winter Months (December – February)
Dormant period with no production.

Even within these broad categories, climactic variations and the distinctive characteristics of each estate will mean there are significant differences between the teas produced – all part of Darjeeling’s legendary appeal.

Tea Picker at Margarets Hope Estate

Darjeeling is in the foothills of the Himalayas in West Bengal, northeast India.  On these high, steep slopes there are 87 well known tea gardens that have been producing the highly prized black Darjeeling teas for over 150 years. The gardens are often grand estates or plantations that stretch over hundreds of acres and can sit at altitudes above 5,000 ft. They are still referred to as gardens and each one produces a tea that carries the unique characteristics of where it is grown.

The first tea bushes were planted in Darjeeling in early 19th century from the small-leaved Chinese variety of Camellia sinensis var. sinensis, rather than the large-leaved Assam plant (C. sinensis var. assamica) from which most Indian teas are grown. Along with Darjeeling’s unique environment, it is this that makes a Darjeeling tea so distinctive.

The Terroir

Darjeeling Garden

The quality of Darjeeling teas is the result of having the perfect climate and general terroir for tea cultivation. The tea bush grows at a height of up to 7000 feet above sea level. It requires at least 50 inches of annual rainfall with alternate spells of rain and sunshine. The high altitude mist helps maintain the required level of moisture. All this allows some of the most distinctive teas in the world to be cultivated here, possessing a specific flavour and quality that cannot be replicated elsewhere.  Darjeeling tea has an official Geographical Indication which means only the tea cultivated, grown and produced in the defined region of the District of Darjeeling can be called Darjeeling.

Darjeelings are made from the finest two leaves and the bud and keeping to this means high quality, low yields and ensures the tea is exclusive and desirable with a limit of 10 million kg produced annually by the Darjeeling district.

We will be publishing more blogs this week on the different seasons, processing methods, and a feature on some of our favourite estates. We’ll be announcing the blogs on Twitter, Facebook or you can subscribe to our blog via a RSS reader.

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During her visit to China in May, Canton Tea Co. Director Jennifer Wood didn’t just drink tea….

Jennifer displays her foraging skills

I had two experiences on my Spring trip to China that were not directly to do with tea. One was hunting for bamboo shoots in the jungle around the tea farm in Fujian. It was wild territory (we saw snakes) and battling through the dense bamboo to find the fat, young succulent shoots was deeply satisfying. They were easy to snap off and carry home in a bundle – then we peeled, chopped and steamed them for supper.

National Craft Master Gao Jian Jun and his Yixing teapots

The other experience was spending time in the shop/workshop of National Craft Master Gao Jian Jun. He is a friendly, cheerful, charmingly distracted man with a dedicated following. The area was crammed with teapots, cups and canisters, all in different shades of Yixing clay. Not everything on display was his own work. There were some eccentric sculptural pieces – and pots in the shape of boys peeing, smiling animals and knotted tree trunks . . . But the Yixing teapots were perfect.

Trying out Yixing potting

He handed me a lump of precious purple clay and told me to press it out in the style of a nursery school pinch pot – meanwhile he swiftly rolled, cut and shaped his piece of clay into the start of an elegant teapot. Making a Yixing teapot is a long, slow, highly skilled process. Click here if you want to watch a video of a pot being made – and you have an hour and half to spare . . .

The Yu Ru Yixing teapot, hand-crafted by Gao Jian Jun, and available to buy in our shop

When it came to placing an order for the teapots he was going to make for us, it was not entirely straightforward. You can try to specify a certain number of pots in a specific style – but the Master is an artist. He doesn’t just churn them out and will make the ones he feels like in his own time. Fair enough.

As with China tea, you really need to know and trust your sources. There are many imitation Yixing teapots made from inferior materials and it’s crucial to find the genuine article if you are going to get the most from your tea. If you want an original Gao Jian Jun piece, the details for each pot including the potter’s name are on the website.

And do look after your Yixing teapot – one day it may be very valuable. A 1948 purple clay Yixing zisha teapot by the master ceramicist Gu Jingzhou sold last year for nearly $2 million at the China Guardian auction in Beijing.

Tea aficionado Elliot Knapp reviews our Canton Tea Co Special Puerh

It’s always nice to see when Western tea vendors begin collecting mao cha and pressing their own puerh cakes; the decision allows for an even closer relationship and direct supply chain between tea grower and vendor, and it gives consumers and vendors alike an opportunity at an even higher quality and more distinctive product. Canton’s 2011 Yiwu is just one such tea.

When it comes to traditional puerh sources, few (if any) are more famous than Yiwu mountain, whose teas are known to some aficionados for their distinctive sweetness. I get the impression that it’s possible to travel to Yunnan and have a farmer or broker sell you just any old mao cha, so I admit my expectations of Canton Tea Co’s first house label puerh were prepared to be forgiving. Luckily, no such forgiveness was needed—this is good puerh!

The first thing I noticed when opening the 250g cake’s wrapper was that the small cake is really rather well-compressed. These days it seems most puerh producers are attempting to compress the cakes on the loose end of things in hopes that they’ll age faster. When it comes to the aged puerh I’ve tried, though, the cakes are usually of pretty snug compression. Seeing that this mini bing has been pressed to ideal tightness (not falling apart when you remove the wrapper, but not tight enough that it’s difficult to remove individual leaves without breaking or even insert a pick or knife into the side of the cake) was a good sign for the rest of the cake’s processing, which turned out to be old-school in the best of ways.

The cake’s informative nei fei states that it’s composed of grade 6 (medium-large) leaves with a few buds (as well as a few welcome huang pian [yellowed leaves], from the looks of the cake’s surface), and I’m inclined to agree. The ticket also mentions that the cake will retain its floral freshness for five years and will begin to mellow around 10 years, which is a sensible and realistic estimation of its potential aging process and a far cry from the standard “tonic of everlasting life” claims often found in standard “chi tse ping cha” inner tickets.

Once the leaves are rinsed and the first cup is poured, I’m inclined to believe that this cake’s materials have been well-represented. The liquor is golden yellow, a good sign that the leaves were withered and fixed before any unnecessarily high oxidation occurred. The tea’s flavor follows suit, retaining a very green profile full of floral notes and a touch of a darker, more leathery and woody character that develops and returns persistently with the aftertaste. This is probably facilitated by the tea’s moderate bitterness, which shows up in the finish right where it should but is not bold enough to detract from how tasty this cake is, even in its infancy. While I’m no connoisseur when it comes to identifying specific Yunnan terroirs, I do know that this tea certainly falls in my own parameters when it comes to a balance between greenness, sweetness, and that ineffable robustness that separates a well-made raw puerh from typical Chinese green tea.

I look forward to seeing where this tea goes as the years pass by, but I’m probably looking forward even more to the next Canton Tea Co. brand puerh cakes—this first attempt is extremely promising of further successes to come.

Guest Blogger: Geoffrey Norman

Most people begin their tea journey with the obvious – the square-ish, unimposing teabag, complete with black tea fannings. I tried the stuff once or twice but never took a liking to it, outside of the usual sugared-to-heck/diabetic coma iced teas we Americans consume by the gallon. No, my true tea appreciation began on the lighter side. As was my approach to life, I only dipped a toe in the tea realm rather than plunge head first. I started by sampling the lightest (and whitest) tea out there.

Silver Needle (Yin Zhen)

In a typical, highbrow fashion, I developed a palate for the best. All articles pointed to Silver Needle (Bai Hao Yinzhen) as being the downy-fuzzed queen of the white tea world. The first time I tried it was at a Chinese-themed tea shop, and I loved it. Granted, the taste was subtle, but the wonderfully floral/nutty/melon characteristics shined through. And it was just soft enough to even curb my “cuppa” cowardice.

I decided to pick some up for home-brewing. The results? Pure spinach. There was some of the requisite softness there, but none of the subtlety I came to adore. A friend of mine mailed me some Yinzhen from the Chinese mainland, and the same thing happened. My personal brews turned out vegetal.

Perplexed, I kept my Silver Needle pursuits away from home. At most tearooms/shops I frequented, it was usually quite divine. I had no idea what I was doing wrong. Maybe I was too brusque in my brewing practices to tackle so dainty a tea. For a few months, I scaled back a bit and went down a grade to White Peony (Bai Mu Dan).

Here was a tea with not quite as velvety a character as Silver Needle, but it possessed one trait Yinzhen never could. I could brew the hell out of it. White Peony was a burly mistress – the rustic barmaid to Silver Needle’s noble hauteur. It could stand up to my more unsophisticated steep approaches, and every cup just screamed: “GRAPE!”

Sometime later, I finally learned what I’d been doing wrong with poor little Yinzhen. A girl five years my junior imparted sage advice through a simple question: “Do you adhere to specific brewing temperatures?” I simply blinked. Brewing what?

White Darjeeling (Arya Pearl)

Apparently, certain teas required certain water temperatures. One couldn’t just boil every pot o’ leaf they came across. That happened to be exactly what I was doing. What’s worse? I went two whole years without knowing differently.

In time, I finally corrected my infusive practices. By then, I’d moved on to less temperamental teas to prepare. My heart still belonged to white, though. I returned to it to remind me of my leafy roots. Then I ran into a white tea that gave me the best of both worlds. It could take near-boiling water, possessed the fruity profile of its other fuzzy cousins, and imparted something…spicier. Darjeeling white tea; it is THE white tea for the lazy.

If I’m feeling fancy, I still stick to Silver Needle. If I’m feeling fancy but rushed, White Peony takes the cake. If it’s late afternoon, and I’m in my out-of-season holiday pajamas (as I am while writing this), I turn my head toward India. Darjeeling white teas have a resilience to put up with anything – even me.