Tag: fujian

  • For Personal Reasons – Brew & Blossom Aged Zhangping Shuixian

    For Personal Reasons – Brew & Blossom Aged Zhangping Shuixian

    I realize immediately it isn’t a question of time.
    Time is a polite, almost political excuse; its supposed lack is like fastening a little tie before going to church on Sunday, a superfluous ornament, yet institutionally acceptable, a way of dressing up a lie for a setting you can’t quite tolerate.

    The truth is that writing, now, has ceased to be a gesture, a rite, and has become a habit without interlocutors. A vestigial movement of a vice you’ve already abandoned: like holding an unlit cigarette between your fingers, like swirling an empty glass that once contained God knows what, or sitting at the table of the same restaurant, occupying two chairs when you are, in fact, waiting for no one.

    You post on Instagram and nothing happens , not silence, precisely nothing, and writing stops resembling an act and turns into a routine without recipients, a small private war against the flattening of content and against a stupid algorithm.

    So what remain are unfinished texts, disjointed sentences, in the manner of This Charming Man, except you’re playing the unfortunate version of Morrissey. You tell yourself you write for the pleasure of lining up a few words; you persuade yourself it is the simple necessity of not forgetting, that what exists in your head requires existence outside it.

    In the end, though, writing resembles one of those bars open even on weekdays until four in the morning, frequented by a handful of wrecks, survivors of their own idiocies and victims of their urge to keep defying gravity for no apparent reason, staggering past rows of unoccupied tables under a milky light that pierces their retinas.

    Then, somehow, something significant arrives, disconcerting though invisible to the casual passerby. A tea, a drink, but not just any. This Aged Zhangpin Shuixian does not provoke theatrically impressed reactions or servile compliments. It doesn’t strike you; it holds you. Deep without heaviness, complex to the point of improbability yet ordered, not an abyss, rather a long, poorly lit corridor that seems endless and quietly compels you to walk it to the end.

    In the wet leaves appears toasted hazelnut, not the sugared caricature of contemporary patisseries, but a severe, almost dry one; then dried flowers, rosewood, and the scent of an old library: a olfactory bouquet of an apartment from the nineteenth century, where someone has stopped receiving visitors but not retreating into erudition. Then orange blossom, oats, raisins, an echo of cranberry and hibiscus liquor.

    On the palate everything arranges itself coherently, more enveloping, sweeter, yet never ingratiating. Dried orchid, butter, gingerbread, hazelnut cream, a memory of vin jaune. It’s the sip you would drink while pretending to reread The Catcher in the Rye to impress a former college flame. The texture is soft and continuous, with balanced sweetness and a clear minerality present from the attack through the swallow.

    The aromatic intensity is not excessive, yet the persistence is stubborn and lasting. Its refinement is almost unexpected. The floral substance typical of these oolongs remains, but softened by time and integrated into a composed, adult roast, devoid of any roaster’s narcissism.

    When you encounter a tea like this, you understand that words may return. Not for Instagram, not for the numbers, not to chase an audience that has become hypothetical, not to write yet another clinical, sterile review no one cares about, but because some things demand to be said, and when that happens, writing is no longer content production. It is company. It is a necessary act.

  • Where does a real Lao Tie come from?

    Where does a real Lao Tie come from?

    Anxi is where time dwells, where the artistic breath of Chinese classicism reverberates among the residues of the cultural revolution along the road that leads to Ganze, with the purplish sunset that adorns the skyscrapers of Quanzhou behind it. The landscape alternates the expressive intensity of nature with the works of human activity; where the army of the people’s republic marched during the liberation of Anxi in 1949 you can see tea gardens, a centenary amphitheater of ideological and cultural battles.

    Since after the great economic growth of the 90s which saw Anxi become one of the richest counties in China, a progressive phase of contraction in demand has begun since 2010. The Tieguanyin which for years has driven the progress of transforming oolongs has ended up giving way to instrumental and utilitarian dynamics, a tea drunk mainly by automatism, the soulless product of a feeling which in recent decades has forced nature to simply bend to a condition of predictability and mere manipulability.

    It is also for this reason that the search for truth has led many producers to detach themselves from this vision by taking up artisanal production methods, rational agronomic management, rediscovering the sense of truth through what existed before this condition, reconstituting a state in which they could have expressive freedom through their product in an era where the flattening of images and mere technical reproducibility are rampant everywhere. True lao tie 老铁 is a rare tea, it often represents a family stock or a tea that was posthumously sold in limited quantities to compensate for the decrease in sales in certain periods.

    This old artisan nongxiang comes from a small batch, from leaves harvested in Anxi in 2005. The typical fruity profile emerges from the first infusion, you are enveloped in aromas of roasting and dried fruit, hazelnut, jujube, raisins, dehydrated prunes and walnuts.

    The olfactory complexity then unfolds on scents of orchid and osmanthus, sweeter nuances of caramelized sugar, raisin wine and panettone. Towards the third infusion, citrus notes, fragrances of ancient wood, balsamic hints and macerated wild herbs appear. The sip is fluid, sweet, of medium softness. The texture is subtle and elegant, the slight acidity invites you to take the next sip while aromas of plum and flowers persist in the mouth wrapped in an incessant and palpable sweetness.

  • Camellia Sinensis Zhenghe aged Baimudan 2012

    Camellia Sinensis Zhenghe aged Baimudan 2012

    Extraordinary teas are born in the hills of Zhenghe, and I am not referring to the subtle and aristocratic traits of a Bai Hao Yin Zhen, but to the more rustic and bourgeois ones of Bai Mu Dan and Shoumei, teas whose time is only able to give decadent splendor unattainable for virtuous tea who do not see the rain, inviting to exercises of reflection and mnemonic recall.


    The trees are low-growing, the Zhenghe Dabai is also a broad-leaved cultivar, on average longer and narrower and with heavier shoots than that of Fuding; typical is the green-yellow color of the shoots with thick hair and a brown-purple contrast.
    Mr.Yang and his family produce this tea near Gaoluntou, 900m altitude, above most Zhenghe and Fuding gardens. Their work celebrates the coexistence between earth and human, sanctifies a type of tea that was typical of a middle class who, like wine, wondered how to get their hands on earthly gratification while holding on to the money of a working day and their status as a dignified self-sufficiency. Time passed, pressing into cakes was convenient for storing tea in piles, and the leaves changed, sealing in them the aromas of an entire village.


    The last leaves of this Bai mu dan from 2012 highlight a fascination given by the passing of the years, which seems to have increased with them even with some elements that give the impression to diverge and have taken their own course, but that for some perverse reason we seem to like it at the point of not being able to exclude it anymore, like the rural scents of an aged baicha, the almost ferrous note of some shoumei or the lips of Dolly Parton.
    The wet leaves bring back memories of ancient flowers, raisins, cider-fermented apple and candied fruit. During the infusion, perfumes of chestnut cake, woody hints of apricot and lotus root emerge, floral echoes arrive with hints of rose during the session. The liqueur is orange, the sip is ethereal, juicy, thick and refreshing. Aromas of distilled pear, magnolia and wild strawberries follow each other harmoniously. On the palate blows of jujube and citrus scents accompany an interminable finish.