My brother and sister-in-law, wearing several layers of warm woollen sweaters, greeted me with affectionate hugs in their cold _ sans central heating _ apartment. For breakfast, they had heated several kinds of Chinese buns, some with pork filling, others stuffed with vegetables or red-bean paste. There was a stall down the street where a family sold Chinese flat bread layered with omelette. My brother had bought a couple for me because he knew I’d find them intriguing, which I did.
My sister-in-law went into the kitchen to make tea. She came out carrying a small bamboo tray which held a petite, pale blue porcelain teapot, a small, white porcelain jug fitted with a porcelain sieve and a tiny, delicate, pale green porcelain teacup. This she placed near my breakfast plate. She took a seat next to mine, lifted the lid of the teapot and briefly inhaled its contents before replacing the lid. Gently picking up the hot teapot, she expertly poured the light, yellowish liquid through the sieve and into the jug. Then she poured the steaming liquid from the jug into my cup, and urged me to take a sip.
I lifted the cup with both hands and instinctively sniffed its fragrance. The scent of what appeared to be pure mountain air brushed away and dissolved all the concerns, which had wrapped themselves around my mind. As I took a long, deep draught of the tea, I could feel the energy of mountain air awakening my senses, dispersing the jet lag and warming me through and through. Although I was famished, the buns and omelette no longer held my interest. It was the scented hot tea that I wanted.
My sister-in-law told me the name of the tea, Gold Himalaya, and said it came from high in the mountains of Nepal. This was the beginning of my education by a member of that enthusiastic band of connoisseurs known in Mandarin as cha ren (tea people).
I had known of my sister-in-law’s serious interest in tea for many years. While living in California, where she and her husband have their permanent home, she would indulge my curiosity by serving me different varieties when I paid a visit. She has a large collection of tea paraphernalia, including pricey pots and cups, from which she meticulously selects utensils to match whatever type of tea she is serving.
While this ritual fascinated me, I hadn’t really paid close attention to her serious-minded lectures about the distinctive and special qualities of each tea she so eagerly and carefully brewed for me. Still, over time, a bit of tea knowledge did manage to seep into my brain.
I learned that Japan’s renowned tea ceremony actually originated in China during the Tang dynasty. Although Chinese cha ren are just as passionate about tea as their Japanese counterparts, their tea ceremony is more of a social gathering where they have intellectual exchanges about tea, tea-related traditions, culture and the arts while drinking their special and exquisite brews.
Chinese tea people are a serious lot. I was reminded of this by my brother who reminisced about the tea our mother would serve to guests at our home in Bangkok many years ago. While most of our neighbours came from southern China, my family came from the North where people drink a different variety of tea. Back then, the tea typically served in both Thai and ethnic Chinese homes in Thailand tended to be intensely astringent with a bitter after-taste; it was brewed from a black or red tea cultivated in southern China.
Instead, my mother began serving a delicate, jasmine-scented tea she had received as a gift from friends who worked in the Taiwanese embassy. It was the only tea that tai tai (wealthy ladies of Chinese ancestry) could imagine serving to guests. For decades afterwards, her friends would buy her tea from a famous chain of tea shops in Taipei called Quan Xiang. Sadly, only a single branch of this emporium has survived to the present day.
My brother and sister-in-law took me to their favourite tea house in the city. It’s called Geow Yeng and there I bought a tiny amount of their best winter-harvest mountain tea. Grown in Taiwan, it’s called Da Yu Ling and, gramme for gramme, it’s as expensive as silver.
My sister-in -law considers herself to be extremely fortunate to live in Taipei where the world-famous oolong (black dragon) tea originated. She has got to know some of the very best tea shops there, places where she can expertly discuss with other cha ren the nuances in taste, scent, tone and colour of different tea varieties. She has found shops that specialise in teapots, cups, scoops and trays hand-crafted by artists, both living and dead.
During my brief week in Taipei, I accompanied her as she visited her favourite hideaways, buying teapots and cups that caught her fancy and downing pot after pot of the famed Taiwan Gao Shan (high mountain) oolong.
I learned that tea was considered by the Chinese to be medicine as far back as 4,000 years ago. It is known for its detoxification and digestive benefits. No wonder that people from other countries, including Thailand, would emulate the Chinese habit by serving tea after a meal to aid digestion. Tea has also been proven to protect the lungs from infections; the many cups I drank during my stay in damp, chilly Taipei must have been what saved me from catching a cold. Tea is also a diuretic, as well as a stimulant, which explains my rapid recuperation after that long flight plus the subsequent and frequent visits to the toilet.
Serious Chinese cha ren consume tea on its own, declining accompaniments like snacks or confectionary. They regard tea-drinking as a solemn business that should command one’s full attention. To serve tea made from the rare and highly prized leaves harvested from bushes that grow high in the mountains of Taiwan, one begins by selecting the proper teapot _ one which will fill no more than two small cups.
Spring water is put on to boil and the instant it comes to the boil the kettle is removed from the heat and kept hot. Before tea leaves are put into the pot, it must first be rinsed out with hot water. Next, a couple of teaspoonfuls (or less) of leaves are carefully measured out using a bamboo scoop (some I saw were stored in beautiful, vacuum-sealed containers). Then the leaves are added to the pot and hot water is poured over them. The pot is then picked up and rapidly rotated to make the water swirl around and “wake up” the tea leaves. That liquid is never drunk but quickly poured into the jug and cups in order to warm them. Then additional hot water is added to the pot and the tea is left to brew.
Serious cha ren use a timer when they are brewing tea. No more than 30 or 40 seconds is all that is needed to produce a perfect cup of this particular variety. Once that time has passed, the first thing connoisseurs do is to lift the lid of the pot in order to take a test whiff of the tea’s perfume. Then the steaming, pale-coloured liquid is poured through a fine sieve into the pre-warmed jug. From this the tea is transferred to individual cups.
One should not immediately down the cup of tea in one gulp. The proper etiquette is to follow the example of one’s host who will first breathe in and savour the fragrance of the tea and then gaze at its colour. Then the protocol is to sip the tea slowly in order to fully appreciate its initial flavour, followed by the after-taste, and then the tone of the tea’s character. Once the tea has slid ever so gently down one’s throat, the last experience is to savour the final taste in one’s mouth, which is called the “after-tone” of the tea.
Good-quality tea leaves can be brewed five or six times, with each brew releasing different characteristics. Watching and following the example of my sister-in-law and other cha ren, I marvelled at the sense of peace and contentment that seemed to follow their consumption of that first cup of exquisitely prepared tea. After silently enjoying their tea, they would begin to speak quietly, with serene facial expressions, about what they had just experienced.
On my last morning in Taipei, the rain stopped and the sun finally broke through, exposing a bright blue sky. My wish for a warm, sunny vacation hadn’t been granted. But I benefited instead from the warmth of my sister-in-law’s company and the many pots of tea I shared with her and her friends. During my all-too-brief stay in Taipei I was bestowed with a valuable gift: A reminder to take sips of each moment with care and supreme consideration and to appreciate life’s presents with quiet attention and grace.
http://www.bangkokpost.com/news/health/278624/taking-sips-not-gulps
