You are reading this in English.
I can therefore assume that, unless you have some aversion to carbs, you have found your solution to the problem of bread.
Personally, I have a bread maker from Midea [美的] which cost less than ￥400 and makes bread as well as, say, a Panasonic or a Russel Hobbs.
I also make a pick-up whenever passing a good baker or even an Aldi. I often scoff the whole stick to claim its full freshness.
Unless this is your first year here, your solution to bread is probably not that range of products which China’s domestic market calls “bread”.
You know the stuff I’m talking about. And, though you may not dislike diacetyl (双乙酰) aroma (microwave popcorn) aroma as much as I do, you surely agree that the sweet product in the swollen plastic pouches is unworthy of the name bread.
In foreign countries, similar packaged products do exist, all just as shamefully sweet, but usually without the rancid coconut twang. And, like UHT milk, they are considered emergency-snacks, not daily bread.
So why so much bread in a column about tea? Well, this is a 500-word gig, and we’re barely 180 words in. I’m just getting started. I really want to talk about green tea.
It’s the season here. There’s the ming-qian [明前] tea that’s emerging now. And while this fetishised freshness doesn’t always equate to tea that’s better-tasting, the whole phenomenon, like Germany’s asparagus frenzy, is fun.
It’s a reminder to buy and drink green tea, instead of all those other fine leaf teas I would otherwise be sleep drinking.
The Spring frenzy reminds us that this is a perishable product. And, these days, most serious sellers do refrigerate their green teas. This is a positive development.
But, if I’ve learnt one thing in recent years, it’s that even green tea is surprisingly resilient. If I buy a bag of 250g, and if I drink it every day, even the last leaves from that bag will taste good, and that’s without refrigeration.
It’s not just that taking tea in and out of a fridge threatens the tea by attracting moisture; it’s that, for small quantities consumed eagerly, refrigeration isn’t always necessary.
This is a magical dried leaf that, once brewed, transports a drinker back to moist Spring, even when closer to the next Spring than the last.
… all of which makes it sad that the “green tea” sold outside China is so stale, so brutally broken.
Western consumers are accustomed to green tea as a kind of medicine, its taste masked with mint, lemon or any other fad du jour. Bagged or loose, the stuff is vile. And the tragedy is that so few people there have tried the real thing.
It’s a normal, everyday, pleasure here in China, but there isn’t even curiosity for this drink out there. The whole identity of green tea has been obliterated by something which is called green tea but tastes like a punishment.
By contrast, the prospects for bread on this side of the world are far more encouraging. The bread from Skyways on Shanghai Lu is truly worship worthy.
It is no longer necessary for you to eat the 香兰素 (Asian vanilla) flavoured Chinese factory bread, dear reader, never mind to drink the export-grade green tea.
We get the best of both worlds here. And isn’t Spring glorious.