This frisbee-full of dried packed leaves cost me ¥260 .
Buying a whole cake of tea (茶饼) is a bigger commitment than some buyers are willing to make. But, in the case of some varieties of tea, it’s the form factor which makers and sellers prefer to work with.
I’ve owned cakes before, of course. But this one is different, because it’s our first white tea cake.
That makes a difference because it can be consumed guilt free, with no sense of wrecking destiny; unlike pu er, there is no pretense about this tea improving with age.
And there’s user friendliness with a white tea cake. No tool is needed to prise it open; leaves crumble into submission, ready for funneling into a teapot. Most gratifyingly, there isn’t any of the black soot which accompanies the breaking of dark teas (especially the cheaper ones).
Loosening leaves from the edge is intuitive, like teasing bark from a maple tree, like pressing chunks off the rusted body of my beloved, late, red sports car, only less tragic.
The autumnal colours in the teapot are comforting rather than stunning. It’s the same ragtag of grey tips, brown leaves and loose twigs that I wrote about in Strainer a year ago. Last year’s “not-very-white” white tea was sold in a big bag. But it, also, presumably, spent some of its life as a cake.
Comparisons with pu’er are mostly redundant, but, this white is considered an “aged” tea. It’s a 2015 vintage. Pre-Covid. And the seller instructed me to keep the cake in the bag when not serving, because it prefers a moisture-level higher than dark teas prefer.
Worth remembering.
It’s a relief to have a good tea in the house again. I was running low after months of working slightly too hard. This tea will be perfect for filling a big teapot and sharing with holiday guests.
Even better is that the seller is so close to our home. I’ve met dedicated sellers of the Fujian white tea in Beijing and even Yunnan, but did not expect to find one among the massage parlours south of our compound. It’s a lovely little shop, spot lights trained on posters of the Fuding (福鼎) tea fields.
Most walls are filled with stock; teapots, mostly gaiwan (盖碗) and varieties of white tea, from the refined rabbits’ ears to the mongrel mélanges that usually interest me. Pine benches flank the central table, where a friendly, educated woman pours white tea all day long.
It was the wasabi peanuts most interesting the baby on the day we went. Her stroller left outside this tiny shop, she sat patiently on the bench with her tea-loving Dad beside. This is the girl who has spent her entire life within just one city. We should be introducing her to the UK around now. But, on that grey afternoon, tasting tea and peanuts was entertainment enough.
Perhaps I should not have trusted the seller into believing that the purity of silver needle (白毫银针) makes it harmless to infants. One day I may regret it. Caffeine harmful? Who knew? But, aside from being especially giggly and bouncy until late, then falling asleep very suddenly, she seems undamaged.
I myself suffered insomnia after drinking so many samples that day. But, to almost quote Homer Simpson, the cure for problems caused by tea is more tea. And flaking off this cinnamon nectar is so very rewarding.
Our bing (饼) is already shaped like a very flat tyre. Soon we’ll have an excuse to go and buy some more.
