The Necessities offers a favorable substitution for those who can’t handle their rum – a Strawberry Daiquiri green tea. The lime is exchanged for strawberry, and the other ingredients rounding out the blend are green tea (as a base), strawberry pieces, vanilla and rum flavoring. It’s enough of a combination – even without the rum flavoring – to make the ears perk.

When I received my sample, I was not expecting how pungent it would smell. From what I read, the only flavoring agent used was rum, but the strawberry scent whacks the nostrils hard on first whiff. I’ve tried my own blending with freeze-dried strawberries, and their contribution was never this strong. A light rummy aroma tickled the nose at the end.

There weren’t any brewing instructions to abide by, so I set my UtiliTea kettle’s temp gauge to that of a slightly higher green – given the botanical elements. I brewed 2 tsp in 16oz of water for five minutes. The tea base looked like a less refined Chinese green – stems and all – so I wasn’t as worried about being more liberal with the steep time.

The brew infused to a lime green color. Yes, that’s right, exactly to the color of a daiquiri. Happily, the rum shined through in scent and taste after steeping, having cut it’s way to the head of the line upon hot water splashdown. However, it wasn’t an overpowering “hard liquor” flavor. You don’t feel like your tongue’s been lathered with ethyl alcohol. The taste is decidedly more melon-like than lemon-limey, but it compliments the green tea perfectly, giving the drinker the impression of tropical fruit. It goes without saying that you have to sweeten this. I did so on the second infusion, quite exquisite.

My only lament is that the pungent strawberry presence that was so apparent in the dry scent all but vanished after steeping. It may have imparted a mild fruitiness – as pieces tend to – but it was a distant second to the rum-green tea waltz. That said, I approved quite strongly. This would be something I would ice and bring to a party, claiming I was drinking a real daiquiri.

I actually spilled some on the crotch of my pajamas as I was writing this. Yeah…I’m cut off.

On the bright side – if there actually was one – I wasn’t much of a fan of bacon to begin with. Sure, there were special cases. Irish rashers and juicy, non-crispy pieces found at my favorite mom-n-pop place come to mind, but it wasn’t something I couldn’t live without. Bratwursts, ‘nother story entirely.

That said, there was one combination that I dearly mourned, bacon with maple syrup on it. The times I did have it were completely by accident. Syrup from a “healthy” stack of pancakes just happened to spill over onto those succulent, meaty slices. If Flavor Country were an actual place, and not a byline associated with cigarettes, that would be it.

52Teas – the delightful side-project started by the Zoomdweebies founder, whom we’ll simply call “Frank” – always seemed kind of gimmicky to me. However, I mean that in a good way. If I were to have one gripe with the Tea World it’s that it can get rather puffy-chested; like one of those birds “presenting” to a mate. Luckily, a sharp, self-deprecatory sense of humor – and a healthy appreciation for puns – keeps the specialty beverage-appreciating masses grounded in pseudo-reality. I love counting myself among ‘em…if only with requisite “village idiot” status.

My problem with the 52Teas model – and this is totally subjective – was the fact that rarely were there review samples available. Reason being, teas came and went. One tea a week, fifty-two weeks a year. Once gone, they were REALLY gone. If I wanted to try one, I had to buy. Nothing grabbed me enough to flip open my moth-infested wallet. That is until a review appeared for a Maple Bacon Black.

Sold.

The ingredients for this chimera of manliness were blended Indian black teas, imitation bacon bits, and…uh…”essence of maple and bacon”. From the looks of it, the black tea base was mainly Assam/Nilgiri, which would mean it would lend a darker brew. This was fine by me. To justify this tea’s existence, it would have to have a “crispy” look. As for how it smelled…well…it smelled like maple-lathered bacon. Can’t really wax poetic about that.

I brewed 2 tsp in 16oz of water brought to a rolling boil for five minutes. The resulting infusion brewed to a bacony red-brown. It smelled like breakfast at a Denny’s on a road trip. The bacon flavor, however, was extremely understated. Maple and malty Assam notes took point. A smokey aspect in the flavor presented itself on aftertaste. I added a sprinkle of Lapsang Souchong on the second steeping for shits and giggles.

Note: It’s no longer available at the 52teas site, but it is now a permanent staple at their Man Teas spinoff. I simply rated and categorized it as 52teas because that’s what I got it as. And on said spinoff site, they also have another bacon blend. A smokey bacon Lapsang Souchong. Lapsang is the perfect base for this, but it needs the maple. And with milk and honey, it can’t be beat.

Hot breakfast in a cup.

Suffuse Tea is a new company brought to my (short) attention. They specialize in – what they dub – “wellness” blends. Herbal infusions with a rooibos base, some of which are blended with herbs I’ve never heard of. Among their offerings are tea packs (hot or iced) as well as a small loose leaf line. Green rooibos is among them. This is my “glee” face.

The dry, loose leaf batch looked and smelled like the top quality stuff I ran into in the days of hither and brew. Nut-sweet with a honey finish to the nostrils, and a grassy, flake-like appearance to the naked eye. Unlike it’s redder kin, the dominant color – per its namesake – was green with shades of yellow and brown dotting the herbaceous canvas.

One of the other aspects of green rooibos I appreciate is the liberal brewing it requires…unlike green tea, which can bitter easily if the temp’s off. Being a hearty legume, rooibos can take boiling water perfectly, and the longer the steep time, the better. Such was the observance here: 2 tsp per 16oz of water, brewed on high for six or so minutes.

The transparent beermug I used to judge the contents of the infusion welcomed the honey-gold concoction with open lip. It was sweet and almondy to the nose with just a slight honey whiff trailing behind. To the palate, it greeted the tongue with South African liquid treasure; smooth, lightly vegetal, nutty crisp, and lastly a dessert-like snap. It reminded me why I loved this stuff so much. A quality herbal offering if ever one could be bestowed such a bombastic label.

If I was to make one nitpick toward this product, it would be that it doesn’t come in any lower amounts than 8oz. As a result, it’s not particularly gentle on the pocket book. (At least not my barely-above-minimum-wage wallet.) However, if it is well within your means, this is a specialty tisane worth picking up.

Tea Tip: As if the superfluous use of the word “honey” weren’t enough of a hint, that is the best sweetener to use for this.

Fast-forward nearly a decade, while getting ready for work, I noticed my brother/roommate had come home. Before leaving for my impending graveyard shift with my paper bag o’ tea. I had him smell one of the samples. It was The NecessiTeas’ Root Beer Float, and I thought it smelled divine. I figured he would think the same thing, being an avid root beer drinker.

“Hrm, smells like cough medicine,” he said.

I just about facepalmed.

A bit of a Teaviews “FAIL” on my part, I had yet to try anything from The NecessiTeas. The samples were always there, always beckoning, but a part of me wanted to stay away from the supposedly “flavored” varieties. This frame of mind was at odds with my universal claim to anti-tea-snobbery; a claim that had already been rendered moot whenever I turned down a Lipton orange pekoe. The internal conflict of Maturi-”Tea”/Amateuri-”Tea” was universally quelled with the mere mention of a “Root Beer Float” tea. Both sides shook metaphoric hands with a resounding “Yum!”

The NecessiTeas Root Beer Float is a flavored tisane with a rooibos base. The South African herb is often touch-and-go with me; except for its greener kin. However, fruit blends I’ve tried in the past used a red rooibos base to wonderful effect. To the naked eye, this looked like an average rooibos. It wasn’t until the seal was broken that a desserty deathcloud of sasparilla-like awesomeness greeted mein nostrils. Sometimes I’m glad I work alone, for I was sniffing at this repeatedly like a back-alley root beer junkie.

Since I was away from my lovely tea corner at home, I had to use what resources I had at my disposal. Coffee cup? Check. Do-it-yourself teabag? Check. Root beer rooibos? Check. Coffee machine with hot water spigot at work? Check. French Vanilla coffee creamer and stevia (for a later test)? Double-check.

First order of business was to try this tisane naked. Er…I mean, without additives. I brewed it for about five minutes with a disposable bowl over the cup mouth to prevent heat from escaping. (I did mention I used what resources I had available, right?) The resulting infusion was much deeper than the average roobios amber-gold. This was, well, red bordering on rust-brown. In my brother’s – and prior Japanese students’ – defense, it did have a faint aroma of cough medicine. Or rather, root beer-flavored cough drops. The taste, however, was all root beer with just a slight enough nut-sweet note of rooibos toward the end. Not certain I would say I tasted the “float” aspect of it, but the beverage part of its namesake was quite apparent.

The true test of its mettle was how well it took cream and sweetener. Every rooibos I’d tried up ’til then had a bizarre side-effect. They curdled creamer; dairy, non-dairy, didn’t matter. I was a little worried going down this road yet again. Luckily, no curdling took place with this. I can only surmise that prior blends I tried had hibiscus, which would cause that reaction.

In summary, by itself it is a decent tisane, but incomplete without a creamy additive. Once dipped with something dairy-ish, it is exactly like that refreshing summer beverage in a malt shop. But for the winter months. If the point of flavored teas is to capture a sensation that is out of season, then color me converted.

The sample pouch contained thin, wiry, twisted leaves, ranging from light to deep forest green. They had an appearance similar to a Chinese Dragonwell, but a much fainter smell. Not deeply “lawn”-like. The scent had a hint of spice and sweetness to the nose. I wasn’t exactly sure how to brew a Darjeeling green, so I went with 16oz of water brought to a pre-boil at a green tea temp for five minutes.

It infused to a pale yellow, more along the lines of a white tea. Maybe a wee bit darker. There wasn’t much of a scent, slightly grassy. The liquor possessed a pleasant, smooth taste; also light, somewhat subtle, fruity. This green tea had more in common with a white than a green, in my opinion. A part of me also thought it was reminiscent of a slightly more understated Japanese green – like tamaryokucha.

Puttabong is a fairly well-known tea garden in the Darjeeling district of India. Further research lists it as a “census town”, meaning it has a population of over 5,000. That is one large tea garden. American Tea Room touts this as being an “SFTGFOP1Q”. Sure, to the untrained eye – such as my own – that looks like a prison registry. Unabbreviated, it means: Super Fine Tippy Golden Flowery Orange Pekoe. Basically, the tea grade. I’m not entirely sure what the “1Q” stands for, and no amount of Googling garnered any answers beyond math equations. I wager it has something to do with the quality.

Unlike the few other Darjeelings I’ve tried, this batch is almost entirely brown. Occasionally, I’ve run into Second Flush teas that still had an unoxidized green hint to some of the leaves, not the case here. The scent was spicy-tart, similar to others of its kin. I’m often reminded of Mexican food when I think of it. I have no idea why.

They recommend brewing it at 195F for three minutes. I didn’t have the luxury of being in an environment where I could properly judge the temp. I was at work. So I poured a 12oz coffee cup of hot water, let it stand for a minute. Then I took one of my do-it-yourself tea bags, shoveled a heaping teaspoon of Puttabong, stuck a plastic lid on the cup, and guesstimated three minutes by cell phone clock.

It brewed to a medium copper, almost to what you’d expect from an Assam. The scent was like getting punched by blackstrap molasses. I felt a caffeine jolt just by the whiff. The flavor was quite pleasant; no bitterness on the tongue, no sense of having the moisture sapped from the palate upon touchdown.

If I had any tea-geeky gripe, it would be that – for a Darjeeling – it lacked a bit in the “nuance” department. The taste wasn’t entirely complex, but nor was it run-of-the-mill. It was an exceptional cup o’ Darj, just not the best. The fruity and nutmeggish notes didn’t manifest ’til the 2nd infusion, which – at double the steep time – I thought was better than the first. This make me wonder how Puttabong First Flushes taste. I look forward to finding out.

Dao Tea is a fairly recent company based in British Columbia that specializes in hand-crafted teas from small-scale growers. The options they provide also have a rich backstory to them. The personal touch applied to their offerings is astounding. For instance, their Wild Chrysanthemum. The Dao site informs that the blossoms were hand-picked by chrysanthemum farmers Zhan Zimei and her husband Wen Xinzgou close to the famed Yellow Mountain region in Zhejiang Province, China. I know next to nothing of this province, or the village that they mention where the farm is located. Most of my attention was always directed at Yunnan or Fujian. Further information of Dao’s visit with the farmers can be found here.

I was excited about this product because of the initial presentation. The yellow blossoms were small, unpressed, unclumped, and the scent was lightly floral and buttery. Just as I remembered from the white blend I tried. I also noted a tinge of purple to the individual petals and wondered if this was a sign of their youth. I guess wild-harvested is the best way to go.

While the brewing instructions were quite thorough, to my American disappointment….they were in metric. So, I went my own route, brewing 2 tablespoons (about sixteen blossoms) in 16oz. water brought to a light boil. I preheated my transparent beermug just to “somewhat” adhere to the traditional method they proposed per the Dao site.

It brewed a pale yellow tisane with a strong, creamy scent. In regards to taste, the floral tone dominated, succeeded by a pungent butter-blossom finish. It wasn’t the most appetizing of aftertastes to be honest. I reckon I added two or three blossoms too many. For future goers, maybe go with ten blossoms – 1 1/2 tablespoons. The second infusion was far better, the aftertaste more understated.

I wouldn’t say I didn’t like it, but it wasn’t the greatest tisane I’ve ever tried. However, I give kudos for the amount of effort and care that was put forth. Plus, I can’t wait to add at least eight blossoms to a good Silver Needle soon.

Their green tea resided it in its pyramid in basic flake form. To call it whole leaf would’ve been a misnomer. The flaky consistency sort of reminded me of mate or myrtle. (Which – come to think of it – isn’t a combination I’ve tried. Mmmmm. Oops, stay on target.) The leaves possessed a…well…leafy smell. Not much in the way of deviation there, although they did have a hint of nettle-like spinachiness to them.

I was at work when I decided to try this; the perfect environment for testing out a traveler’s teabag; earth friendly or no. 12oz cup, scalding hot water from a kitchen coffee machine, a minute for the water to cool a tad, and about three or four minutes to steep.

It brewed up to a very pleasant amber in the cup. Barely medium-bodied, but vibrant. To the scent, it resembled a green/white tea fusion. Not exactly grassy or vegetal, rather pleasantly wildernessy…if such a word can be allowed. With the first sip-n-swish, I was reminded of passing out on some strange lawn after a college party. Heated from the after-buzz of cheap beer and frivolity, I lay there looking at the stars. In the chill, I still felt warm. It feels like that, a good night-time green tea…if such a thing exists.

A friend of mine over tea – a woman no less – countered me once with, “What do you mean you don’t like lavender tea?! I love it! I want to lather my body in it.”

I nearly spilled my steep.

The ingredients listed for this herbal medley were lavender, lemon verbena, lemon balm, lemongrass, peppermint, and spearmint. I was elated by all the lemony herbs listed. Why myrtle wasn’t included, I can only speculate. Perhaps three was enough. Lemon verbena – while the lighter of the lemon-flavored herbs – I liked the best because of its relaxing properties; smooth like a light nettle with a citrusy spank after. I often blended it with white tea for a soothing drink.

The boldest color of this blend was purple. Purple…unopened…lavender buds. There was a LOT of lavender on display here. The second, but by a far margin, was the verbena. I was hard-pressed to find any lemongrass, balm, or either of the mints. From the American Tea Room site, the brewing instructions weren’t that specific; 200F water, five minutes. No measurements. So I went with my best tisane default; 2 tsp. in 16oz. of boiled water for five minutes. Usually a safe bet for botanicals, especially the citral-heavy ones.

This brewed to a murky-ish, pale yellow. Not the prettiest of infusion, almost soapy. The scent was clean with a slightly lemon after-whiff. As for taste, it won me over. Not once did I feel like I was imbibing my used shower contents. Verbena and spearmint dominated the forefront, the lavender provided a pleasant and clean finish. I didn’t really detect the peppermint much. Verbena usually has an understated citrus profile, balm is supposed to be bold (but I didn’t taste it), lemongrass was nonexistent.

Very decent sleepy cuppa.

Tea Tip: It doesn’t last through a second infusion at the same steeping time. Any attempt will be rather bathtubby. If you choose to go ahead anyway, steep for eight-to-ten minutes, and maybe add some myrtle to bring the citrus notes back.

It wasn’t until some of my online dealings put me in touch with the friendly face of Thunderbolt Tea – a direct distributor of high-quality single estate Darjeelings – that my eyes were truly opened. Up until then, Ceylon teas were my go-to for estate specific varietals. That and I rarely step out of comfort zone unless the Fates kick me.

Of the samples I kindly received, the first I went for was the Giddapahar Musk. The Thunderbolt Tea page is a veritable fountainhead of information. I could paraphrase the backstory to the varietal, but I think they say it better.

The leaves were a proverbial bouquet of color. Yellows, browns, and greens were all present. Some leaves were rolled, some slightly open. The smell was floral, musty, smoky, and vaguely reminiscent of chocolate covered almonds.

There were no brewing tips for Second Flush teas on the Thunderbolt site, so I went with First Flush instructions. A Twitter friend recommended that I not bring the water to a boil. “Just” below a boil, he said. I did this with 2 teaspoons and 16oz of water, then steeped this for around four minutes.

It brewed to a deep amber-gold, very unusual for a black tea. At least, as far as I’ve encountered, but deeper than a pale Ceylon. I later learned that most Darjeeling teas – unblended – are not fully oxidized; bearing more resemblance to an oolong in processing.

Per its namesake, it had a musky smell. The first sip was an emerald explosion of flavor. It was here – for me – where the lines between wine-tasting and tea-tasting blurred. No astringency, no dryness, no cotton-mouthy aftertaste, just liquid Midas. It’s hard to pinpoint what flavors come to mind. Best I can compare it to is sailing in a caramel canoe wearing earth-tone safety floaties, and breathing gold fairy dust through a snorkel of pure “Wow!”

Tea Tip: In the brewing instructions for First Flush teas on the Thunderbolt site, they strongly recommend using mineral water. I went a step further and used Canadian glacier water for my second attempt. The change in water quality makes a significant improvement. And I didn’t think this tea could be improved upon.