Although there’s no corsage with the tea, there’s a formal elegance to the leaves of the tea. As two to six millimeters long cut pieces, they are coloured like coffee with a look of tobacco. I almost feel more masculine just holding them. From behind the debonair air to the leaf, emerges a more humble persona by the earthy mineral aroma. Speaking of wet sand or mineral rich fields strewn with nut hulls and damp mushrooms, the scent is calming if not the most appetizing.
With the introductions over, the true discovery began with two heaping teaspoons (three grams) of leaves and boiling water as directed by the Ktea’s website. As the brew musters its courage and draws up on its soul, the infusion dons a candid saturated dark brown. The hue of the cup is heroic, seeming almost thick and hearty, yet the brew is clumsied with a bit of haze.
Dressed to impress, the tea doesn’t come on too strong but it does brag a little. There’s no Aqua Velva here though, thank goodness. Instead the tea’s cologne bears a muskier aroma. The warm hay-like classic notes of shou pu erh intermingle with leather, soy and wet earth as a savouriness seems to permeate beneath the earthier notes. While the bouquet’s complexity is curious enough to keep me smelling, it’s not quite as suave as a Hollywood prom date. It is sincere though as the earthiness has elements of fenugreek seed, cumin and coffee while also reminding me of the rising smell in the air when it just starts to rain on a hot day.

It isn’t quite a flirtatious beginning but the night is still young so to speak. Ready to tango, the light to medium body seems contrary to the deep colour, yet it is swift, pleasantly guided by a slight dryness. The taste isn’t as earthy as the aroma alluded with a mineral edginess, although it still draws me outside with flint, black walnut hulls or cocoa shells one puts in one’s garden. Yet unlike the garden, this brew doesn’t quite seem as layered or dimensional, but it isn’t too weighty to be plodding or heavy, ending each sip deftly without any aftertaste. There may not be animal magnetism or an instant connection, but the mineral character is not so one dimensional or so earthy to taste of soil, leaning more to wet brown leaves on cement. Plus the conversation is easily forthcoming without any bitterness or astringency.

As the limo pulls up, the tea still has some moves to try upon re-steeping as the leaves are still neatly folded though plumped, like little black ties. Its grounding personality continues to hold through three more infusions offering similar tasting cups that fade to a grand burnished copper or caramel with a light scent of slate.

While not every date has to start with flowers, and you can’t judge a book by its cover, the eager mineral earthiness behind Kteas pu’erh might not persuade all for a second date. Yet as a straightforward cup, it doesn’t put on airs or try to be something its not.

The tea suitably comes sheathed, not in a gilded scabbard but rather gathered up in a translucent biodegradable mesh, in individual packages fit for travel. Preparing for action and withdrawing the bag reveals pieces of the curly dark army green leaves it encases, as if caught in motion with their various array of curves. As playful as the leaves look they are modestly aromatic, singing of their travels with hints of clay, allspice and hay along with more floral nectary notes.

The package also kindly includes the brewing instructions which is helpful when alee so I was set to sail in search of treasure with 175°F for three minutes. Yet the cup is nothing of the sea, shining with a medium pale yellow infusion that seems more a tribute to sandy shores. But there is a splash of saltiness to its gently vegetal bouquet, a bit like bok choy or young fresh spinach, although the aroma of the brew seems to ebb rather quickly with the tides. The touch of salt is joined by a crest of ground pepper as the cup is more mineral smelling than vegetal, glimmering of the riches ahead.

Drawing in on the brew to siege the booty is bereft of battle as the light to medium body welcomes instead with an invigorating refreshing lift and no bitterness. A whisper of dryness further hones the palate and a slight metallic sheen from the tannins or polyphenols seem to lightly weigh on one’s tongue. This journey intrigues with subtle flavours of reeds, limestone and a trace of butter with vegetal waves in the background. Different from a spinach or asparagus vegetal, it has a lighter green character more like bok choy with a more prominent taste of sunflower seeds with hint of spruce or fir. The mineral touches give the brew a clean tonic-like essence while a slight oiliness seems to echo the smooth texture. While each sip of the tea seems to hit at the beginning, on the sides of one’s mouth and in the end with a light salty green bean tinged aftertaste, it seems a little blank in the middle, not really saturating or piercing as perhaps pirate’s fatal blow or as the name suggests. However, it does make for a breezy, thirst quenching cup.

Pulling out the map to scope out a second steeping seems to strike gold from the more iridescent yellow of the infusion. The tea’s scent is very lightly vegetal while the body seems a bit fuller, still with a kind of oily or fattiness. Progressing from the delicate flavours of the first cup, the second is rather neutral with a hint of salt and pepper to the bouquet with shadows of water chestnut and sunflower seed in the brew that are felt more as a mineral sensation at the tip of one’s tongue. Along with a bit of dryness, the mineral character feels nicely cooling in the mouth. While a slight tingling still marks the tea’s presence in a third cup steeped for six minutes, it is still a very faint brew. Thus, I’d likely go for two brews per bag where a longer steeping time may sharpen the second cup but I tend to favour more assertive flavours.

The velvety edge and gentle slice of Jing Tea’s Jade sword may not be as forceful as Ali Baba’s brew but the purity and refreshment could set sail for calm waters in bright sunny days when one is rolling along the day’s waves or set for a piece of peacefulness rather than pillage or plunder.

Although it was a magistrate’s Big Red Robe that lent the name to this Fujian oolong as he placed it in the Wu Yi foothills where the tea is grown, it has magical appeal as one of the highest oxidized oolongs. As one of China’s ten famous teas, Da Hong Pao has it’s own fair share of fakirs ever so similar to local fair fortune tellers and slip of the hand antics as highly roasted Yan Cha from WuYi are often sold as Da Hong Pao despite not being of the Da Hong Pao cultivar. Yet considering there is only seven original Da Hong Pao bushes (three mother and four son bushes), most Da Hong Pao on the market is more fittingly Xian Hong Pao as it derives from cuttings of the mother plants. After hearing so much about this famous variety, I was eager to try one. Thus, finding American Tea Room offered a Big Red Robe from amidst their wonderful range of teas, the spell was cast.
From the black package of the tea, my anticipation mounted ready for the show of wonders it may behold. Tearing into the package like a black box, reveals hefty flinty black stripes quite uniform and fresh looking in their finish but even more from their aroma. The scent is captivating in its complexity that seems to metamorphose with each sniff, as if responding to one’s presence. At first, the coolness of the smell makes me think of walks through the forest with its touches of earthiness, green and fruit blossom notes. Yet the longer I immerse myself in the scent, it seems to warm unrolling a balancing act of walnut shells, oak leaves and coffee beans that finish with a scent of prunes.
To conjure the spirit of the brew, the American Tea room suggests brewing at 175°F for 2 to 3 minutes which leaves the amount to one’s preference. Thus, I used about 5 grams of tea per cup for 2 and a half minutes although this tea would also be suitable for Gongfu style brewing. As the curtain rose and my timer beeped, the cup was filled with a not quite clear, tan gold infusion mesmerized with a medium aroma. The warm roasted scent summoned cocoa shells, dry leaves and walnut shells that bore a trace of the magic wand from which they came with a hint of smoke from the roasting. The rich hearty scent was almost hypnotizing with its appetizing appeal and mystery.
With such an opening act, I was eager to see what illusions the infusion would unveil. Delightfully round, the medium body seems playful while having a morsel like touch to the palate. The oolong fermented character sets the scene for flourishes of cocoa shells and dry oak leafy flavours along with a brazil nut charm while it still carries a hint of the fire. Together the flavours lend a bit of toffee or browned sugar to the brew that reminded me of browned shortbread cookies or wholemeal biscuit cookies that is just delicious. Despite the wonderful balance, the tea doesn’t seem as complex or deep in the mouth as it is to the nose as it isn’t quite as lush as the aroma. Yet the tea is impeccably smooth and quite satisfying. A shade of dryness keeps the dark flavours lively while a medium aftertaste entertains with a flicker of salt to draw out the tasty nuttiness. The nuttiness lingers in the breath after drinking much like one’s breath after eating nuts.
But after the first cup, there’s still another trick in the bag, as the leaves are only half open, still curved in their twisted forms as if calling for water. From the dark amber of the second cup, I was somewhat surprised at the subtlety of the scent that held only shadows of the first with the same leafiness. Although the flavour was also milder, the brew continued to enchant with a nice roundness, dappled with a bit of osmanthus amidst the stalk-like and nutty flavours. A third steeping seems to cue a bit of a vanishing act, as there doesn’t seem to be any scent left to muse over and the tea seems rather thin although it remains pleasant enough with its harmony and generous aftertaste. Some woody leafy aromas surround the spent leaves, that lay open in the teapot like a magician’s cloak, revealing their large shapes from its folds. The thin veined leaves are a mix of charcoal brown and dark army green leaves, that seems greener and more varied than I would have expected from the high roasting but they did indeed put on a good show.
As the curtain closes, I am sure the tantalizing bouquet and inviting cup of American Tea Room’s Big Red Robe, would make for a spirited elixir any time of day.