Ti kuan yin
So, for a long time, I thought that ti kuan yin was actually kindof gross. I didn't understand how this tea could be this big deal -- in fact, I didn't see the appeal of any lightly oxidized oolongs. I bought a lot of darker, formosa oolongs -- the stuff grown in Taiwan. I was looking for the oolong that tasted like roasted kukicha... ::sigh:: in retrospect, so sad, but how was I to know? Most information sources state there are three kinds of tea: black, green, and oolong. Or four, if you count white tea. Or, wait, five if you count yellow tea and puer, which most places don't. And technically hojicha and kukicha are green teas, albeit roasted...
"Real" puer/pu-erh, by the way, -is- way better than the simulated stuff. More complex, less harsh, and, well, probably still an acquired taste for many people. I got some "nice" stuff at Ching Ching Cha, after ordering a pot to taste it. Now I must go forth and begin exploring the world of "real" puer -- which can be expensive because you usually have to order a whole pressed cake, rather than being able to get a sample first, and because there isn't a lot of demand, so vendors can charge whatever they feel like and we'll still be glad to be able to get the stuff at all. ::sigh:: We'll see where this goes.
But anyway, ti kuan yin. I revisited it, thinking I should give it one last chance before thowing out a full 2oz of relatively expensive tea. (It's probably three years old, so technically it's stale and I'd feel bad about giving it away.) And, paying much closer attention to water temperature and steeping time (and preparing it gongfu style instead of Western-style), it turns out to be this fabulous thing. It smells lovely - there's a flower that smells like this, though I can't recall which one. It tastes smooth and light and faintly sweet, and I'm extremely glad to have "discovered" it. (Gee, maybe the Chinese -do- know their stuff when it comes to tea.)
Do I suddenly have a gonfu set? Well, yes, kindof. I got a glass pot and two sets of sniffing/tasting cups at Ching Ching Cha. Then I went and got a glass decanting vessel, a strainer, a set of bamboo tools, and a bamboo draining tray at Wegmans. (Apparently, once I started to fulfill a longstanding wish, I had to finish the process) The glass pot has an air-intake hole in the lid, which is supposed to help with pouring, but it's a little small on one end and doesn't let enough air in. (Should be fixable with a bead reamer or maybe a drill, much like Starbucks lids are fixable with a pen or hairstick.) However, it does allow me to make ti kuan yin or puer in the same pot without worrying that the pot will absorb flavor like a clay pot would. And it lets me see the pretty leaves. That said, I still -eventually- want a couple of yixing pots, and cups for a third (and maybe even fourth) person, and some other stuff.
The draining tray... well, it's mass-produced bamboo stuff sold by Republic of Tea. And it demonstrates the meaning of "you get what you pay for" in a very clear way: it leaks everywhere. (I may be able to seal the inside, or I may practice the method in which you set the teapot in a bowl rather than using the tray to catch drips.) So, fast-forward five minutes, and my ti kuan yin experiment took place over a cookie sheet in the kitchen. Less elegant, but that's why you practice these things before you invite someone over for tea, right? Right.