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 S.M. King investigates the aromatic joys of Chinese tea.
I have created a monster.
But, to give credit, a high-end Fat Farm helped. My hair-shirt wearing, recovering Catholic partner had signed up for ‘the program’ at the Elysia Golden Door Health Retreat. I didn’t.
Even with the edgy double-barrelled name and promise of luxe, fluffy robes and massages, I wasn’t fooled. This would be a week of early mornings, pre-breakfast exercise, and self-improvement workshops. Followed by more exercise, a calorie controlled dinner, and in my case, no doubt, tears. The real deal breaker for me was the ‘no booze, no caffeine’ regimen. Thanks, but no thanks. I just wasn’t ready for it at that stage of my life. I’m still not.
Partner was, however. Partner spent a vacation in the pursuit of better bowel movements. I jetted off to Beijing to devour Peking duck, dumplings, and buckets of Tsing Tao beer.
“I’m going to die,” Partner wailed over the phone on the second day in Health Prison. This non-smoking, moderate-drinking gym member wanted to go to hospital. Her coffee consumption had crept up to six cups a day, and going cold turkey had hit her like a cricket bat to the forehead.
Quite convinced, and secretly delighted, that I’d made the right vacation decision, I cajoled and soothed as best I could from a distance. I suggested tea, but that too was verboten. It was only after Partner’s threats to torch the place that the gentle staff relented with access to small amounts of green tea to help combat her withdrawal symptoms. Meanwhile, in Beijing, I went tea shopping.
Determined to support my newly reformed coffee addict, I sought out the best low-caffeine tea that money could buy, and discovered that I couldn’t afford it. Not in any sort of impressive quantity, anyway. It seems there’s tea, and then there’s tea. Much in the same way that there’s shiraz, and then there’s Grange.
The most highly regarded green tea in China is called lung ching, or Dragon Well tea, from Hangzhou. Only the finest leaves are hand-picked using gloves to avoid any perspiration from the harvester’s hands from fouling the end product. A tea connoisseur friend describes its buzz as ‘relaxed awareness’. Light on caffeine, it tastes like a spring day; it’s brisk and just a little floral.
At the next shop I discover white tea. With even less caffeine than green tea, and purportedly higher health benefits, it’s amongst the most expensive teas in the world. The very best is silver needle. It is at once buttery and nutty, and tastes delicately of autumn fruits. I buy a tin the size of a film canister.
Beyond my budget is pu erh, compressed bricks that develop character and flavour through aging. In China it is bought, traded and treated like gold. If you can find a pu erh that you can afford, it probably isn’t worth drinking.
My gifts of tea from China were well received, and having survived prison, Partner has become quite the aficionado. When I’m sent out to buy tea I now break into a mild sweat, fearful of coming home with an inferior leaf. Tea Monster swoons over organic silver needle and frowns suspiciously at tea bags bought at the local Asian grocer. I’ve discovered that the T2 shops are a reliable source of the good stuff, as is the Oriental Tea House.
I still enjoy my morning coffee, but in the afternoons I’ve switched to tea. I may not have endured the luxury horrors of a health retreat, but by proxy I’ve become a convert to the magical properties of a great cuppa.
www.orientalteahouse.com.au
www.t2tea.com.au
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