Free A Tea Reader by Katrina Avilla Munichiello Page B

traditional tea ceremony I had ever been exposed to was Chanoyu , the Japanese Tea Ceremony—a practice of formidable precision and refined beauty that requires years of devoted study. This Chinese tea ceremony was something altogether different. It had formulas and correct practices, but was more casual, even in the approach of the server to the guests and the amount of casual dialog encouraged throughout. It was attainable, and right off I found myself wanting to learn more about it. Something in the nature of it resonated deeply with my sensibilities.
    One of the essential aspects of this formative Gongfu Cha experience was that as the woman brewed and served the tea she gave us information about it, and about the procedures and how to perform them. First we watched as she poured clean, clear hot water over the teaware, warming and rinsing the cups, the serving pitcher, and the pot and allowing the hot water to run down the table’s special draining system. The first tea she served us that day was a pu-erh , and she discarded the initial infusion after just a couple of seconds of steeping, explaining to us that this is a step that needs to be taken to ensure the cleanliness and best taste of the pu-erh tea. Some of this initial rinsing infusion was poured over the top of a clay sculpture in the form of a mythical creature that occupied a corner of the tea table. She called him a “five kind animal” and said that his frequent baptism in tea played some part in encouraging good fortune. This creature was similar to the commonly seen three-legged money frogs that often occupy the same role in Gongfu Cha , but I found the five-kind animal considerably more charming and elegant, with his flashy brush of a tail, spiky horns and tiny black bead eyes.
    Then the brewing began in earnest with the first drinkable infusion of the pu-erh . She used a small, classically designed, dark reddish Yixing clay teapot for steeping and then decanted the tea through a strainer into a sharing pitcher; from this she poured tea into each of our tiny porcelain tasting cups in turn. She explained about the tea absorption of the Yixing pot and how it would become more valuable in time as it acquired a rich patina of tea outside and in, also explaining why this same absorbent quality meant that the same teapot should not be used for unlike varieties of teas. Tea liquor itself is almost always a beautiful thing, ranging from the barely shaded pales of white teas through the darkest chestnut liquors of black teas; the deep, rich reds of the pu-erh we were sampling were particularly dramatic in appearance. This first round of the tea was followed by at least five additional infusions, with the pu-erh leaf continuing to yield a lively, invigorating brew. She, of course, drank tea along with us as we asked questions and I began to formulate a desire to absorb as much of Chinese tea culture as I could.
    Of course, none of this ceremony and fixation on process is of the slightest value if the physical, sensory experience of drinking the tea is not enjoyable. The milieu surrounding tea culture—the tools, the vessels, the history—are all secondary to the Camellia sinensis plant itself. The tea must provide a wonderful drinking experience; otherwise there’s no point to any of the rest of it. Each tea should deserve the beauty of its vessel. But we were in a tea shop that specialized in high-quality, traditional Chinese teas, so we were in the right place to discover teas that not only looked good and were prepared attractively, but that also exhibited a wide range of wondrous flavors and characters. The teas we tasted that day were wonderful, rich in flavor and appearance. Some of that pu-erh that we tasted first was purchased to come home with us, although I really can’t remember precisely what it was—something mid-grade and loose leaf. Subsequent visits to the shop introduced me to some exquisite oolongs and fabulous