Taiwanese Golden Lily Milk Oolong

"The temperature was up in the 40s and my shirt felt like a fur coat. Wei, the young farmer, tall, bashful and funny, showed me around.  I imagine he is funny, although he didn’t speak a single word of English he laughed a good deal. His friend David translated for him. One of the barriers to export for farmers is finding a market and then communicating with that market. Farmers around the world are finding ways, at least this generation is.

Over long afternoons I spent hours on the farm watching the production.  Blunt fingered experts bound and unbound the leaves in muslin cloths; twisted them into tight bundles; pressed them between rolling iron plates; untwisted the cloth and released the leaves into drying machines; transferred the leaves to roasters; laid them out to dry; bound them again; rolled them; roasted them; exposed them, in an intricate dance that seemed to have no formal pattern.

The precise semi- oxidisation of the leaf, to reveal its most subtle, nuanced flavours was all done by smell and touch and feel. There was no measurement or timing, instead, the craft was instinctive understanding. Sometimes the tea went into the roasters for 20 seconds, sometimes 2 minutes. Sometimes the tea was laid out for days and sometimes for hours. All this was done by men who spent the spring season making tea and the summer and winter practising other trades: carpentry, engineering, farming on their own plots of land with other crops. The little plots of land are bound together; not just by their overlapping crops, but their skills and the manpower. One month a farmer might be cutting pineapples, the next picking and crafting tea. This was Pharaoh Sander’s playing intricately glorious free Jazz, rather than The Royal Philharmonic orchestra playing from sheet music."

Extract from Infused: Adventures in Tea