Author: lazyliteratus

So, Robert “The Devotea” Godden issued a challenge – specifically to his fellow Beasts of Brewdom, and to the male communi-tea in general. He asked others to challenge us to write a blog post with a title chosen from the Mills and Boon romance novel catalog. Naturally, I took up the challenge.

Heck, I even challenged myself. The perfect title I selected was When the Smoke Clears. That would be easy. I could do something on Lapsang Souchong without much difficulty. Then Robert wondered – slightly perplexed – why I was challenging myself. He had a point. That seemed a little, uh, masturbatory. It was more fun if someone else issued the challenge.

And someone did.

Tea Trade’s Jackie challenged me to the title Rita of the Recovery Room, and additionally suggested that I date a nurse for research purposes. My mother always said I should date a nurse, but that was asking too much of li’l old me. All said, I agreed to use the title.

Around the same time, Rachel “I Heart Teas” Carter reissued the challenge to use the When the Smoke Clears title. Huh . . . well . . . now I had two to contend with. I mean, I could’ve just chosen one and been done with it, but I suck at making decisions. I chose to meld the two: When the Smoke Clears: Rita of the Recovery Room.

Over the course of a work shift, I thought of the perfect fictional short story for just such a title. Synopsis:

When Rita Farnsworth became a nurse, she never thought she would be sent to another solar system. Earth was near death, and the only habitable discovered world was a lush super-earth dubbed Falme-351. Unfortunately, a sentient race already existed there – a bipedal, worm/humanoid hybrid species.

Technologically un-advanced, though they were, the Falmites had one advantage. They reproduced through mitosis. If one of them died, two more would take its place, thus replenishing their numbers. Human colonists were losing the inevitable war that followed.

 

Until . . .

 

A wounded Falmite was captured and brought to the makeshift hospital where Rita worked. Since she was the only one with any xenobiological experience, she was put in charge of the native’s care. And to prep him for interrogation.

 

Over the course of weeks, she and the Falmite formed a wordless bond. She also learned that they smoked the leaves of a native plant, and decocted them in hot water for rejuvenation. The native shared some with her. It reminded her of Lapsang Souchong she used to have in her youth in England.

 

The day came when the Falmite was removed from her care. She tried to inform her superiors of her findings. They told her that, “This must not get out. We cannot humanize our enemy.”

 

She never saw the Falmite again.

 

Months later, she was called away to administer care to soldiers on the front line. A Falmite settlement had been burned to the ground. Amidst the burning debris, she caught a familiar smell. Leaves from a nearby bush were smoldering; leaves from the same plant for Falmite “tea”.

 

When no one was looking, she began to pick.

I informed Robert that I had such a story in mind.

He reminded me, “Did you miss the words “non-fiction” in the rules of the challenge?”

“Fuck,” I replied.

“Indeed,” he returned.

Shortly after that, Niraj “Happy Earth Tea” Lama challenged me with another title: The Rebel Bride. Over the course of the day, I thought of how that would  alter the “Rita” story I had already devised. If I had thrown a romance in there, wow . . . weird. A woman falling in love with a worm. It wouldn’t have been the worst pairing out there. Heck, I read a story about a man falling in love with a primate. There was a whole genre of “literature” about women being seduced by dinosaurs.

But I couldn’t . . .

After all, the original challenge was for a nonfiction blog, and that’s what I was going to do. I just had no idea how I would find such an approach for a title like When the Smoke Clears: Rita, the Rebal Bride of the Recovery Room. Then it occurred to me.

Writing a fictional story was against the rules of the challenge, but writing about writing about a fictional story was not. I primed the kettle, broke out some of my stores of Lochan Tea Castleton Moonlight (my favorite Darjeeling oolong), and plugged away.

And that, dear folks, is what you just read.

Challenge concluded. (With a dash of cheating.)

It may come as a shock to some people, but there actually is more to Stash Tea than the 20 ct. boxes one finds at the supermarket. One look at the website will provide evidence of this. They actually possess one of the most extensive specialty tea lines I’ve come across. That and their single estate columns (yes, plural) provide an extensive roster of places I’d never even heard of. Granted, some of those are pricy as all purgatory, but the fact remains that they’re there.

I was lucky on a random Wednesday in September to have both a gift certificate given to me for my birthday and a very easy drive to their brick-‘n-mortar store. That’s right. Their headquarters is in my neck of the woods. Twenty-minute drive – tops.

My goal that afternoon was their Fancy Golden Tippy Hao Ya; it was a peculiar Yunnan-grown beast with a Keemun grade for some reason…and it had “gold” in the title. Their Rwandan White was also calling my name. When I moved from one to the other, though, I came across something I didn’t expect. Three words: Smoked Assam Oolong.

No three words cried out to me with greater urgency than that.

Someone had brought this to my attention as a blog comment a while back. On one of my many loving tirades about Lapsang Souchong, a random commenter mentioned a Smoked Assam from Grey’s Tea. It caught my fancy, but only for a little while. My attention span – I guess – was particularly thin that day. What gave me pause was the mention on the Stash bag that this was the only oolong produced in Assam, India. That made me think that both Grey’s and the one I was buying were one in the same.

A random Google perusal confirmed my theory a bit. The only smoked oolong to come out of Assam was produced by the Mothola estate – the same wacky geniuses that produced the Assam White from Canton Tea Co. I adored so much. I could find no notes on the estate itself, but there was passing mention of the smoking process used. Unlike, say, Lapsang Souchong or houjicha (which I hate), this oolong was smoked over oak wood. The result was an oolong differing greatly from other roasted varieties.

And differ, it did. Appearance-wise, the leaves resembled Da Hong Pao in shape and size, but the variation in color was strikingly different. Instead of being blue or jet black, the pieces ranged from charcoal dark to tippy gold. Yes! GooooOOOOoooold! As for aroma, it earned its “Smoked” moniker with ease, albeit not as pungently as Lapsang Souchong. The feeling of campfire was indeed there, but it ended on a – how to put it – roasted fruit note? Odd, I know.

I was torn on the best approach to use with this. A primal part of me yelled, “Steep the s**t out of it like Lapsang!” While a more sensible, inward gent urged me to go for a gongfu preparation. Against my better judgment, I consulted my inner arbiter and went with both. First the gongfu prep for pretention, then Western-style for the wild side.

The first called for water heated to about 190F, a gaiwan, 2 tsp. worth of smoky leaves, and four successive infusions – the first two at thirty seconds, the last two at forty. In sharp contrast, the Western approach called for merely a filter, a mug, and a three-minute steep.

First infusion (thirty seconds): Holy PEAT! It smelled like whiskey that’d been lit on fire, except for that whole “turpentine” part. The liquor was a pale-to-medium gold, nowhere near betraying the strength of scent that befell me. The flavor had a woody, burnt front that settled into an odd earthiness. A peculiar start so far.

Second infusion (thirty seconds): The liquor was even more deeply entrenched in gold now. That made me happy on a feverish level. The aroma was just as peat-fiery as the first infusion. On sip, the foretaste was just as pungent on delivery but gave way to a mild fruitiness on finish. Very mild behind the initial inferno.

Third infusion (forty seconds): Not much of a color change here, it was still prospecting the gold palette proudly – content in its Midas magnificence. However, a new dimension to the smell reminded me of burnt leather. The taste was bit more inviting in its crisp, lightly smoky, and strangely silky delivery.

Fourth infusion (forty seconds): This was the shiniest of the gold-lacquered liquors. The cup also had the boldest whiskey aroma. The taste differed due to its compromise between smoke and earth. It reminded me of Mark T. Wendell’s Hu-Kwa – a gentle Taiwanese smoked black. I felt like I was blowing smoke rings out of my clear cup.

New infusion, Western-style (three minutes): I was very surprised by the results of this. The cup brewed bright amber – more like a black tea than an oolong. The scent wafting from the cup was still smoky, but there was something else there. Something…plum-like? No subtlety here; the flavor went from fire-whiskey to flaming saddles in two seconds, followed by a burnt apple top note, and finishing with a pipe tobacco sensation. Clearly, the Western approach was not for the sensitive of palate. Well, unless the drinker was Russian.

Verdict? The first time I tried this, I was quite taken aback. Sure, I was a regular Lapsang Souchong drinker, but this was something else entirely. The oak-firing process produced a tea that was initially subtle on the nose but packed a wallop on taste. It was like being punched in the face, then kissed afterwards. On the second – and “official” try – I had my bearings in brewing this properly. Gaiwan is the only way to go. Anything cruder would result in a brew that tastes like burning. Unless you like that sorta thing. I say try it out if given the opportunity, especially if you have stones of steel.

For more info on Stash Tea’s Smoked Assam Oolong, go HERE.

Most people turn to tea because of health reasons, caffeine concerns, memories of their grandparents, or some other wholesome reason.

Mine began because of sex.

Here’s the story (i.e. click on the highly suggestive root):