How long should you leave a teabag in?

Just the title of this is going to infuriate Robert Godden, but I can't get around it. Hopefully he's so busy with his budding tea empire that he won't notice.

Although I only drink loose-leaf tea at home, I travel quite a lot and there are times when a teabag is simply the most practical option.

Also, I write this blog partly for the tea curious and the tea newcomer. They normally start with teabags. I can point out the subpar tea that's normally in a teabag. I can admonish them and insist that the whole experience of loose-leaf tea is far superior. I can say all I want, but my experience so far is that when starting out people go to their nearest supermarket and buy teabags.

This is for them.

Incidentally, not every teabag is created equal. This is something I remember seeing in a video from Cindi Bigelow at Bigelow Tea called How do you know you are drinking high quality tea? 


Here it is:

I assure you that I'm getting no financial compensation from Bigelow Tea for including that (this'd be a terrible ad anyway - I'm only using the clip as an example of how some teabags really are better than others).

Back to my original question: How long should you leave a teabag in?


Some really love to know exact timings for such things, but my friend Joe told me the way he knows his teabag's ready. He leaves it in for a while and then pulls the teabag out and looks to see if the water dripping off the bag is still brown. If it is, there's more tea goodness in there.

If there are drops of clear water dropping off the teabag, that teabag's tapped. Time to throw it out. No timer. No bother with water temperature and the like. Boiling hot water and leave the teabag in there till the water's clear.

Sounds simple enough. It really is.

...a hundred visions and revisions, before the taking of toast and tea

You know I like luring people over to the leaf-side. It's one of my passions. I've said it so many times here, but it bears repeating: there's no reason tea has to have the stuffy, inaccessible reputation that seems to be attached to it. I gear this teablog partially to the tea newcomer, as well as the tea curious. 

There are some people I meet in social media who're hesitant to tell me that they don't drink tea. As if they think I'll have nothing to do with them after I learn that piece of information. 

I have many interests. If you don't drink tea, well then I can politely accept that. Really. I'm not trying to get EVERYONE to drink tea. Just most of you.

However, there are also some people who're rather boisterous about their refusal to drink tea. Today's guest blogger fits squarely in the latter category. She was very clear from our first interactions that she wanted nothing to do with my tea propaganda. 

Little did she know that it was only a matter of time. I could be as patient as was necessary, but I was relatively sure that there would be tea drinking at some point by her.

And as you're about to read: I was right. Without further ado, here's Amy (to be perfectly candid, I'm an unabashed fan of her blog in particular and her writing in general. You should definitely go have a gander at Lucy's Football. You'll be glad you did).

Oh before I forget, the last few guest blogposts, such as Teascapades of a Tea Newbie, have been from people new to tea. The goal here is to keep encouraging them to try and report on new tea. This is an ongoing project, my fellow tea obsessives. Please read on...

Ken has kindly asked me to guest post. This is exciting because I’ve never done that before. Day of firsts! Day of firsts!

OK, some background.

Ken is one of my favorite humans alive. However, back when I first was introduced to Ken? I wanted nothing to do with him.

Because of tea.

Oh, I forgot. Hi, I’m Amy. And I hate tea.

See, one of our mutual twitter friends, Lisa (@lgalaviz), was always going on and on and ON about this guy who was her tea-friend. And she was all, 'Amy! Have you friended @lahikmajoe yet?' And I looked at his profile. And his tweets. And his blog. Which were all very tea-heavy. And I immediately thought, nope, no interest in this person. Because I hate tea. I HATE TEA MORE THAN CLOWNS. What the hell would I have to talk to this person about?

Luckily, Lisa was persistent, and I grudgingly friended poor Ken, who, come to find out, talks about more than tea.

Now, here’s the tea situation.

When I was six or seven, I was sick and stayed home from school. For some reason, my mom couldn’t watch me. She was a stay-at-home-mom at the time so I’m not really sure what the situation was, but she left me with my grandmother.

Now, I love my grandmother a great deal, but no nonsense is brooked when you are at my grandmother’s house. She doesn’t believe in illness. She’s an old-school farmer’s wife. You WORK THROUGH THE SICKNESS. So she was very skeptical that I was actually sick.

She brewed up a pot of Lipton tea and said, 'This will make you feel better' and put a cup in front of me. I took a sip. I hated it. I told her so.

'Too bad. When you’re sick, you drink tea,' she said. 

She then proceeded to make me drink the entire pot of tea. I was not allowed to leave the table until I did so. There was no milk in the tea. There was no sugar in the tea. Milk and sugar were for WELL children.

I have not had a single sip of tea since. Even the SCENT of tea makes me ill. Except this one perfume I have that smells like white tea, and I have no idea what that’s all about. Is white tea even a thing? Maybe it’s not even a thing and that’s why I like it, I don’t know (ed. note: white tea is a thing)

(By the way, my mother says that a., I’m not allowed to tell this story, and b., it never happened. To that I say, a., I am a grown woman and will tell whatever stories I want, and b., you were not THERE, Mom. You ABANDONED me to the house of forced tea-drinkage).

If a food or beverage item does me wrong, I avoid it for the rest of my life. Other food or beverage items I am currently having a feud with include carrots, most types of beef products, most root vegetables, garlic, liver, onions, and any fried fish at TGIFridays due to the food-poisoning incident of 1999. YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID TGIFRIDAYS.

Now, Ken has been very nice about my fear of tea. He is CONVINCED that it was just the Lipton that was the problem, and not tea itself. I am more skeptical, but, as mentioned, Ken is one of my favorite people in all of people-dom, so I decided, in all fairness, to give it another try.

I’ve been promising him for a long time I’d actually purchase tea. I think he thought I was full of hollow promises. Ha! Fooled YOU, Ken!

Last week, I went to the grocery store, which recently has decided to become fancy and carry upscale things, I think to compete with the Trader Joe’s we’re expecting any day now.

And I purchased, per Ken’s recommendation (and please ignore the fact that I can’t take a photo to save my life and what is going ON with the huge glare from my flash, good gravy):

Equal Exchange Organic Rooibos

And, NOT on recommendation from Ken (but it’s not like he told me I couldn’t buy it or anything, I just was excited about it):

Stash Licorice Spice

The Rooibos was Ken’s decision for me, and the Licorice Spice was ALL ON MY OWN. Well, I asked him if I could. He said he wasn’t against it. I decided it was therefore ok.

See, I have a lot of issues of what I can and can’t ingest. I’m like a delicate flower of a lady. No caffeine. No sugar. It’s a whole thing. I’m probably dying, or something, whatever. But since the no sugar thing happened, I am DESPERATE for licorice. I miss it like crazy. I decided maybe this would be a nice substitute, if the tea part of the tea didn’t make me throw up.

So today was TEA DAY. I needed a nice chunk of time set aside for tea-ing.

First, please let me apologize. YES, I realize these are tea-bag-type teas. I don’t have all the fancy infusers and the like. Because I hate tea. Why would I have such things? I also don’t own a teapot. So a microwave was used. Please don’t kick me out of the Special People club.

I decided to start with the licorice tea and work my way up to the other one because the licorice tea seemed friendly and the other tea seemed like it was more likely to give me flashbacks to my grandmother’s house.

So first, like a good girl, I read the instructions. 8 ounces of water in a mug, boiling. AWESOME. I have a measuring cup. I have a microwave. Which needs to be cleaned because ew. So first I took some time and scrubbed the microwave, because listen, it was the grossest.

Then as I started to boil the water in the microwave, I realized you were supposed to pour the water OVER the teabag. Well, shit, I already lost.

So I took the water in the mug OUT of the microwave (oh, I should explain, I don’t own a teacup? Only mugs. So it was in a mug. Am I in trouble for not using a teacup? I’m really clumsy. There’s no way I wouldn’t have broken a teacup by now, were I to own a teacup) and put it in the glass measuring cup to boil. Nice. I’m winning tea already, only a little later than planned. Then I opened the teabag. It smelled nice. Like potpourri. I’m not sure that your tea is supposed to smell like potpourri, but it did. Like floral licorice potpourri. The ingredients list says this tea has a lot of things in it like cinnamon and orange peel and anise and vanilla and cloves and cardamom and licorice. These things are all also present in potpourri, so that’s a little worrisome. Also, it has not escaped my notice there is no tea in this tea. So, I think this isn’t tea. That seems misleading. Can you call something tea on the box that doesn’t even have any tea in the ingredients? (ed. note: this is a huge bone of contention in the tea community. The general opinion among tea obsessives is that it shouldn't be called tea if it doesn't come from the tea plant or its Latin name Camelia Sinensis)

But I pressed on. I’m very intrepid.

After the water boiled all over the place, I poured it over the teabag. Which floated to the top like Rose’s piece of wood in Titanic. I don’t know if that’s supposed to happen. So I totally smushed it down with a spoon and anchored it. That’s smart, right?

Then the instructions said to wait 3-5 minutes so I set the timer on my microwave and proceeded to tear apart my room looking for the software so I could upload my photos. Of course the software was NOT in my room, but in the fridge. Don’t ask.

Then the timer went off. TEA TIME.

Is it normal that none of the “tea” (I’m totally skeptical of this stuff) even made the water turn colors? I squished the bag. I’ve seen that happen before. Nothing happened. I think the water was a little yellow but not really.

I took a sip. It was very hot so I burned my mouth. ALL FOR SCIENCE.

drumroll please...

Please ignore the fact I look like a crazy person today. Well, I kind of always look like a crazy person, but it’s my only day off this week. I didn’t do anything but throw on my zombie shirt. No makeup happened. Who’m I trying to impress, the cat? He doesn’t care.

It tasted...like water. With an aftertaste of licorice. And flowers.

It was not in the least bit impressive.

It tasted like drinking potpourri. I’m not 100% convinced this was not potpourri, thrown hastily in teabags. STASH TEA I AM MAD AT YOU.

So I put some creamer in it and drank the rest really fast. Then it tasted like creamer. 

Fine. Time for the scarier tea. The tea that, when I opened the box? Smelled like tea at my grandmother’s house.

Same setup. Boiled the water in the measuring cup. Poured it over the teabag when it was boiling. This time it said to steep it for 5-7 minutes. The teabag puffed up like a funny little pillow which made me giggle. I did my teaspoon trick again. I’m a quick learner.

Then I waited. I told Ken I had a cup of tea and was waiting for the other cup to brew so I could compare the two. He was duly impressed with my feat of magnificence. I warned him not to be because maybe I did the first one wrong. Unless herbal “tea” is SUPPOSED to taste like potpourri-water.

The timer went off. Here is a thing I learned about Rooibos - it is RED. Cheerily and unabashedly red. I liked that a lot.

It smelled like tea, though. Not like potpourri. Which in a way, was good, but also, super-scary.

I was smart and didn’t take a whopping drink of boiling liquid this time. Instead, I used my handy teaspoon and took some out and tasted it.

It tasted...well, like tea. BUT BUT BUT. Not vomitorious. Not at all. It was...pleasant? Not at all like I remembered. Not at all upsetting. Mild. The tea-taste that I hate so much wasn’t overly present.

I sipped two or three more teaspoonfuls and then decided if I was going to drink the whole cup, I had to add something to it, so it got some milk and Splenda. Ken said to use honey but I don’t even keep that in the house. I don’t use it, so it’d go to waste. I know. Splenda is probably not what you’re supposed to put in tea. When you’re diabetic, I think it is, though.

I drank the ENTIRE CUP. Plus the entire cup of licorice potpourri-water.

Now I have to pee. 

OK, so that was...a success? I think? But mostly, I think it was a success, because KEN WINS. Ken got me to try tea again. And listen, that was NOT GOING TO HAPPEN. What’m I trying next, Ken?

But listen, bub, don’t even try to get me to jump off a bridge. Friendship only goes so far.

does white tea intimidate you?

an entirely unrelated plant that reminded me of white tea

Like I said last week, I'm going to keep bringing up the topic of white tea until I feel like I have a better grasp of how to make it more accessible for tea newcomers and the tea curious. I've mentioned the Google+ Hangout before, and this last week I asked the others taking part about their take on this topic.


Got a lot of positive feedback for even bringing the topic up, and I wanted to share a few of the ideas that  I liked. First of all, no matter what other information is gleaned, the early favourite for 'best introductory white tea' is clearly Pai Mu Tan (or Bai Mu Dan or White Peony, as it's sometimes called). 


The general consensus is that, for a white tea, this is a much more accesible tea than some other possibilities. I can certainly agree with that. Actually, David Galli from the Portland Tea Enthusiasts' Alliance had an interesting perspective, and it helped reinforce what I'd already thought about this type of tea. He said he was introduced to them as an intimidating tea, and avoided them for the longest time. Now he drinks them as much as any other teas. 


He suggested trying a Tai Mu Ye Sheng white tea from Jing Tea, which you can find here: Tai Mu Ye Sheng. I can't personally recommend it, because I haven't tried it. Nevertheless, the description has made me very thirsty.


But the fact that white tea intimidates some tea drinkers is exactly why I keep coming back to this topic. There's absolutely no need to let the mere thought of white tea freak you out. I'll be going into more detail about brewing it in a later post, but it's really not a big deal. If I can do it, anyone can. Really.


Another opinion that some members of the hangout had, which I think it's important to voice here, is that the ridiculously high price for some white tea makes it hard to rationalise buying the stuff. More than one person said, 'If I'm going to spend that sort of dosh, I'd rather get an above-average Oolong or decent Matcha.' I can see their point. I don't necessarily agree, but I do understand that position.


May-King Tsang (of May King Tea) said that she found that people who were already accustomed to drinking green tea transitioned more easily to white tea. She also suggested a Silver Needle white tea with a bit of jasmine in it. I might actually try that when I introduce people to this type of tea in person. As long as the jasmine wasn't overpowering. 


And finally, Laine Petersen said that she's noticed women gravitate more easily to white tea. She insisted that she didn't want to perpetuate any stereotypes. The opinion that a few shared was that some men already had enough of a grudge against the assumed femininity of tea drinking. That a woman was more likely to go for such a subtle tea. Again, I can definitely see this.


We keep coming back to that. The subtlety of white tea. Like David said: the way in which white tea was talked about made the whole topic intimidating. I'd like to try and help counteract that. Any ideas about how I might help make that happen?

do I really have to like white tea?

the perfect ride for white tea drinking

Not only because I keep saying that I write this teablog partially for tea newcomers and the tea curious, but also because I interact with so many non-teadrinkers, I get asked a lot of really good questions about tea. Andreas Heinakroon (@heinakroon) asked about white tea recently. Though I can't remember what his exact question was, I'm going to write this post as if it was, 'Hey, what's the best white tea to start with?' See? That's not such a bad question, is it?

Well, Cody Lynn Clark (@codylynnclark) certainly thought so. Her response when I asked the question was, 'I want to be a jackass and say that my advice to newcomers is to not try white tea at all... but, maybe you'll like it. I don't.' Then she continued, 'It always tastes a bit... musky? to me. And it's finicky.' Please, Cody, don't hold back how you really feel, ok? That is a certainly one way to look at it. Actually, I understand this position quite well. 

Musky? Not the first word to come to mind when I think white tea, but I get it. Finicky? I definitely see this one. Normally, these are some incredibly sensitive leaves. Very finicky.

The first several times I brewed white tea, it didn't taste much different than hot water. It's exactly what Jarrod said about it when I served it to him. You don't remember him? I talked about him in luring them over to the leaf-side. He's always eager to try something new, but this clearly wasn't to his liking. 

What did I serve him? A tea called China Snow Buds that I got from Claus Kröger in Hamburg. I find most white tea to be rather subtle, and this is far from an exception. It certainly didn't taste remotely like hot water to me. It's certainly not a bold tea, but there's a light, sweet flavour there. Here's how Claus Kröger's website describes the China Snow Buds: 

'An exquisite white tea from the slopes of the Taimu Mountains. This tea has not only a clear and fresh taste, but especially nice is a certain sweetness.' (my translation) 

If I had to say, I'd admit that I liked the China Snow Buds, but I wouldn't go for it first thing in the morning. I have to be in the right mood for this sort of tea, but it's not unheard of that I brew it. Really. 

Although this isn't a tea review, I'd like to show you the leaves. They're beautiful.

China Snow Buds leaves

If you look really closely, you can see a white furry substance on the leaves. That's not a bad thing. In this case, that stuff provides tasty goodness.

Here's my question for you gentle readers: how would you introduce someone to white tea? How would you deal with the observation that it practically tastes like hot water? What'd you say in that situation? 

As always, comments are welcome. They're very much appreciated. (Was that clear enough?)

accesible Gong Fu

When I think about who I write this blog for, other than for myself, I imagine people who're curious about tea and want to know more. There are certainly some rather knowledgeable people who come here, but there are so many beautiful and knowledgeable blogs about tea. I want to try and help demystify tea drinking a bit, and so I purposely write with the tea newcomer in mind.

Because I'm passionate about it in my daily life, I get a lot of earnest questions. I'm sure some of the more direct inquiries never get made. Along the lines of, 'Wow, this guy's a bit obsessive, isn't he?' But instead, people ask me a variety of questions both general and specific. And I figure such curiosity is the perfect sort of thing to write about here.

So my friend Gaby was over the other evening, and I offered her a glass of wine or some sort of sparkly fruit beverage. She knew I'd be drinking tea, so she insisted that sharing tea with me would be just perfect. I have a new Gaiwan that she hadn't seen, so I decided to go the way of Oolong. It wasn't immediately clear if I'd made the right choice.

Recently, I read something Alex Zorach said about not doing Gong Fu in a traditional way. Essentially his idea was, and I hope I'm paraphrasing it correctly, that he did a sort of a modified Gong Fu that might look a bit strange to a purist. Those are really my words, but the point was that he brewed in a way that worked best for him.

I think it's applicable if my above-mentioned goal was to make tea drinking a bit more approachable. As I poured the first infusion of the Milky Oolong for Gaby, she looked at the curious little snifter cup. 'Where did you learn about all of this?' It's a funny question. I've watched plenty of videos, been to tea ceremonies, peppered tea shop owners with a myriad of questions.

She didn't particularly like the smell of the first infusions of the Milky Oolong, so I didn't make such a big deal of sniffing every infusion. She did like the taste. She said it smelled like a flower you can get at the Viktualienmarkt, which is an open-air market in downtown Munich. Maybe it was called the Joshua flower, but she wasn't sure.

The nice thing was that she was so curious and so eager to try each new infusion. Although she preferred the taste of the tea to the smell, she continued to use the snifter cup. She liked the tea as it got weaker and lighter. As we continued through cup after cup, I tasted less 'milky' and more Oolong, but it wasn't the most complex tea.

What's my point here? Do I really think I can proselytise and convince everyone I know to not only drink tea, but go the way of Gong Fu brewing? No way. But it was a pleasure to see how accessible it was for a tea newcomer. It was nearly a foregone conclusion that I'd have a good time with all of this, but I was very pleased that Gaby did.