A Lesson In Oolong

In preparing for Taipei (Pa was of little help) I read an article about Maokong, a quiet community not far from the city. For more than a century, the mountain village

has been an important tea-growing center in the north of Taiwan. Settlers from the Fujian province of southern China brought native Tie-Guan-Yin bushes with them, and Maoking Tea-masters soon discovered that the area’s misty climate and hilly soil were ideal for the prized oolong.

Maokong isn’t easy to get to by public transit. But I give credit where credit is due. Pa learned that we could make the one-way trip by cable car in about thirty minutes.

I asked Pa if there’d been any recent incidents of malfunction. To which he replied, “I didn’t research that far.”

It turns out that what looks on paper to be a quiet village,

isn’t quiet after all,

at least on a Sunday afternoon.

So we didn’t linger. With a road to the left and a road to the right, we took the one less traveled

and were soon out of town

and in the countryside,

tea fields all around.

Twenty minutes along and we were beckoned

to follow a stone path,

which we did, of course, until invited to enter a small establishment.

Accepting the invitation, we took the steps

and found a welcoming place,

known far and wide, we learned, as the Lin Ji Kiang Teahouse - 六季香茶坊.

An affable man seated us, introducing himself as Chaomien Liu.

“But please call me Liu, everyone does.”

Liu went over the tea menu, suggesting 特製冷凍茶, a much favored oolong.

“It has the flavor of a lite champagne and the aroma of orchids. It took our current Tea-master, Zhang Xing Zhong, over a decade to develop it. It’s perfect.”

Liu went over the food menu as well. I told him I wasn’t particularly hungry and perhaps a soup would suffice.

“I suggest our noodle soup with tea oil. And how about dumplings?”

A cup of tea, bowl of soup, and a couple of dumplings sounded just right and I told him so.

A few minutes later, Liu returned with a tray

and “set things up.”

He started the water in the pot to the left.

“Look for the tiny bubbles forming in the bottom.”

While we waited, Liu explained that Zhang Nai- Miao, born in 1875 (this pleased Pa)

was the first to bring Tie-Guan-Yin bushes from Fu-jian at the age of 20.

“His great, great grandson is now our Tea-master. And I teach the proper way of preparing and serving his oolong.”

The bubbles began to form so Liu removed the pot and covered the loose leaves nested in the strainer.

“First time. No more than thirty seconds.”

The seconds passed and he poured the light amber into my empty cup.

While doing so, he explained that fresh tea leaves must be “withered” at precise temperatures, then agitated and bruised.

“Withering aids in the fermentation necessary to release the enzymes which then coax the phenol-rich juices that preserve the original flora aroma.”

I was impressed, and Pa was too. “This man knows his oolong,” Pa whispered.

Liu then pointed to a faint red under the damp leaves.

“That’s a sign that fermentation has taken place.”

I sipped the warm liquid, immediately recognizing the champagne, and the orchids.

Liu left us to our tea, four cups over the next half hour, before returning with our soup,

and dumplings.

I had no idea how we’d make it though it all, but we did. Pa thought the champagne made it possible.

Two hours after arriving we shook Liu’s hand, thanking him for his graciousness and the wonderful afternoon.

Arriving back at Maokong, we were tempted with oolong tea in another form.

And gave in.