Legends of the tea world became (and the odd one still does become) legends in a time when quality workmanship and a transparency of the product were present. Long Jing, Bi Luo Chun and Dien Hong find their origins in a time when rigid adherence to traditional methods was exalted and when drinkers were actually able to distinguish what they were drinking. Though legends still exist in the world of tea, they are often obfuscated by reputation, while lacking the attention to absolute detail. Legitimate and traditional production methods are often ditched in favor of cost saving, clever recipes. Legends, however, remain – both in name and more importantly, in desiccated green substance.
It is late in the year – I traipse behind ‘Ma’, a Hui (Muslim) tea maker on an east-facing mountain, west of Dali, in western Yunnan province. We are hunting a small plot of land, a small production facility and a tea with a thousand years of fabled history in this part of China – a classic that still rates as a ‘legend’ of the tea world, though in diminishing quantities.
Though late in the season and dry, there is always some time to find (or search for) a legend. Gang Tong tea commenced its life as a tea made almost exclusively by Buddhist monks and it has maintained an aura of a tea that is/was/and hopefully will continue to be a classic. The term ‘Gang Tong’ is explained to me, by my man Ma, amidst the surrounding forests, as a Buddhist term roughly meaning “smooth feeling road”. Part of that smooth feeling comes no doubt from the fact that Gang Tong tea goes through a unique process which includes a final intense ‘baking’ period. First though, we have to find the field that provides the leaves.
Ma, myself and another tea friend, walk along a dirt track, which follows the ridge of the mountain. We are almost 2500 meters high – optimal for any tea – with a rippling pine covered mountain off to our western flank, which powers up to nearly four thousand meters. The tea fields which reside here do so in part because of the easing effects of the mountains. Monsoon rains (we are close to the Burma border) and the intense sun are softened by the mountains to our west. We seek no less than a perfect little tea environment hidden in the woods.
When we come around a slight bend – which is layered in shade – a small patch of tea bushes appears and there is the slightest of noises from Ma. Somehow, this tiny tract of land seems less dramatic than one would expect from a plantation that grows a tea that would become exulted in the tea world. This is, in many ways, the essence of the tea world – dramatic scenes rarely make for great teas. Nothing stirs and the only item of notice is how little is of notice. It is beautiful and clean in an understated way because of its very isolation. Forgotten places have that wonderful ability of retaining that which makes them special.
A portion of the tea plantation that creates Gang Tong tea.
In China, the ‘mu’, a measurement of land, is used, with one ‘mu’ equaling 660 square meters. This little chunk of green before us is no more than 2 mu, entirely covered by tea bushes in various shapes, sizes and ages. Ma and another friend lead me through, pointing out the tea flowers and enormous walnut-sized tea seeds on the bushes. November’s low temperatures bring the quiet regenerative period for tea plants and trees. Seeds are often crushed and used for oils that are in turn used for cooking and skin oil. Tea’s magnificence knows no bounds.
Ma’s rough callused hands gently hold up the enormous leaves, whose serrated edges are like green teeth. These leaves will be plucked three times a year, fried to eliminate moisture within the leaves and fix the flavor, rolled within a kind of cotton cheesecloth to remove yet more moisture, then re-fried. Finally, in a kind of ‘coup de gras’, the leaves will be baked at a very high, controlled heat.
The three of us find three more similarly hidden and seemingly insignificant tea fields, each tucked into corners, with shade and the requisite drainage slopes present. Within such plots of land, three or even four generations of tea plants rest and stay together. Here at least, the age of the plant doesn’t matter as long as the conditions are right. Pickers carefully determine which leaves will be clipped (with Gang Tong, it matters not which particular buds or leaves are picked in what configurations as long as there is a healthy mix of older and younger leaves for balanced taste). For Gang Tong tea there are two priorities 1) the frying, rolling, frying, baking combination (done by a master) and 2) that the leaves are Yunnan big leafed varietals (Camellia Sinensis Assamica).
Camellia Sinensis Assamica
As with all teas (and serious drinkers), there are two universal tea ‘laws’ that apply and are reinforced here with the Gang Tong Tea. Ma, like many who actually work with tea, imparts these with some passion. He reiterates that the most important elements are the environment in which the particular leaf grows, and the producer who makes a particular tea.
The three of us reach the ‘factory’; the miniature and reassuringly archaic production plant where Ma and his wife create Gang Tong teas. Old brick tiles, and an ‘L’ shaped series of buildings – small in size – and a tiny courtyard that is alive with scurrying chickens, is all that stands before us.
The location, and the simplicity of the layout, is a testament to a faith in that which has worked and needs no adulteration. It leads (in me at least) to an inherent trust in the product. It is not laziness that has blunted the senses, but rather a complete faith and understanding in the process. Before any inspection of the plant itself, Ma quietly insists upon a taste of the tea in question. Gang Tong’s claim to fame is its warming strength, in part due to the baking and double frying component, which strengthens the taste. This process, while enhancing a certain power in what the mouth feels, also has a draw-back. In the high heat of the final baking process, some of the vital amino acids within the tea itself are killed off.
'Ma' doing what every good tea host does, serves up some brilliance and some anecdotes, along with some heavy tea truths.
A simple thermos is used to infuse a huge amount of leaves into a 750 ml pot. The cups are tiny glass jars that have found a renewed life in becoming tea vessels. Ma explains that a large amount of leaves and an ultra short amount of infusion time makes for a perfect cup of tea (perhaps five seconds total). The strength of the infusions comes through in a dark dandelion color and the taste of roasted tea comes through immediately. With an inhalation of air one can ‘taste’ the baked taste, which has the effect of gently rounding out the bitterness. Where a ‘roasted’ Gunpowder has that smoked taste (often chemically), and has the effect of almost brutalizing the palate, this is a softer, more natural version, where the attention to detail seems palpable on the tongue.
Carrying a ‘traveler’ cup of tea to keep the mouth senses sated, we make our way into the tea-making sanctum, the small factory portion that only produces one tea, Gang Tong.
Immaculate and slightly forlorn, three ancient rolling machines sit facing the windows’ blasts of sunlight, waiting in perfect silence. To the right of us, an ancient stone tomb – the fryer – within which tea leaves will roll (twice) with fire-driven heat. Encased in gray clay – which insulates the heat – the fryer too waits for its green leafed friends…and the spring season. Bundles of wood lie neatly tied together leaning against the concrete wall.
Three ancient rollers which will press and roll the leaves after a first frying. The long casket shaped fryer (top right) is the first stage for the freshly cut leaves.
We make our way further back into a single room with a single metal hulk standing front and center – the ‘baker’. A massive door on one end where the wood gets piled in and a well-used chimney complete the little factory. This room is where the final stage takes place and the master Ma, and him alone, knows precisely the heat, the time and the little touches that all masters inevitably impart.
In this little confined area of pine, palms and tea plots, Gang Tong is produced in the traditional manner for as long as Gang Tong has been a tea, though Ma broods that fakes appear everywhere and people now “like to drink a classic, while not knowing what makes it a classic”. He laments further that “no one takes time”. Such masters the world over speak of this syndrome.
Less than three thousand kg’s of Gang Tong is produced annually and much of that is purchased by ‘people in the know’, who return annually to sip (and purchase) a legend. Leaving with a few more cups shooting down into me, I do what I’ve often done…negotiate for a couple of bags of the tea. They will serve not only to sate a thirst but also to remind us of a tradition and legend.