“Mazes of terms, descriptions…words, but so many do not understand the first thing about tea…and people don’t understand ‘bitter’”. There is far more to the irate monologue so I’m recording the little outburst on an mp3 player. This way I can take down every gorgeous detail of his firestorm in my own time.
Mr. Yang has worked himself into a red fury. This wasn’t the first or the last genuine tea person that would get stoked into a mild state of lunacy by the tea world’s ‘modern’ march forward and seeming disinterest in the traditions of the green leaf. An entire vocabulary of terms and descriptions now exist where once there were only unambiguous words to describe processes, tastes and of course teas. This isn’t entirely true, for in China there has long been a tradition of lush adjectives to describe teas, tea vessels, a tea’s character, and even the kind of individuals who make teas…but the general point remains, and for Mr. Yang of Xiaguan it is a point he never tires of making.
Southeast of Xiaguan, in western Yunnan province – where I seem to spend much of my life – I am looking at muscular tea bushes, in the full light of the sun, with longtime tea producer Mr. Yang, who is contrasting his diatribe with gentle strokes of the bushes’ magnificent leaves. I’ve been privy to his scorching commentaries before and he feels safe blasting away in front of me.
The full and almost plump Meng Ko tea bushes spaced out amidst pine forests and other conifers. Ideal for almost any climate because of their tough nature, they do thrive in western Yunnan.
The next thing that is said is one of those things that set the foundation for a “truth” in the ever-murky world of tea.
“Everyone knows what tea’s final product looks like, but how many know the process of how it became like that…from where it came”? He looks at me as though I might be one of these offenders, before moving on to caress yet more of the green leaves that surround us.
Within tea’s mighty but underrated sphere, rarely do leaves – or an understanding of them – warrant much investigation or interest. Location, process, and the post picking process, get much credit (fairly enough) but the ‘species’ of leaf rarely causes any curiosity…which is exactly what enrages puritans like Mr. Yang. For him, as for many, every single step, every morsel of the process is important in the final product and absolutely nothing can be taken for granted.
Serrated edges and big full formed leaves are what the Meng Ko is known and fame for. Here a leaf and seed rest together for the winter months.
In western central Yunnan – long a hot-bed of tea culture and wild tea growth –it is the broad-leaf variety (Camellia sinensis var. assamica) that has and continues to rule. As in Xishuangbanna in the south, this big beast of a leaf rules on high.
Here though, there is a specific species of the broad leaf that has long produced leaves that stand up to climactic change, pests and even production changes. They are the leaves that Mr. Yang and I are looking at on this cool morning, the ‘Meng Ko Da Ye’ – Men Co Big Leaf. Used to create both Puerhs and simple Green teas for mass market, this species has long provided a stout raw product for the production facilities that enhance and manipulate it. The name Meng Ko itself originates from Lincang Prefecture – another tea hotbed in Yunnan – and refers to a place of the same name. It is understated in both its origins and in its role in providing a solid and consistent base by which to create some tea magic.
Preceding this walk through the ‘Meng Ko’ plantation, we had consumed some of a simple green tea made from the Meng Ko leaves. We sipped it hot and tangy in the cool morning air – the kind that siphons through the nostrils making everything taste as it is – eating and drinking out of doors always clarifies and edits taste in my little sphere. When we do sip, the bite of the tea is what I notice. It is more astringent than the normal hints of bitterness expected in these parts from teas that are not over-processed. Mentioning this to Mr. Yang, he gleams just slightly.
Understated leaves, understated serving…this is what Mr. Yang serves up in the early morning forgoing entirely the ceremonial aspect in favour of simplicity to get the most out of a great tea.
“It is the polyphenols you taste and the Meng Ko species is loaded with them”. This sudden leap into science throws our entire tea-drinking scene sideways, somehow taking away from the calm idealism and serenity of the surroundings. Polyphenols, naturally bitter in taste, are one of the most potent of that special “a” word which now garners so much attention in the world of health: antioxidants. Polyphenols rule.
Polyphenols are present in all plant foods and they supplant vitamins in fruit and vegetables in what they contribute to antioxidants. Bitter to the taste, tannin is the most ‘known’ of the polyphenols. Now being credited with preventing cardiovascular disease, diabetes and cancer, polyphenols are part of the new set of ‘crucial compounds’ within the world of health foods.
For local tea drinkers, this new focal point matters not, as this bitter taste has long been associated with health giving properties. Intuition and centuries of studying tea has made the knowledge something fluid and almost taken for granted. Bitterness has always been a complementary partner of healthy foods in much of Asia and it has never met with the hostility that it has conjured up in western palates. Now science catches up. While most tea consumed in the world is still ‘black’, the process of oxidization, which ‘creates’ a black tea from green, changes the taste but obliterates green tea polyphenols. High temperatures (when frying or baking tea) oxygen, and over-processing can all neutralize polyphenols. Polyphenols need, by necessity, a simple and pure processing regime to keep them alive and kicking.
The beauty of morning light…and more – the beauty of Meng Ko leaves left to grow and live undisturbed by sprays or manipulation.
While sipping our simple morning ‘Meng Ko’ green tea, Mr. Yang takes long, noisy slurps from the cup, all the while grunting in a barely understood grumble, “tea should be bitter”.
He explains with wide gestures (his tea hand is obviously used), without spilling a drop, that what makes the Meng Ko species such a champion is that it is hearty enough to survive pests and high altitude cold, while also being able to contribute a host of qualities, aromas and tastes to a tea. I am wondering at this point if somehow he is referring to himself as he repeatedly uses the term “underappreciated”.
“What is most important to a tea quality is the geography that it grows in – organic, high altitude, good drainage and cool climates. These are the musts. Then it is down to the producer to create a good tea”.
Back amongst the Meng Ko tea bushes and the here and now Mr. Yang almost screams, “When a tea is bitter you know it hasn’t been through too much processing. People must learn to love bitter”. The last sentence falls off and is almost whispered. Again I have the sneaking suspicion that he is referring to himself as much as the broad green serrated leaves before us.
He wanders up to a patch of broad leaves, checking their branches, their pliancy and even their bases. “Like friends – nothing much to look at but always honest”.
And so, one of the underrated backbones of Yunnan’s many vintage tea species is revealed by one of its underappreciated fans.
Dried Meng Ko leaves tied in traditional bundles known as the “broom” lie much the same as they once appeared as fresh leaves. In this form they are ready for immediate consumption.