Que She or Bird Tongue tea floating in its water after the third brew at Song Tea SF. Photo by Annie.
A childhood friend picked me up from San Francisco’s Chinatown. We left the colorful chaos and headed toward larger buildings, blue skies and wide roads. Song Tea is a tiny, orderly treasure chest amongst skyscrapers. Stepping into its clean white walls, and attention to detail was as refreshing as it was startling after a day touring San Francisco’s flashy streets. The kaleidoscope pressed to my eyes had been replaced by cucumbers. We were offered tea from a carefully made pot as we nestled ourselves into the art deco chairs. A man, a stranger from Los Angeles was doing a tasting. After a few lovely sips of delicious but familiar Oolong we were offered the two seats next him. We moseyed over and made ourselves at home of the redhead with the Minnesota accent pouring tea.
Our part of the tasting began with the second brewing of the Bird Tongue tea. As she filled our beautiful, wabi-sabi cups, the bright green brew’s aromas transported me to Spring. Spring in a meadow. Far away way from the harsh, designed reality of the city I sipped the elixir. It was the green sort of sweet, and I could hear the snowpea snap off the vine as I swallowed. Kaffir lime and the purest thai food of my life came to mind as I let the post-swallow tastes and aromas circulate. While dry the leaves are no bigger than a centimeter, after the redhead expertly pours water on them they swell into half-inch fava beans and miraculously float vertically suspended in the center of the vessel.
The Los Angelean picked a Formosa Dahongpao to taste. The coveted Big Red Robe tea had been harvested in 1992 from Taiwan. In 1992 growers could still take clippings from the sacred plants, and these found their way to the mineral rich soils of Shan Lin Zi. An aged Oolong is a rare thing to behold. Buyers don’t request them, they stumble upon them. I prepared myself for the upcoming rare taste and bathed my senses in the purity of the room once more. The redhead carefully took the Dahongpao from its tin and slid it into another handmade teapot – the one designated for this tea. She dropped a few precisely warmed droplets of spring water on the leaves and passed the precious pot and its contents around for her eager audience. My first moments with a vintage port came to my mind. As I watched it brew those memories turned to full apple trees the holidays of late fall when apples begin to stew and caramelize. Dark, cedar planks and campfires grabbed my attention. Swiftly, I craved either a scarf or really nice cheese plate. The memories my brain anticipated reliving, along with my eager taste buds made the longer brewing time seem even longer. My patience was rewarded. This tea is the tea you end a once in a lifetime meal with. This is a tea to stash away until you meet the perfect person. This tea you debate saving for you children in case you love them as much as people say you will. Sensing my heartache at the inability to afford taking a bit home to do just that with, the redhead slipped me a perfectly packaged sample of the 1992 on my way out.
There were more teas, but the conversations are still swirling around in my head – almost taking precedence. The jovial redhead became a quick mentor with her genuine and kind responses. The businessman from Los Angeles began laughing with us and comparing notes on our varied Oolong experiences. Tea triggers recollection and excites your senses while forcing you to be more present, conscious and gregarious. I have his business card and plans to take the redhead out for wine the next time I visit.
