Organic Darjeeling Selimbong 2013 First Flush

Name: Organic Darjeeling Selimbong

Origin: Selimbong Garden, Darjeeling, India

Flush: First Flush

Harvest Year: 2013

Type: Black Tea

Purveyor: McNulty's

Preparation: One teaspoon steeped in about eight ounces of boiling water for 3 minutes, sipped plain

Has this ever happened to you: You learn, you practice, you learn and practice some more, you start to master, you work very hard and devote a ton of energy, maybe you even teach a little (or, perhaps, you really just pontificate to however many of your friends will listen), you build a reputation, you exhaust countless nooks and crannies of whatever the subject is, and then, when you think you are finally approaching the pinnacle, you stumble almost mistakenly into a big pile of knowledge or understanding that you never even thought to consider might be an existent phenomenon. It happened to me recently. Not that I ever thought I knew everything about tea, I promise. But the “insights” into which I tripped and fell head first were so simple that it is absurd I should never have thought to consider them. Some people emerge from the scenario above knowing that they have discovered new, uncharted depths and forever altered their fields of inquiry; in my case, on the other hand, the word “duh” is quite apt.

There were two new items of information revealed as I read up on Darjeeling tea. The first is that Darjeeling tea has a protected designation of origin, or “GI tag” (“geographical indication tag”), as the Tea Board of India calls it. Tea certified to have been legitimately grown in the Darjeeling region and processed properly receives a seal (seen below) from the Board to certify its authenticity, and no other tea may call itself “Darjeeling” or receive the seal. Wine and spirits of course have such things, and I learned last year that coffee does, too. I never even asked if tea might, and shame on me for that.

India has a few GI tags for tea, actually, including Assam and Nilgiri (as well as a handful of tea-growing regions without such commercial protection). But Darjeeling tea was the first to get a GI tag, and for good reason: people who drink tea have long thought it the best. As with most protected designations of origin, Darjeeling tea’s came about because there was a major problem with fraudulent labeling; that is, a significant amount of tea being sold around the world was labeled as Darjeeling but, in fact, contained little to no legitimate Darjeeling-grown tea. Naturally, this was because the “Champagne of teas,” as Darjeeling tea is known, was simply the most preferred among paying customers. Consequently, it became the first ever Indian product of any kind to receive a GI tag. To this day, Darjeeling remains the darling of the Tea Board of India, as any perusal of its website will show, and it is one of the very few single-region teas that mega tea brands (Bigelow, Twinings) market to the masses. Darjeeling tea’s fame and popularity endure, and for good reason.

The world’s producers of tea would do well, I think, to invest more time and energy into getting their products protected designations of origin, much as Darjeeling has. It is expensive and time-consuming, yes. But consumers generally are more informed about their products than they have ever been, and the legions of tea aficionados specifically are growing rapidly. The drink’s importance, once upon a time, used to be the fact that tea – any tea – was in the cup on such social occasions as tea time in Buckingham palace, a knitting club meeting in the American Midwest, or anything in between. The details of the tea were rarely a matter of comment, and if they were, it had to do with outside flavoring, such as with Earl Grey. Such things are still of great import, of course. But they are not the future. In the face of plateaued interest in tea as a centerpiece of formal gathering, tea is experiencing increased technical interest: Where is the tea from? What kind of tea is it? Is it authentic? How was it processed? Is it organic and/or fair trade? How much caffeine is in it? What are its health benefits? What is the history of this variety? What else can I learn about it? These are the questions that people are asking, and a designation of origin, though certainly no simple or direct ticket to fame and fortune, is precisely the kind of thing that gets consumers’ attention and tells them what they want to know. And of course, it protects legitimate tea producers from fraudsters intruding upon their market share. It would only be a boon for consumers, producers, and merchants alike.

The other item I learned – and it really is preposterous that I never even thought of this – is that teas from different years’ harvests taste different. Not radically different by any means, but naturally different, according to the differing weather patterns, soil conditions, etc. that accompany the advance of time. This got me thinking: Why are teas, and coffees for that matter, not labeled with a harvest year?

With wine, it has always been standard procedure to list the year on the bottle, even for blends. But with coffee and tea, that was never really how it worked. There are craft coffee and tea movements aplenty, but consumers and professionals alike are so accustomed to the mass-produced blends, designed to reduce taste variation over time to practically zero, with which we all grew up and which we still encounter with great frequency, that it has not really been demanded of anyone to label coffee or tea as being from a particular year.

To the coffee and tea connoisseur, there is a better explanation for this that will occur immediately and appear quite obvious. Wine, you see, ages. It can be kept on the shelf for a few years, a few years more, decades perhaps, and either drunk, sold, or stored yet longer. Furthermore, wine is not even distributed before it has aged for a long while, usually a year at bare minimum. What with most serious wine consumers, collectors, and merchants having hundreds or thousands of bottles of wine on hand, procured after being stored at the winery for years in the first place, a harvest year on the label is a most convenient datum. Coffee and tea, on the other hand, are not meant for that. Tea may last a while in brick form, or if kept in airtight containers, but it is intended for more or less immediate distribution and foreseeable consumption. Coffee especially has a brief shelf life, being ideally drunk within a couple weeks of being roasted. But let’s be generous and stipulate that the mass-produced coffee that sits in warehouses for up to months on end is somehow legitimate. Still, after a year or two, coffee or tea would almost certainly be no good unless kept in the very best of conditions. Which begs the question: what producer, merchant, or enthusiast would store coffee or tea away for so long in the first place? So why even bother with a year on the label? The coffee or tea is between one week and two years old, and either it tastes properly fresh or it does not. Isn’t that all that counts in this discussion?

My response to that is to return to the consumer profile described above. Casual imbibing of coffee and tea is as popular as it has always been, but not growing very much. It is not where the potential is in the market; it is not the future. Aficionados, on the other hand, are on the rise. More and more consumers are switching from major chains to craft coffee roasters and fine tea purveyors. More than ever before, they notice origins, processing methods, taste profiles, and numerous other data. They read the literature, and look for the new. Key here is that they record experiences more than ever: Is it only the emergence of the Internet that gave rise to Steepster and Coffee Review, or is it also the fact that people are there to take interest and participate in the first place?

By including a harvest year among the data for tea and coffee, merchants would not necessarily distinguish it from other tea and coffee sitting next to it on the shelf like with wine, of course. But, they would:

• Confirm the freshness of the product.
• Give consumers a sense of something new, thereby keeping up interest (“Oh, the 2014 Assam is here,” as opposed to, “Oh, Assam is here again.”).
• Create the likelihood that reviewers will mention harvest years in their reviews. This sudden consciousness of a new variable would make them increasingly interested in continuing to consume from the same region to observe firsthand the differences and similarities among the years, as any good aficionado would be. It would also mean that readers of reviews would be drawn back into that product by becoming conscious of the new variable. (“Oh, is that what there is to taste from the 2014? It’s different than what I tasted that other time,” as opposed to, “Oh, is that what this guy tastes? It’s different than what I tasted that other time.”). Finally, producers and merchants can mine the data for all it is worth.

Maybe it is the old product data manager in me (my old position when I had a day job, before I switched to a full-time school schedule), but I really do think that more attention to authenticating and publicizing the variables of tea and coffee is the best way to draw people in to the product.

Anyhow, on to the good stuff: It is time to explore the tea that finally got me to learn and think. McNulty’s was kind enough to confirm for me that this tea was harvested in 2013. The dry leaves of the Selimbong garden’s first flush are rather pastel hued, dark, all twisted tightly but alternately curled up or straight and long. Packed into the glass jar, the visual texture is akin to that of a Van Gogh painting. In stark contrast to the Darjeeling leaves that I reviewed in 2012, which had an aroma like wine and fruit, these leaves smell like a rainforest. There is some caramel, some tannins, some traditional florals, but mostly the rich maltiness that one might expect from, say, a huge mouthful of the dry leaves.

The brewed Darjeeling tea has a rich, smooth, brown color, like a deep, dark honey. The aroma is of sweet, sweet florals. Specific notes are smooth and include principally honey and flowers, with light hints of toffee and caramel as well. The palate offers a light body, although I was not confident noting that at first because there is such a thoroughly generous symphony of flavors that together with the malt they actually make the body of the tea seem rich! It took a little while before my mouth was able to sort it all out. Truly it is a most impressive, sophisticated, and unique tapestry that is woven, and I was reminded yet again why Darjeeling tea is my favorite black tea. (Well, some would say it is an oolong, but you know…)

Could it be that in my prior Darjeeling tea review, when I thought the tea was rich and thick, I was deluded by a similar phenomenon? I suppose it is quite possible.

The tea is not too acidic, not too tannic, not too malty (although the malt augments some as it cools), and not too brisk: just enough of each. The prior Darjeeling tea had some fruit flavors that are absent from this year’s crop. The 2013 offers good floral notes, though they are not quite as sweet as in the aroma. The flavor notes are of toasted things: toasted toffee, toasted caramel, even toasted marshmallow. Again, the body of the tea is light. It has a light body and constitution, even a light heart and soul – the flavors are bright, sprightly, and numerous. It is really curious how such a light body flatters the swirling bouquet of spirited tasting notes. The palate is balanced and even throughout, but it smooths out as the tea cools. The finish is of caramel and florals, with a drop of honey.

I recommend to all of my kind readers to get some Darjeeling tea – authentic Darjeeling tea, that is – and compare it to teas past and teas future. It will make for an exciting, and delicious, adventure.

Organic Sencha from A New Leaf Tea Co.

Name: Organic Sencha

Type: Green Tea

Purveyor: A New Leaf Tea Emporium

Preparation: One teaspoon steeped in about eight ounces of 180-degree water for 2:30, sipped plain

I just might be the worst Long Islander ever. Having lived here for my entire life, I nevertheless continue to get lost on the Nassau Expressway, confuse Woodbury and Westbury, say nice things about the Long Island Railroad, wonder where on earth the Bethpage Parkway goes to, not get what's so great about the Walt Whitman Mall, misspell Hauppauge, mispronounce Quogue, and balk at going to the outlets. It is a small miracle that they have yet to sentence me to permanent residence in Queens.

Here is another way in which I am just the worst sort of person to call himself a Nassau County local: up until a few weeks ago, I had never been to Garden City. Oh, sure, I was familiar with Roosevelt Field and all that jazz. Beautiful mall if you are not too picky about the ZIP code in which you park. But I mean, I had never been to the part of Garden City along Franklin Avenue: beautiful tree-lined streets, quaint shops with wonderful wares, cafes and bistros and restaurants, sidewalk eating in warm weather, bustle without hustle, a quiet ambiance... One would never guess that eight or nine blocks south lies the unfortunate neighborhood of Hempstead.

Right off of Franklin, on Seventh Street, where the shops and bistros wrap around westward and continue along for a ways, is A New Leaf Tea Emporium. I have to admit, when I entered the shop, I wondered about the looks of the place, which center around "warm, rich colors, wood décor, and ample light," as their website accurately describes it. I thought that it was a bit much, a little too self-conscious; that the decor, by insisting upon itself, was too distracting from what is important in the shop. It seemed like their angle was to go for the look and feel of a fancy Victorian tea shop and stand out that way.

I also have to admit that my concerns were wholly unfounded. If the look is overdone, the tea itself is covered even more thoroughly. New Leaf's selection is very nice, both diversified and ample. More than that, the young lady behind the counter knows her stuff wonderfully. The staff may look young, but do not let that fool you; they are very clever, very bright, and all about the tea. After she aced the softballs I threw her to test the waters, my server nailed the hard questions as well. Their website actually decries other companies that rely on superficial visuals to replace quality tea expertise, and I am pleased to report that they are willing and able to back up their words.

I was in the mood that day for a simple Japanese green, and was glad to see that their Sencha is organic, so I picked up a small package of that. The leaves are not rolled up at all; they are flaked and shredded, brittle looking although not to the touch. They are deep in color - remembering my Crayola crayons, I am thinking "forest green". The dry leaves are very pungent, tannic almost. They are so malty that the texture of the aroma is analogous to the texture of Play-Doh in the hands. They are also sweet, but like luscious, verdant greenery, not like fruit or pastry.

Brewed, the Sencha appears to be on the yellow side of lemongrass. It looks mellow, smooth, not quite limpid, and subtly delicate - the word "timid" comes to mind, although on second thought that is not quite fair. It has a malty nose with a modicum of sweetness, but structurally the aroma is the opposite from that of the dry leaves: mild, gentle, smooth. Upon sipping the tea I must confess that the first impression I had was, simply, "pleasant." It is verdant and brisk on the palate, without too much malt. The liquid is a tad light, but then again, it is not packed with a ton of flavors to carry; this is a simple and straightforward tea, smooth and easygoing. Soon one begins to notice a tannic sweetness in the back of the mouth that rounds things out quite nicely. Malty and brisk notes from the palate linger in the throat for a long couple of seconds to perform the finish.

This Sencha admittedly tends towards the nondescript, but frankly I enjoy the tea very much, for a couple of reasons. One is that often I am in the middle of a million things and seek to sip tea without putting much mind to it, for which situation this is ideal. But even more than that, the other reason is that just as often, I seek to sip tea and think about it, and let my mind settle happily upon the tea and its qualities, and from there drift slowly, almost stealthily onto something else, and again onto another thing, digging deep and playing the whole thought out until it connects to a new series of thoughts, and continue this quiet rambling, until the next thing I know forty minutes have passed, I have spent them staring at the wall and holding the half-full mug of tea without actually drinking it, and a dozen loose ends in my life are suddenly tied up nicely in a bow. This tea is ideal for that, too. Head on over to Garden City to pick some up today, and enjoy.

Organic Honduras Marcala

Name: Organic Honduras Marcala

Origin: Marcala, Honduras

Roaster: The Gentle Brew

Roast: Medium-Brown
Varietals: (unknown)

Preparation: Freshly ground, French-pressed, sipped black

This is true of most types of stores, but wine shops are famous for it: One of the benefits of going into a good one is that the shopkeeper can recommend something for anything. Customers will be indulged in their zaniest, most preposterous fancies. Want a sweet red with personality, but maybe not the same old California Cabernet, but still not a radical departure from it, but you really are looking for something different, but not too different, but not the same either? Just ask, it is yours. Hosting someone who is crazy about Loire wines, and you are quite intent on making your famous chicken fricassee that evening, and the wine and chicken must meld together absolutely perfectly, and no you will absolutely not divulge what you put in it to the shopkeep or anyone else outside of the family, and by the way you hate Loire wines so it cannot be too Loire-ish, but it has to be something that this Loire fanatic friend of yours will appreciate along with his mystery meat? Ask, and ye shall receive. Karen MacNeil, author of The Wine Bible, once asked for a wine with the personality of Robin Williams - and was duly directed to one.

I, for the record, am not interested in imbibing any beverage whatsoever reminiscent of Jumanji. However, I do enjoy being able to bounce my more complicated requirements off of expert ears and get good direction. This is true not only of wine but of all things, including coffee. I have found that most of the good craft roasters are glad to oblige such discussion in their stores, and The Gentle Brew is no exception. As the only craft roasters local to me, they have borne the unenviable burden of indulging more of my questions, dithering, and pure indecisiveness than any mere mortal ever should have to. But what can I say? Some days I know what I want; others, I have no hope of independently thinking through the slightest trifle until I have had some darn coffee in the first place.

Recently I asked one of those patient souls to recommend some beans to take home and brew for a review. "Something organic," I specified, "that would be well brewed with a French press." There was little hesitation; my expert friend knew right away what I would want: the Honduras Marcala. It was a brilliant choice.

The Marcala region, by the way, claims a unique bragging right. Nestled in western Honduras - right in the heart of a part of the world with more than a few competing coffee regions - Marcala has the distinction of being the first ever protected denomination of origin for coffee in Central America. The region has taken pride in its coffee production for generations, and continues to be at the forefront of that sector. When roasted properly, its beans can be quite an experience.

The beans from The Gentle Brew were roasted medium-brown, but there is nothing very dark about the liquid in the press. Neither orangey nor blackish, it sports rather a chestnut hue. There were, however, two tones to it, or rather two layers to the one tone: a lighter cloud in the middle is surrounded by an amorphous frame of slightly darker brown. The coffee is not actually separated; that is simply how it looks.

The Marcala's aroma is nutty, with notes of toasted marshmellow, and florals around the edges. It has many notes of a dark roast, but not the feel, texture, or personality of one. As it cools, tannins become more apparent, as does a certain wininess along with it. The palate is moderately tannic, with plenty of fruity notes, but also fairly buttery with an underlayer of light toast. The actual acidity is under control, but flavors of acidic things are dominant. The coffee is light bodied, but smooth and rich in flavor, really no more than a notch or two short of bold - and yet the light body does not seem to mind it very much at all, holding all of those notes just fine. The finish is of white table grapes and toasted marshmellow, an unlikely yet pleasant combination. It is a light and easy finish, wispy almost, quick.

The Marcala straddles the line between medium and dark profiles. It is almost as though the roast did not meet in the middle of medium and dark so much as mix and match elements of each, and discover harmony among them. For such complexity and sophistication to appear in an unblended coffee is rare, and speaks to a true roasting expertise.

The next time that you are out to pick up some coffee (or tea, wine, whiskey...) think ahead of time just how you would like it to be. By no means should you ask for a cup full of your favorite big screen comedian, as that will likely backfire in more ways than one. But think about what makes your usual preference distinct. What else may you be looking for this week? Anything? Why? Ask an expert about it. Learn something about what is out there. Experiment a little! You may find the greatest new thing on earth right under your nose, or you may discover more than you ever knew about why you love your old standard. Either way, it will make coffee better for you, more intimate, more fulfilling. Enjoy.

Organic Bai Mu Dan

Name: Organic Bai Mu Dan 

Type: White Tea

Purveyor: You, Me and Tea

Preparation: One teaspoon steeped in about eight ounces of 180-degree water for 4:30, sipped plain

Bai mudan means "white peony" in Chinese. The Chinese have other words for "peony" in addition to mudan, among them fuguihua ("flower of riches and honor") and huawang ("king of the flowers"). We might reasonably expect, upon learning this, that if they were to name a tea after this important symbol, they would reserve it for a premium variety. And indeed they have: whereas the other main grade of Chinese white tea, bai hao yinzhen ("white hair silver needle"), is made just from leaf shoots, bai mudan is prepared from shoots with young leaves on them. Bai hao yinzhen is very popular for its lighter, gentler flavors, but bai mudan takes no back seat with its more robust flavor profile, which, because it is robust only relative to white teas, results in a delightful beverage that offers nice, light tasting notes without devolving altogether into a glorified cup of barely flavored water.

The dry leaves of this organic Bai Mu Dan from You, Me and Tea are hazel colored. They are sizeable, and really do not appear terribly withered or curled up. The leaves smell very much of citrus - sweet citrus - maybe with the slightest wisp of white table grapes. They brew into a light, gentle, sprightly beverage that shakes about playfully as the vessel gets moved around. It is not at all unlike the color of a white peach.

The aroma is sweet and malty, smooth, with clear notes of citrus and melon, along with a side of very mild tannins. The first thing noticed upon sipping it is the light body, followed immediately by the delightful citrus and the practical absence of tannins. The beverage is not brisk, but one can discern that if there were a few more tannins about, then it would indeed be brisk, and that would not be such a bad thing. After a few sips, one notices a maltiness beginning to poke its way about, sneaking up from the back of the palate. It never overpowers, but with each sip it becomes felt further and further up the mouth, until soon malt is forming an underlying context in which all of the other tasting notes, heretofore independently frolicking about, are now playing together.

Thinking about it for far longer than anyone with something useful to do ought to spend thinking about it, I have found that this organic Bai Mu Dan bears a vague resemblance to a first flush Darjeeling tea.

In fidelity to the traditions of elegance and beauty that brought this tea about and have tended to its continuing prosperity, the tea has a lovely finish that rewards those who explore it most thoroughly: florals emerge for the first time, and form a lovely scene on the palate in which, if one waits just a moment or two extra, light notes of citrus and melon pass through with a breezy flourish.

Despite being lighter and more energetic than traditional tea-time teas, which tend to be deeper, smoother, calmer, and more thoughtful, thusly lending themselves to relaxation and quiet contemplation, this Bai Mu Dan is recommended more for the afternoon than for the morning. It is caffeinated and will work just fine for a chemical wakening agent, yes. However, its personality is much better suited for someone who is already about the day. The Bai Mu Dan is playful, energetic, almost cute in its childlike get-up-and-go. To get the most out of it, one should approach it already awake, in good humor, excited at the very thought of unshouldering the burdens of the day and expending the rest of one's energy in sweet recreation. Have an extra few minutes on the way to your kid's baseball game after work? The Bai Mu Dan is eagerly waiting to accompany you along the way. Done with your chores and errands for the weekend and looking forward to yoga class? This BMD just wrote your name on itself, and in your favorite font at that. Come to think of it, morning sipping may work after all: if you are one of those lucky devils who continues to spring out of bed with bountiful verve every single morning, and find yourself having just finished your jog at sunrise and now preparing to tackle the preposterous challenges with which a phalanx of bosses and coworkers has schemed to bombard you before you have even traversed the office parking lot - then a little Bai Mu Dan on the way there is just what the doctor ordered.

Pick some up today, and enjoy.

Organic Tamayokucha

Origin: China

Type: Green Tea

Style: Tamayokucha

Purveyor: Two Leaves and a Bud

Preparation: One bag steeped in about eight ounces of boiling water for 3:00 (as recommended), sipped plain

Here is an interesting specimen: Chinese-grown leaves prepared in a traditional Japanese style. Tamayokucha (also known as tamaryokucha, which altered syllable one would think would alter the entire word) can be processed either via pan-firing or via steaming, and Two Leaves and a Bud made a good choice in the latter. Pan-firing brings out a more vegetal essence in the tea, and while this example certainly has some of those characteristics, it also, because of the steaming, was able to keep plenty of space for sweetness, tannins, and just plain roominess.

The color of the brewed tea is light yellow, rich, translucent, and full of character, not unlike a pigment that might be used in a stained glass window. The aroma is sweet - not honey-like, nor sugary, nor fruity, but sweet. There is also an undertone to the aroma, more of a texture than a scent, really, which gives it a sort of earthy feel, in the same way that one can feel the air in a woodland before and after a rain differently than one can feel it in other settings. (This is surely magnified many times over in pan-fired varieties.) Perhaps the best approximation - and it is only that - of this unique combination of sweetness and texture in the aroma is a steaming-hot mug of green tea ice cream.

This tamayokucha tastes delicate, light, flavorful, pure, with a touch of briskness (surprisingly), and nice tannins (which are at optimal levels). Sweetness is there but not overpowering. The fine-tuned combination of all of those factors yields a delicious brew that really tastes like green tea ought to taste; truly an excellent example of the category.

As per its dynamic character, this tea can serve equally well as a morning get-me-going potion, an object around which to unwind in the afternoon, or (for those unaffected by caffeine) something to make one cozy of an evening. Enjoy.

Stumptown Organic Ethiopia Mordecofe

Name: Organic Ethiopia Mordecofe

Origin: Mora Mora River Valley, Guji Zone, Ethiopia

Roaster: Stumptown

Roast: (unknown)

Varietal: Ethiopia Heirloom

Preparation: Freshly ground, French-pressed, sipped black

It is always a pleasure to experience a fusion of old world and new, especially when it puts into focus a continuous, live tradition. Coffee has many traditions, from Western coffeehouses to Latin American coffee plantations to Turkish style coffee being passed around a souk to farms dotting the numerous famous hotspots throughout Southeast Asia. It is for good reason that we continue to cherish these traditions, but where did they come from? Where did they all begin?

Much like people, coffee originated in Africa before spreading around the globe. Unlike people, coffee has traditions that did not arise until well after history was being recorded, so we can trace it all with a comfortable degree of precision. Growing wild in Ethiopia, coffee was first made an object of agriculture around the year 850 C.E. Soon the Yemenites picked up the crop, and the brewing of coffee become popular in growing numbers of places around the world. The Yemenites would have loved to keep the monopoly over its production all to themselves, but sooner or later all secrets are set loose. Coffee was brought to Indonesia for planting, and after that to the New World. Consumption was already global by that point. The rest is history.

But there it was, in Ethiopia's former Kaffa region, that it all began. (Ethiopians call coffee "bun" - it was once thought that a misunderstanding of "Kaffa bun" is why English speakers call something unrelated to beans a "coffee bean", although that explanation has since been discredited.) And it still grows there today.

Along the eastern flank of this swath of land is the Guji zone where one Mr. Haile Gebre runs a couple of farms and a washing station. Gebre ought to know a thing or two about local agricultural traditions; he formerly held a government post in Ethiopia as director of cooperative business. Little wonder, then, that after returning to his family's land and growing coffee he embraced the direct trade movement. Direct trade seems more and more these days to be a common thread among serious roasters, at least among those with, shall we say, the wherewithal. The coffee is fresher and more choice, the business is more transparent, and usually everybody wins.

In one sense, perhaps, there is nothing new under the sun. Coffee is grown, traded, roasted, brewed, and enjoyed. Some headline. But in another sense, things are different. Gebre studied in Russia. He is a learned, traveled man. He knows where his coffee is going, and he knows how to do business in the modern world that can benefit farmers in Ethiopia, businesspeople in Oregon, and consumers in New York, all at the same time. How many Ethiopian coffee farmers a thousand years ago could have said such a thing? Some, maybe. But the context of coffee, much as the world itself, was very different. The details have changed; and yet, the important principles have remained largely the same. I suppose that is how traditions live on.

So what does it taste like, a millennium-plus-old tradition? Quite delightful, really. The press turns up a rich, dark, chocolate colored brew. The aroma is initially of a winey character with florals around the edges; as the coffee cools it becomes vice versa. The florals are predominantly honeysuckle, plus there is caramel in there. There is another element to it as well, a richness, and I cannot tell if it is a full-bodied textural quality that found its way into the aroma or else a slight earthiness that has spread out and given a smoothness to the rest of things. The palate is of fruit, wine, and figs. I do not taste the mint chip ice cream that Stumptown mentions in its tasting notes, but I do taste the brown sugar, as well as hints of carob and lychee to go beside what is by now indisputably earthiness. There is also a tad of spiciness which does not jump in and add another layer to the mix but rather appears as an extra dimension of the existing layers of fruits and earth, a little kick that makes each other flavor a little more interesting. (That must be what Stumptown means by "ginger".) The liquid is rich and full-bodied; it is not syrupy, but then again, there is not much farther to go. Fruits and spice characterize the finish.

Stumptown, of course, as part of its focus on roasting for the bean, does not label their expert roasts as light, medium, or dark. But if I had to guess how this coffee may be characterized, I would say that it is a medium roast. It has plenty of room for the terroir and its flavors to spread out and express themselves, but there is an undercurrent of earthiness and the acidity is under control.

Did Ethiopian coffee beans always have these characteristics? Were they always roasted quite this way? Has the Mora Mora River Valley always been home to this crop? Have people always enjoyed Ethiopia heirloom in this or a similar way? Some people know the answers to some of those questions. Most people have no clue. I would love one day to join the first group of people. Until then, I am enjoying my place among the second. There is nothing quite like a tasty mystery to add a pleasing edge to the experience of tradition.

Organic Jade Cloud Green Tea

Origin: China

Type: Green Tea

Style: Jade Cloud

Purveyor: The Spice & Tea Exchange

Preparation: One teaspoon steeped in about eight ounces of boiling water for 2:30, sipped plain

I suppose it is only right to open with a disclaimer about labeling this tea as organic: the pouch in which my sample of this tea was packaged at The Spice & Tea Exchange's Newport, Rhode Island, store does not say anything about being organic. However, its website does declare that the Jade Cloud Green Tea is organic. While labels can be old or printed erroneously, websites are easily correctable and updateable. So, I tend to presume that in the event of a discrepancy, the website should be given the benefit of the doubt. But again, a disclaimer is only fair for my kind patrons.

In any event, the Jade Cloud green tea is exquisite. Whatever label the Spice & Tea Exchange puts on it, that soon becomes of quite little interest in the presence of such a charismatic beverage. The dry leaves are, aptly, of a dark jade color, withered down but without curling into the leaf equivalent of the fetal position, as many other teas are wont to do. These Jade Cloud leaves are long, elegant, curvy, almost supple looking from a slight distance. And when getting a sense of their aroma, I was greeted not with a statement but with a question: can an aroma be matte? I do not mean dampened; the fruity tones are wonderfully vibrant. But there is a certain quality to them, almost like a gloss-over except decidedly not glossy - perhaps we can call it a haze-over. It is slight, and gives the aroma (which also includes an undertone of nuttiness) great texture, and in my mind's eye, when I sniff these leaves, that texture is quite distinctly matte. There is no other way to explain it.

That would normally be plenty of character for a tea, but in the case of the Jade Cloud here, we are just warming up - literally, in fact, as the water was boiling to brew the tea as I pondered the dry leaves. When brewed, the tea emerges very light, almost delicate in color. It is pale yellow. The nuttiness comes out much more in the aroma when brewed, and in fact becomes the predominant note. There is also just a touch of maltiness and fruit beneath it all. Could that maltiness be the manifestation of the matte quality that I found in the dry leaves? Could it all really have been just what malt smells like before being brewed? How intriguing.

When sipped the tea immediately shows itself to be quite comforting and cozy, key qualities this time of year. The flavor is subtle; not too tannic, not too malty, just right. The package, which mentions a chestnut flavor, is proven correct on that count. The tea is full bodied, even, and evidently glad to please. There is a bit of fruitness to the finish.

The Jade Cloud Green Tea has plenty of personality, but unlike many beverages brimming with character, it does not heave it at us in a frantic effort to boast of glitz and glam. Rather, it welcomes in anyone who would enter, and explores its own depths with us, sharing the adventure at our own pace. Such keen reserve makes it most ideal as an afternoon tea. In fact, I look forward to another cup of it this afternoon, and encourage everyone else to partake as well.

Puroast Organic Dark French Roast

Name: Organic Dark French Roast 

Roaster: Puroast 

Preparation 1: Freshly ground, French-pressed, sipped black 

Preparation 2: Freshly ground, 5 teaspoons combined with 1.75 cups water and 0.48 ounces (4 packets) of sugar, kept over medium-low flame until ready, sipped without further enhancement

The benefits of a low acid coffee are numerous, and quite as one might expect. Those with sensitive, shall we say, central processing can rest assured that Puroast's coffee will serve them quite well. This might seem like a rather mundane feature, but those coffee lovers who have had to cut back because of pain or health risk ought to take a definite interest. And after all, heartburn, indigestion, ulcers, and other related afflictions are hardly rare.

But the opportunity will not mean very much if the coffee is sub-par, will it? The good news is, while it may not be everyone's ideal coffee, it is quite tasty. And, while I have reviewed here the dark roast, Puroast has many varieties available to suit all preferences.

French pressing the coffee yields a dark, dark brown brew, somewhere between royal mahogany and ebony in hue. The aroma, much like everything else about this coffee, is smooth. There is earthiness in the scent, and did I detect some sweetness? It must be a hint of caramel flavor. In the palate, though, all semblance of sweetness is gone. The coffee is earthy, a little smoky, and exceedingly smooth. The body is medium. There is a mild finish, earthy and buttery; one appreciates how it is unpresumptuous.

I usually dislike acid in a coffee. All of the energy that it gives to the flavors and tannins is, rather than keen and spunky, more like astringent and bleaching. It becomes frustratingly difficult to get a hold of the flavors; they go bouncing off the walls of my tongue and palate in a chaotic rather than playful manner, and heck if I can discern a single tasting note on the first or second pass. Smooth, calm, and steady; that is my thing. Therefore, though my own central processing works just fine (for now; I can hardly wait for time to go on), I very much looked forward to this low-acid coffee. So, on the whole, how did it meet its promise?

On the one hand, it is a little bit as they say: one never appreciates something until one does not have it anymore. This coffee errs on the side of flat. It is smooth as can be, with flavors on wonderful display, but lacking a tad in personality. On the other hand, especially since I was not out looking for an adventure, it can hardly have been more pleasant to have the flavors of a splendidly roasted coffee flow across the taste buds without having to stop and wait for a harsh wave of acid to wash by every other nanosecond. On balance, it is well worthwhile.

And, the Turkish preparation was even better. The coffee comes out dark, dark, and darker: totally ebony. It proffers such strong roasting notes that the full complement of sugar hardly even comes through in the aroma. But one does pick up on some earthiness and florals from the coffee itself, which is very nice. In the palate, there is plenty of sweetness that comes through. It is smooth and full-bodied. Here, the lack of acid does a perfect job of fulfilling its aesthetic promise of letting the coffee round itself out an sprawl about the mouth in a mellow, but not lethargic, way, blanketing the tongue and palate in delight. There are a couple of coffee notes here and there – nuttiness, florals, smoke – but mostly it is earthiness and sugar. There is no doubt that if one were to add other spices to flavor the brew, they would shine wonderfully. This coffee is just right for holding them up without tossing them about, blending them seamlessly without shaking anything around.

Those who suffer from certain internal symptoms, those who dislike acidity in coffee, and really anyone in general, are all encouraged to get some Puroast coffee and make a pot. It is, truly, a delight.

SereniTea Chamomile & Yerba Mate

Name: SereniTea

Ingredients: Chamomile, Yerba Mate

Purveyor: My Tea Company

Preparation: One teabag steeped in about eight ounces of boiling water for 2:30 (as recommended on the box), sipped plain

"Well, that's curious."

That sounds like an appropriate response to noticing a chamomile-yerba mate blend, does it not? Well, such a reaction has the paradoxical effects of heightening expectations of a good shock, and dampening the chances that anything will actually take one by surprise.

Good news, though: the surprise is there, and indeed it is nice, but as it turns out the flavor and texture are so impressive as to make the entire issue of surprise trivial and, largely, forgotten.

The organic SereniTea, by My Tea Company, brews into one of the lightest teas that I have ever seen, much more befitting a chamomile than a mate. The nose, too, is "dominated" by the chamomile (if that word can even be used with such a tea). The primary aroma is sweetness, and the whole thing can be described as having the scent of a cup of chamomile tea with a spoonful of honey already mixed in.

When sipped, the SereniTea tastes at first just like it smells – mirroring the rich texture and flavor of chamomile with a touch of sugar on the tongue – but then, at the back of the palate, one soon begins to perceive a hint of the yerba mate. And sure enough, on subsequent sips, strains of mate become increasingly apparent throughout the mouth. Still, though, chamomile, no patsy, quite handily maintains its status as the main flavor note in the brew. The tea is brisk and malty, albeit in a unique way, not terribly akin to the briskness and maltiness found in a Camellia sinensis. Vanilla sneaks up on the occasional taste bud, and citrus is absent but still felt – decidedly missed, perhaps – as though the forces carving the flavor profile of the tea included a distinctly citrus-shaped spot in the expectation of that note forming an integral part of the mélange, but then the citrus never did show up. The flavor may be absent, but one cannot mistake the contours of the conspicuous hole. Let that not deter anyone, though; the loss belongs to citrus itself, not to the delicious concoction forced to leave it behind.

The body of the tea is light, but firm enough to give proper structure to the flavor notes. The finish is chamomile, appropriately.

The SereniTea is a wonderfully pleasant drink. It is sweet and cozy as only a chamomile can be, yet healthy and stimulating (yes, it is caffeinated) according to yerba mate's renown. It is a very keen blend, and one that works just right. Enjoy.

Organic Dark Roast Yerba Mate

Origins: Brazil

Type: Yerba Mate

Ingredients: Yerba Mate, Roasted Yerba Mate, Roasted Barley, Roasted Carob, Roasted Chicory

Purveyor: Mate Factor (all organic)

Preparation: One tablespoon put into an empty 10oz mug, rest of mug filled with approximately 150-degree water, sipped with bombilla

Now here is a keen angle. Mate Factor is branding its mate not as a tea, but as its own category of caffeinated coffee alternative. It really is a great job that they did. The package includes brewing instructions for a French press, a standard drip machine, even an espresso machine with a latte option. Very nice.

As for whether the product can actually work as an alternative to coffee, that depends. Someone looking for something that tastes like coffee will be disappointed; no tea or tisane will ever achieve that. But Mate Factor never sought to make something that tastes like coffee in the first place. They assembled a unique blend of ingredients, and what results is a rich, earthy brew with a flavor all its own.

The dry Dark Roast Yerba Mate, first of all, looks great. It is like looking at a fresh, prime, radiant example of pristine woodland earth in the springtime. Most of the mix is a bold, dark brown, and sprinkled about there are bright, deciduous greens and whites. The leaves smell sweet and chocolaty.

When brewed, the tisane switches gears and emits a strong scent of yerba mate. The other ingredients become quite peripheral to the aroma. The liquid is a dark brown, malty but translucent, rather like a black tea. There is nothing malty about the flavor though. The brew offers very smooth, even notes of yerba mate and chocolate. It is sweet but not so sweet that it starts to do a bad impression of chocolate milk. The barley gives it an extra dimension, a little depth and subtlety. But the principle flavor is definitely the yerba mate. This is good, because it lends credibility to the suggestion that it is meant to be brewed. Without the mate's presence, one would wonder if it would not be better just as a shake or something.

Fortunately, the yerba mate does indeed predominate, and it tastes quite ideal as a brewed beverage. I can definitely see making a latte or cappuccino out of this; the flavor and texture would integrate with the milk perfectly. Of course, I enjoyed it just fine prepared in the traditional way. All in all, Mate Factor did a splendid job creating, as they put it, a "healthy coffee alternative."

Agapao Dave's Organic Signature Blend

Type: Dave's Organic Signature Blend

Roaster: Agapao

Roast: Very Dark Roast

Preparation: Freshly ground, French-pressed, sipped black

He is a bold man who puts his name right on the forefront of his work for all the world to see. It is appropriate, then, that the eponymous Dave at Agapao put his name on a bold cup of coffee. Well, sometimes bold. The dark, carob-colored beverage is a blend, after all, and all of the ingredients must be allowed to come out and play. The various components take turns strutting their stuff, and the result is a delightfully dynamic breakfast beverage.

Dave's Organic Signature Blend says "very dark roast" on the package. The beans appear, indeed are, rich and oily. When brewed, they have a nutty, earthy aroma quite on the strong side. The palate is surprised, then, when it finds itself tasting an extremely smooth, light (but not buttery) coffee of mid-level intensity with some smoke, some nut, a few florals around the edges, and no acid. It finishes rich, airy, with earthy tones: precisely the point of the undulation of characteristics at which the robust, nutty aroma is ready to pick up again on the next sip.

Coffees like this are just what the doctor ordered on those mornings that find one desiring to get up-and-at-'em, but unable to muster the will to make it past the nightstand. Never mind the caffeine – it is the vibrant personality of this coffee that will befriend any adventurous soul in need of a little jolting.

Choice Organic Teas Oothu Garden Green

Origins: India

Type: Green Tea 

Purveyor: Choice Organic Teas

Preparation: One teabag steeped in about eight ounces of boiling water for 2:30 (as recommended on the box), sipped plain

Now here is a pleasant cup of tea. More and more often lately, tea purveyors try to make a cup of tea into more than just a cup of tea. And that collective endeavor certainly has its merits. New places are planted with tea, new styles of tea arrive, new blends and flavors are offered, and so on. Imagine if instead of the fast-paced world of tea we have now, we had a world in which the menu had not been augmented in a couple of centuries: a handful of black teas, a couple of greens, an oolong, and maybe a couple of herbals; and nothing else. Instead the tea drinking world is vibrant, growing, experimenting - in a word, thriving. I am glad that I live in this world and not an alternate.

However, nothing is perfect. There are some drawbacks to the fast pace, and notable among them is the fact that it becomes difficult sometimes to just get a nice, simple tea. Very often nowadays, a tea list will include a few standard varieties hidden among dozens and dozens of zany flavors and odd roastings, strange combinations and weird herbs. Those are all very nice, and many of them have people who think they taste good, but can't tea purveyors pay at least as much attention to tea-flavored tea?

Choice Organic Teas's Oothu Garden Green opens with a somewhat sweet nose, fruity and tannic. The palate is also tannic. It is smooth and buttery (that is to say, both rich and light), with a somewhat mild finish. This is not an intense tea. It is not malty, it is not brisk, it is not packed with a million different elements, and it is not trying for anything in particular. It is just a good brew, sort of like that one great friend who is always relaxed, level-headed, a good listener - the one who has plenty of fun but does not always feel the need to be wacky about it. When sipping the Oothu, I thought to myself how nice it is that I can have a cup of tea that I do not have to "deal with;" I can just sit back and enjoy it, letting the mind unwind and thoughts pass by without interference from all sorts of elements in my beverage.

A rare treat in a crazy world.

Stumptown Organic Indonesia Gajah Aceh

Type: Organic Indonesia Gajah Aceh

Origin: Sumatra

Roaster: Stumptown Coffee Roasters

Varietals: Bourbon; Catimor; Jember; Typica

Preparation: Freshly ground, French-pressed, sipped black

There is bucking norms, and there is bucking norms. You know what I mean. Some people are smashers, looking to destroy the order of things from within so that they can lie to the world and to themselves about the comparative worth of whatever it is that they have to bring to the table. Others seek not to tear down but to build up, to expand, to augment. Eager and sincere, they are careful not to destroy, at least not wantonly, but they have no qualms about forcing the status quo to engage in honest competition. This is, generally speaking, a good thing.

The folks at Stumptown Coffee Roasters are serious coffee people. They travel to all corners of the earth (literally) sourcing beans, roast them great, and have found much success doing so. What makes them different? They do not roast light, dark, or anywhere in between. It is a different approach entirely.

I was skeptical at first. "All our coffee is roasted for the coffee itself. It's not necessarily defined as light, medium, or dark," the gentleman in the store told me when I asked about what I was buying. It sounded like either new-age nonsense or he had no idea what he was talking about (or both). In actuality, he was being quite helpful: there, in a very neat nutshell, is Stumptown's approach.

It was described in more detail in an e-mail from Stumptown. "Our guide for roasting coffee is flavor," they explained. "Each coffee is roasted to bring out the aspects inherent in the bean which we would like to accentuate for the optimum drinking pleasure. We don't like to impart a fingerprint or a roast signature on the coffee. Instead, we prefer to highlight what makes that particular varietal or farm exciting."

I still did not quite get it. So they have different criteria than others when roasting the coffee. Surely once the bean is roasted it still fits into one or another roast profile - perhaps not the usual one, but one nonetheless? Indeed it does, in this case a medium-light. But to fixate on that is to miss the whole point in the first place. Yes, when the beans emerge from the machine they are roasted at a certain level. But that is a post-hoc observation only. Many roasters - most, I daresay - decide on a level of light, medium, or dark, set the roaster, and send the beans through. Stumptown does not care what hue of brown the beans end up. How long should this bean, of this variety, from this origin, be roasted? What flavors does it have? How can we maximize the good ones, marginalize the bad ones, and coax out some new ones? How long before some of them are lost? Can we adjust to make sure that the texture is just right? And so on and so forth.

So yes, the beans end up ochre or burnt-sienna or whatever. Big deal. They end up right. That is the point.

And indeed, the coffee is delightful. The organic Indonesia Gajah Aceh brews into a light brown liquid with a tinge of orange. It has a fruity, nutty aroma, but the palate is quite different: earthy, smoky, slightly bitter around the edges, and rather non-acidic. The coffee is on the thin side, but smooth and consistent, and it gets thicker on the finish as it goes down nice and easy.

It really does make the experience more special when I learn not just of a new coffee, but also a new thing about coffee. I suspect that the same is true for most coffee aficionados, so I encourage everyone to get a packet of Stumptown, and consider the unique mindset that went into roasting it while sipping the brew. It will not be a disappointment.