I don’t smoke a tobacco pipe any longer (someone said “or shorter?”)  But somewhere around or under my pathologically cluttered and messy desk I’ve had a bag of Cavendish break open and it smells so great I haven’t gone looking for it to clean it up.

In my backpack you’d find tons of questionably-druggy-looking items — a pill crusher, for instance — and a spoon.  A rather nice one, which is technically paraphernalia, but only because (and I swear I am not making this up just for comic effect) the place where I go to drink premium tea doesn’t have metal spoons available.

(I don’t have a “drugs” category to tag this with already?  It appears I’ve gotten along without one for a decade, despite long reflections on various medications and grunge musicians.  This strikes me as a lousy excuse to add one, so it stays under “tea”.)

As devoted readers know, and Facebook and Twitter readers probably do not, I am living in an 8m travel trailer, because:

1. I got really tired of throwing away rent money without building equity
2. I got obsessive about my carbon footprint, and
3. I’m too poor to buy an eco-friendly house

It is amazing how one adjusts to one’s environment.  When I moved in I found it impossibly claustrophobic, and now it seems gloriously homey and spacious.  Presumably this has a lower bound — I’m not sure if I’d ever consider a casket to be a roomy domicile — but it works quite nicely.  There are lots of pros and lots of cons to this lifestyle, but the primary con has to be water.  The coupling for a direct water line into the trailer is leaky, and because:

1. I would get really tired of throwing away water without growing anything
2. I got obsessive about my H₂O footprint, and
3. I’m too poor to have it fixed

I get by filling a storage tank once a week or so.  I’m not quite sure what the tank is made of, but I’m fairly confident it’s something like “polyshittylene”.  Good grief is it noxious.  I was buying water by the gallon bottle for months and months, but wanted to stop because:

1. I got really tired of putting plastic into the recycling stream only having used it once
2. I got obsessive about my hydrocarbon footprint, and
3. I’m too poor to buy jugs of water

I bought — OK, “got my mom to buy” — a Brita pitcher.  Awesome.  I put that horrid noxious water through it, and try as I might to detect off-odors or -flavors, I just cannot.  The filtered water tastes better than bottled “Spring Water” (”spring” is a word in a dialect of the local Morongo “Indian” “tribe” that means “tap”).

It is very difficult sometimes to refrain from trying to pour various things through the filter to “see what would happen” — tea, coffee, scotch whisky, soy milk, soy sauce, vinegar, ad literally nauseum.  I’ll spare you the three bullet points that reduce to “I don’t want to waste the Brita filters” and “I’m to poor to do the experiments without corporate sponsors”.

I think my Dragonwell is done steeping.  Mmm: yummy with filtered water.  See you on the other side of the cuppa.

Honey is, really, bee vomit.  I know this.  So the following didn’t weird me out as much as it could have.

At a tea party, the host brought out a canister of long zhu, which translates to dragon balls, or, more nicely, dragon pearls.  Long zhu is black and formed of little, tiny spherical pellets.  What is it?  Well, it’s old pu-erh tea.  That’s been fed to bugs.  Then their feces is gathered.  That’s long zhu.

No, I don’t know what kind of bug.  But hey, bee vomit, bug shit, what’s the difference?  I was game.

He took an almost microscopic amount — less than a gram — and put it in a strainer.  Then we started brewing 1950s pu-erh gong fu style.  For those who were willing to try it (which eventually was everyone in attendance) he would pour it over the long zhu, into the cup.

First off, this stuff is strong.  Flavor-wise.  It is also delicious.  It enhances the flavor of the tea to which it’s added, makes a dramatic differences, and we’re talking about just pouring the tea over the pellets, not dissolving them.

Secondly, this stuff is strong.  Psychotropically.  It is, really, a drug, it turns out.  I didn’t know this.  One gets high, and stoned, but somehow has subjectively clearer thoughts, even though there feels like a cloud in your head.  It’s also, I think, allergenic.  Everyone in attendance had their nasal passages clog immediately, and some developed sinus headaches.  But did we stop drinking it?  No.  We kept asking for cup after cup.  I probably had about 300 ml.

Yes, all the dumb jokes were made, mostly by me.  “This is good shit!”  “Where can I get some of this shit?”

I had been planning to comment near the end of the party that, since I had now switched from whisky tastings to tea tastings, I could safely drive home afterwards.  I hadn’t counted on dragon pearls.  Er, bug shit.

If you are at all interested in tea, read this fascinating article on Chinese teas.

The most heartwarming thing just happened to me.  Regular readers of mcgees.org will know of my love for tea, specifically teas from In Pursuit of Tea, and more specifically the Autumn Green that I wrote about previously.  In that post, I mentioned using the last of the Autumn Green, and being intrigued by In Pursuit of Tea’s offering of Pouchong Ming Yue, which is supposed to be similar but better.  I finished the post with the lines

I’m considering whether to re-order the Autumn Green, of which they still have some sealed stock left over from last year, or to just order the Ming Yue.  Considering their high recommendation, and my sentimental attachment to the Autumn Green, I might just do both.

Well, I ended up not doing so.  I did not re-order my cherished Autumn Green, instead ordering the Pouchong Ming Yue, the Tieguanyin Competition Monkey Picked, the Dragon Well Superior Grade Green, and re-ordering the Sencha, all of which are expensive teas.

Exactly four weeks ago I placed the order.  My credit card was charged, but after two weeks the package had not shown up.  I called them and they apologized profusely: my order had never been sent out.  They promised to do so immediately.  A week and a half later, the order still had not shown up.  I called back: again they apologized, as they once again neglected to send out my order.  By this point I was getting slightly annoyed, as I was highly looking forward to tasting the new teas.  They promised to send the package out second day air, and it would get here by the end of the week.

Today, Thursday, I woke up to find the package on my doorstep.  I took the box in to work, unopened, glad to finally have my four teas.  I got to my desk and opened the package.  On my receipt, the co-owner of the company had hand-written “Please enjoy the Autumn Green Oolong.  Sorry again for the mixup.”  He knows I love the Autumn Green, knows I did not order it this time, and sent a quarter pound of it free of charge.  How wonderful is that?

I have just brewed my last cup of my cherished Autumn Green tea.  The leaves are all gone now.  They have been stale for a while, and this last cup consisted almost exclusively of small leaf fragments.  I’m tasting it now, and it is no longer the same.  The magic is gone from it, there is almost no sweetness, it is a bit harsh and bitter.  Teas are like wine, they are constantly evolving; but unlike wines, most teas just get progressively worse from the time they are first produced.

This tea is one of my all-time favorites (though I’m a sucker for the notoriously unstable matcha [1].)  Autumn Green is from the delicate Autumnal Flush, and while it is an oolong it is only lightly oxidized, leaving a lot of green character.  It is delicious.

However, the company from which I purchased it, the great In Pursuit of Tea, recently sent in their One Minute Tea Tip newsletter a head-to-head tasting of Autumn Green, which is in the Pouchong style, against the true Pouchong Ming Yue.  The Autumn Green leaves were older, and so perhaps did not fare as well as they could have.  Even allowing for this, though, the taste test overwhelming favored the Ming Yue in all categories, including color, aroma, palate, and suitability for multiple infusions.  If I were more cynical I’d see this as merely a marketing ploy to get people to buy the Ming Yue, which is a steep $180 per pound versus $80 per pound for the Autumn Green.  But I trust the guys who run the company, and I’ve spoken to them at length, so I trust their recommendations.  My overall sense was that “if you liked the Autumn Green, you will love the Ming Yue.”

I’m considering whether to re-order the Autumn Green, of which they still have some sealed stock left over from last year, or to just order the Ming Yue.  Considering their high recommendation, and my sentimental attachment to the Autumn Green, I might just do both.

[1]  Matcha, sometimes transliterated ‘maccha’, is the powdered, highly perishable green tea used in the Japanese cha no yu, or tea ceremony.  For more information on Japanese tea varieties (including matcha but not including Autumn Green and Pouchong, which are from Taiwan), look here, and here, and here.