Tales of wild tea and ancient trees

An unusual harvest from Vietnam + the meaning of “old growth” tea.

A tea you feel as much as taste

The tea: Lào Cai Secret Forest black tea, sold by Viet Sun Tea. $25 for 100g.

“Wild tea” has many meanings, depending on who you ask. There are tea gardens that were once cultivated and since abandoned and left to go feral, like pigeons. Then there are cultivated gardens that farmers tend with light hands, eschewing pruning and fertilization in favor of “wild” growth. Some “wild” teas are simply close relatives of the Camellia sinensis plant, like C. taliensis or C. crassicolumna, that may or may not be cultivated, and are “wild” in the sense that they’re from the weird part of the family. There are old arbor trees, referring to tea plants allowed to grow into full sized trees rather than waist-high pruned shrubs. And there is “actual” wild tea, that is, tea trees that weren’t planted by humans or tended by current farmers, except for infrequent plucking.

The idea of wild tea is alluring. Savvy marketers are happy to apply the “wild” appellation to all kinds of teas that may or may not qualify, depending on your definition. I have no idea if Viet Sun Tea’s Secret Forest is “actual” “wild” tea, and I don’t really care. The tea is good, unusual, and interesting. It does fun things for my palate and my body. To be clear, I don’t believe Viet Sun owners Steve and Thơm are up to anything fishy. I don’t know them or their tea gardens. I have no reason to think they’re deceiving anyone. My point is that I ultimately judge a tea by how it tastes and feels. The particulars of its origin are secondary. And this one keeps me coming back for more.

The source: Vietnam has a rich culture of growing and drinking tea. Viet Sun Tea appeared on the market in 2022 to share the country’s distinctive styles with an international audience. Owners Steve and Thơm focus on small productions from family farms that are less commercially minded than plantations dedicated to monocropped commodity leaf. They primarily deal in trà phổ nhĩ sống, which is Vietnam’s analogue to Yunnan’s raw puer, though their white tea cake is an absolute winner that I hope they bring back in stock. Shipping from Vietnam is fast and reliable, and if you order before 1pm Eastern Time today, you can get 10% off their black and white teas.

To brew: Secret Forest tastes best to me when steeped simply in a bowl or mug with boiling water. The leaves smell like dried cherries and the brew reminds me of the spiced sweetness of Persian jeweled rice. It’s sweet but not sugary, if that makes sense. The flavor is simple yet persistent. I get strong somatic effects from this tea: radiant warmth around my forehead, temples, and shoulders. Your mileage may vary, though I think it would be a good choice for meditation or warming chilly constitutions.

I should note I’m drinking the 2023 harvest from Lai Châu province. The batch currently on sale is this year’s spring picking from a few miles away in Lào Cai. So you should expect some differences. That’s how it goes with wild tea.

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A “natural” forest in the Jingmai region of Yunnan, China

Wild “wild” gardening: let’s talk about old growth tea

For today’s paid subscriber deep dive, I want to take a closer look at two tea terms with lots of baggage: “wild” and “ancient” tea. Both labels are a marketer’s dream, as they’re instantly evocative, easy to claim, and impossible for customers to verify. Allegedly wild and old growth teas can sell for a premium; true “ancient tree” material can add one or two zeroes onto a region’s normal price.

Wild tea and ancient trees are most commonly associated with Chinese styles, though shifting consumer preferences are leading to a spread of the terms across the market. Today’s drinkers don’t just want organic tea. They want sustainable, regeneratively farmed leaf. We’ve seen a similar push in wine thanks to terms like “biodynamic” and “minimal intervention.” There’s a whole PhD thesis to write on consumer desire for wild foods from unspoiled landscapes, made in prelapsarian noble-savage traditions, only to then be smartly packaged for export through 21st century logistics networks. I’m not going to write it, but I understand the allure. To consume wild and ancient things is to absorb some morsel of their power. We’re desperate to taste something authentic, anything realer than plastic wrapped foods at the supermarket. Ancient grains. Foraged foods. Consolation that there are corners of our aching earth still unsullied by human hands.