Don’t sweat the tasting notes

Sublime songzhong + a drinker’s guide to dancong oolong.

Dancong with the stars

The tea: Songzhong Dancong, sold by Fang Gourmet Tea. $89 for 50g.

Dune fans know: the mystery of life isn’t a problem to solve, but a reality to experience. I don’t know how else to describe the aromatic oolongs made in the Fenghuang mountain range of Guangdong. Often called dancong (“single bush”), these distinctly sensual teas offer flavors that are difficult to put into words. Sure, they’re sold with names like honey orchid or magnolia fragrance, after specific cultivars and, in some cases, individual trees, but dancongs deliver so much more. Clear your afternoon schedule to drink this tea. It’s worth your undivided attention.

The Songzhong cultivar dates back to China’s Song Dynasty period, between 960 and 1279 CE. Cultivar is a fancy word for clone: a plant bred for specific characteristics that is then propagated asexually through cuttings, grafts, or tissue culture. Each of these propagations is genetically identical to the donor. Can you imagine what it must feel like as a tree to know that your exact DNA has been living and dying for a thousand years? (Dune readers, let’s not spoil [REDACTED] for new fans.)

The source: Fang Gourmet is a small boutique in Flushing, Queens, that specializes in high end teas from Taiwan and China. I’ve written about Fang before in the New York Times and elsewhere. Suffice it to say, this newsletter wouldn’t exist were it not for the education I’ve received there. Fang began as a complimentary service for the owners’ jewelry business: they would offer tea to customers while shopping, until enough people asked if they could buy the tea on their own. The retail shop is still limiting foot traffic out of an abundance of pandemic caution, but is beginning to take appointments for in-person tastings. Not all of their teas are on their website—it’s a decidedly analog operation—so I encourage you to call or email to get a better sense of their product catalogue. If by chance you want to buy a $9,000 teapot from master potter Deng Ding Sou, this is the place to go.

To brew: Dancong oolongs take some care to brew; they can go from sweet and sublime to abruptly astringent in the time it takes to answer your phone. One of my teachers uses a light dose brewed with cooler water to keep the tea from turning feisty. Others pack their pots until bursting and steep with boiling water for a couple seconds at a time. For this tea I’ve settled on 5 grams of leaf in a wee 50 milliliter pot (1g/10ml), with boiling water poured in a gentle and controlled stream. By the time you put the lid back on the pot, it’s time to pour. Keep these flash steeps going for the first 10 infusions, then steep longer for another 10 or so. Oh, and the taste? What doesn’t it taste like? I get notes of sandalwood and incense; a mouthwatering mineral character; accents of peach, plum, lychee, and wild blueberry; hints of vanilla and carob; and a slick texture that glides across my tongue. I taste it in my mouth hours after my final sip. Is that enough to say it’s really good? Yes, it’s expensive. You can buy a 10 gram bag for $20 to get a little taste. If you can afford it, add this tea to your mental library of flavors.

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A rock mineral teapot made by master potter Deng Ding Sou, at Fang Gourmet

A drinker’s guide to dancong

Even within China, dancong is an “if you know, you know” kind of tea. Wuyi and Anxi style oolongs are much more famous and widely consumed. The region of dancong production is small and its fanbase is heavily localized within the Chaozhou area of Guangdong. Yet its impact is substantial. Many of the practices that we colloquially call “gong fu tea”—such as small pots, thimble-sized cups, and a series of repeated steepings—originated in Chaozhou. Dancong is a specialist tea, and Chaozhou is a city of tea specialists. Walk the streets and you’ll see evidence of tea culture everywhere, with people seated on the sidewalk sipping oolong from fine porcelain cups.