The steamy seduction of yellow tea

A unique tea brick from Sichuan + the trouble with "traditional" tea.

A good shvitz

The tea: Meng Ding yellow tea brick, sold by Path of Cha. $79 for 250g.

If you like the creamy, refreshing character of good green tea but don’t dig its grassy bite, yellow tea may be for you. Yellow tea is an old and rare style from China that’s only made in a few places as a regional tradition. (Hwangcha, or Korean yellow tea, is a separate brew for another day.) It begins similar to green tea, but after pan firing, the warm, damp leaves are wrapped in paper or cloth to sweat it out for hours or days. This sweat lodge treatment increases the soluble sugars and amino acids in the leaves while diminishing the polyphenols and catechins responsible for bitterness and astringency. After several rounds of slow baking, traditionally over charcoal, the resulting tea is mellow, soothing, and sweet. The method reminds me of tacos sudados, “sweaty tacos,” which are enclosed with a bit of filling, brushed with seasoned oil, and stacked while still warm in a basket to amalgamate their flavors and soften the tortillas. A good shvitz smoothes out many rough qualities—in people, tacos, and tea.

Most yellow teas are made exclusively from tiny buds and young leaves, which contributes to the style’s rarity and cost, however this variety from Meng mountain in Sichuan uses more mature leaves for a rich chestnut and honey flavor. I’ve never seen yellow tea pressed into a brick before. The seller of this tea says it can be aged in this form to good effect. After enjoying a sample, I ordered a whole brick for my personal stash. I’ll get back to you about the aging in a few years.

The source: I was drawn to Brooklyn-based Path of Cha for their unusually large selection of yellow teas and fermented heicha. I’ve tried several of their yellow teas now, including a more conventionally buddy (and pricy) Meng Ding variety that was lipsmackingly delicious, and a budget friendly mature-leaf version that may become one of my new daily drinkers. You know I’m not big on tasting notes, but I’ve found theirs to be refreshingly on-point so far. Next I want to taste some of their oolong and black tea varieties that I’ve seen chatter about online.

To brew: You can steep yellow tea similar to green tea. That means cooler-than-boiling water for bud-heavy varieties, around 175°F, and boiling for large-leaf versions like this brick. Today I’ve brewed a little over 5 grams in an 80 milliliter gaiwan (1g/15ml), though the brick also takes well to slow brewing in a large mug, pot, or thermos. I get aromas of hay with a vivid chamomile musk. The flavor is hard to pin down—brothy, roasted, and faintly floral—in a way that’s typical of yellow tea’s elusive character. Most important to me, it feels “complete” in my mouth and warming in my belly. A tea I could drink every day, and at this gentle price for the category, I just might.

---

The trouble with “traditional” tea

I’ve been on a yellow tea kick lately, which is the inspiration for this Leafhopper edition. The style is so rare it’s one of those fringe tea types that people never discuss. Even finding reputable information on the processing has been a research project of its own.

In the cup, though, it’s been dreamy. I love how soft and mellow the tea tastes, and how easy it is to drink. I can casually sip some from a thermos while working, or I can dedicate an hour to an intense gong fu session. The tea rewards both experiences. I’ve noticed it satisfies my cravings faster than my usual roster. I don’t have to drink as many cups to feel like I’ve gotten my fix. There’s sweetness on my tongue, a rich aroma, a smooth texture, activation all around my mouth, a refreshing finish, and a soothing sensation down my throat. What more could I want from a tea?

Granted, the yellow teas I’ve tasted don’t possess the dynamic complexity of my favorite oolongs, or the profound presence of quality puer. While I could drink this Meng Ding brick every day, I don’t think I could notice something new every day, the way I do with my Hongyin puer cake from Wistaria. This isn’t a flaw of the category, or an attempt to objectively rank teas by their amount of interest. But it does mean that tea drinkers treat the styles differently. You won’t find forums dedicated to picking apart the nuances of yellow tea recipes, the way we see with puer. Its high price is a function of limited supply—only a few farmers make it—rather than fervent demand.