There is an old saying that daily life has seven necessities: fuel, rice, oil, salt, soy sauce, vinegar, and tea.
Why, then, is tea so important? Is it just a hot liquid, or something more?
From teatime in England to passing around a gourd of mate in Paraguay, traditions abound. But only in Asia is tea so deeply rooted in the culture as to produce a uniquely Eastern institution: the tea house.
Is there something here that the rest of us are missing? I set out to learn more. My host was Ethan Huang of the Yes Tea House in Ottawa.
A State of Mind
"In the formal tea ceremony, we don't talk," Huang explains.
Serious tea masters carefully prepare both the tea itself and the surroundings—"the plants, the music, the whole environment."
The whole experience is meditative and "usually just really simple."
Such tradition stretches back to ancient times, when, it is said, the whole society emphasized clearing the mind, maintaining a calm heart, respecting others, and regulating the body's energies.
Modern tea houses often function as popular places for socializing, like cafés in the West, while others are more traditional. It is perhaps no accident that tea houses are everywhere in Taiwan, where 5,000 years of rich Chinese culture is best preserved.
A tea house offers an island of contemplative calm, a glimpse of the past, amid the bustle of modern life.
"They say it's a different world."
The Perfect Pot
The most important thing to get right, Huang says, is the temperature of the water. Those of us accustomed to Western teas tend to use boiling or just-boiled water.
"Don't do that to Chinese or oolong tea; boiling water makes your tea taste bitter," Huang says. The water should be about 70˚C for green tea, or 80–90˚C for oolong. Some Taiwanese also put the leaves in cold water, then leave them to steep in the fridge overnight.
Another tip for newcomers is that Eastern teas should generally steep only briefly—about 30 seconds for loose leaves, or about one minute for rolled-up leaves.
"That's why you see Chinese teapot small and English teapot large," Huang explains. "If you got a big pot and cannot finish that, the tea becomes strong."
As for the tea itself, there are many varieties. Among the most sought-after is "high-mountain tea," made from leaves grown at high altitudes, where the climate yields a distinctive taste.
"The leaves grow slowly, but absorb more natural stuff… you feel really rich in the flavour."
Returning Home
As we sit, sipping tea and talking, my thoughts reach towards distant ages. Did tea taste different in ancient times? Is it that tea has changed, or have we changed? Are we really so smart that we are now able to make tea on the go, in a few seconds flat, with teabags and microwaved water?
We have become adept at the surface techniques, but perhaps we've forgotten the inner meaning. The truest things are simple.
I feel a bittersweet happiness, the kind one feels when rediscovering what was once lost, and keep a clear mind and a calm heart. It comes from inside, but the tea has played a role.
The Chinese poet Lu Tong wrote of such aspirations over a thousand years ago in his poem "Seven Bowls of Tea":
The first bowl moistens throat and lips,The second breaks loneliness and melancholy,The third bowl scours weariness from my mind, only the learning of 5,000 scrolls left behind.The fourth bowl prompts light perspiration, dispersing through pores a lifetime's every woe,The fifth bowl cleanses muscles and bones,While the sixth clears my path to the divine, immortal world.As for the seventh bowl, I can drink no more, but only sense under my arms a refreshing breeze softly fluttering.
I wasn't counting, but the delicate taste and profound calm stayed with me long after I returned home.
With translation by Cindy Chan
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