Many many years ago, (were we even married yet?) my husband and I took a trip to Vancouver and Seattle.  One day we headed for Chinatown to source Ten Ren Spring Tea.  My sister in law had tried it and raved over its flavor and vitatility.  We set out on our quest.

The Ten Ren tea shop was quiet and beautiful and I asked the hostess about the tea.  She beckoned us to a low table and invited us to sit down.  She disappeared into the back and returned with a teak tray laden with delicate cups, a tea pot, a small cache of tea leaves and other accoutrements.  We didn’t know it, but we were about to be educated.

First she poured hot water into the pot and swirled it around to warm the pot.  This went into a discard bowl.

A small pinch of shriveled leaves went in next along with more hot water.  This was allowed to steep while she told us about the origin of the tea. After a few minutes,  she poured the tea into the discard bowl and explained that the first pot was just to awaken the buds.  More water, more explanation and we were handed handleless cups and told to sip the tea.  This was the first cup and it was delicate, almost tasteless, the palest of greens and too hot to sip.  We nodded politely, inhaled, and sampled. Honestly, we didn’t appreciate it.

Meanwhile, she’d added more hot water and swirled the teapot again.  We chatted about green tea and its many healing properties and she took our half drunk first cups, dumped the tea, and poured again.  This cup was more substantial – still light, but more aromatic, floral with a vegetal hint below the surface.  We nodded politely as we sipped our tea and she explained its rarity and value and lifted the teapot lid so we could see how the tiny dark buds had unfolded into beautiful green leaves that danced in the water.

“You can keep drinking it all day” she told us – “The leaves can be steeped more than once and the flavor deepens.”

She asked us if we wanted to make a purchase and it seemed churlish to refuse, even if we weren’t fully appreciative of the product.  The cost was an astonishing $125 Canadian dollars for four ounces.  My husband handed over his Visa card and we left the shop feeling like maybe we’d been conned.  What just happened?

The tea sat in the cupboard a few years until I brought it into the office for a tea ceremony with a Korean coworker who was interested in my Spring Tea.  She knew the ropes and handled the first cupping and second serving and told me that this was a very fine tea with “lots of caffeine.  LOTS of caffeine”  The green tea drinkers seemed to like it, but it was not really to my taste.

20 years later I found the tea packet in the back of my tea cupboard and decided to give it a try.  I decided to forego my usual brisk black morning cuppa and babied the leaves until they unfolded and produced the palest green cup.  

I’ve evolved.  I’ve been drinking a jasmine tea from Peet’s for a few years as a light afternoon pick me up.  Now I could appreciate Spring Tea’s delicate floral aroma and light taste.  The second cup was more assertive and even more delicious.  And I could feel myself awakening gently.  I felt centered and alert.  It was a gradual effect, but after cup two, I realized that I felt even better than I do after drinking a few cups of black tea.  

Brawny brisk black teas are a punch to the face, the equivalent of a ringing alarm clock that brings your system to life and rocks you into the day.  Spring tea is sneaky, its effect is graceful but no less effective.  It’s the difference between tossing back a shot of bourbon and sipping a fruity drink that’s loaded with rum and vodka.  

I sip this tea and remember Vancouver, cool and cloudy, at a time when we were young, in love, and full of life.  The walk to Chinatown and the cobbled streets crowded with vegetable stands, clothing, tourist tchochkes and lots of people in a hurry.  The intimidating professionalism of Ten Ren and the kind hostess who educated two clueless Americans about the right way to nurture dried leaves into silky life.

I’m really happy that I didn’t carelessly give away this precious gift.  Sometimes it takes a while to grow into something.