A green tea will do quite well to match the sudden coolness felt in the air. A coolness that is more than welcome as the clothes that cling to ones body bag for relief.
This tea, a sencha from Yame (link here for the deets on Yame), was a gift from a friend who recently traveled to Fukuoka, Japan. One has tangled with this tea before, but now the time seems right to embrace it once more.
When opening the sealed container this tea's spirit fills the room as the dense humidity traps the smell of this tea's light shredded thine leaves. It's odor is a pleasant smell of citrus-sweet green tea, enveloped in the typical vegial/grassy scent found in most of this variety. The fragrant flower arrangement on the table and the smell of an inevitable storm only add to the goings on in ones nose, in ones mind.
The early infusions bring sweet smooth floral peachiness and light pear undertones that play lightly under grainy, grassy sweetness. Capturing this timid flavour is a trick in and of itself as previous sessions revealed in my handwritten notes describe a liver, metallic taste in place of the subtle fruitiness experienced in this instant. An instant that accompanies the rain as it buckles down in heavy sheets, lightening lighting up the room.
The fruity highlights of this tea seems to come and go as fast as the flashes of light outside. They only come out of hiding in the first two sessions before materializing into notes on my paper. The profile of the needle-thin leaves of this sencha weren't meant for a long session.
As the rain goes as quickly as it had came, one sips a sweet, grassy, grainy, bright green liquid. Its slippery mouthfeel leaves a sweetness at the back of the throat and a smile on ones face. As the resulting stillness of a departed storm takes hold, one gives thanks for this moment with tea.