Ditch matcha, try Fu Cha

Through the lens of tea, the year is yet to begin. Spring is some time away and we are still in a period of quiet dormancy in tea gardens—especially in the north and the North-East, where no plucking or production takes place during this time—and preparing for a new start. That’s my mood too. I find that I am loath to set resolutions or make grand plans, preferring instead to mull over things. Keeping me company is a five-year-old tea fermented with a fungus. It’s one of the most comforting teas I have ever had.

Now that I turn to pu-erh in late monsoon and through winter, I was well stocked this season, with three pu-erhs, a Singpho falap (a compressed and aged indigenous Assam tea), and a Hei Cha or dark tea from Shaanxi, China, much of it owed to generous tea friends. I went through a lot of pu-erh during the last couple of months while the box of dark tea remained in the wings. This week, with the rains returning to Puducherry, I decided to crack it open.

The name on the box is Jing Yang Fu Cha, and it was sent by Gautam, one of the readers of this column, from his travel to China last year. It was compressed in a brick, but not as tightly packed as a pu-erh usually is. (With compressed tea, we use a tea pick to find that spot where it gives a little easily to pry the leaves loose.) I expected the taste to resemble that of the pu-erh, and was surprised by its milder, mellower flavours. Pleasantly woody, but the big takeaway was how calming it was. I brewed it in a few short steeps and then a longer last steep. It is such an effortless tea, in both how it produces a great liquor no matter how you brew it, and in how pleasant it is.

I knew little about the Hei Cha or dark tea, in which category this tea falls. Now Googling the Fu Cha, reading about its origins from the 14th century, and of the probiotic enzyme-producing Eurotium cristatum that is used in the post-fermentation step, I just had to stop. To think that someone sat before a pile of tea leaves and decided to wither it, roll it, and in a controlled environment offering the right humidity and temperature, allowed a fungus to ferment it just enough but not too much, allowing it to age without spoiling… it boggles my mind. And then to find ways to compress it, design tea picks to break it away, a gaiwan to make for a proper brewing vessel, a bamboo tray to keep the tea brewing clean, and other paraphernalia to elevate the whole experience… there’s so much to appreciate and also learn from the world of Chinese tea. And mind you, this tea is made from the larger and coarser leaf of the bush, and not the two leaves and a bud we so favour as the finest and flavourful—showing us that no matter the leaf, there’s also the fine art of tea making that can transform it.

As the world chases the matcha, I am reminded that it too bears Chinese origins. Of course, credit must go to the Japanese for refining the process to create what is so loved today, but undeniably, its beginnings lie in the heartland of tea. I am still brewing little cups of the Fu Cha tea as I finish this column; each infusion a delight. To a year of discovery and appreciation of tea.

1001 Teas is a fortnightly series about the many stories hidden in the world of tea. Aravinda Anantharaman (@AravindaAnanth1) is a tea drinker, writer and editor.