Why Taiwanese black tea tastes nothing like you expect

I think I’ve unconsciously built a mental map of tea over the years, setting my preferences to Indian/south Asian black teas, Chinese whites, Taiwanese oolongs, and Japanese greens — maybe even a Kenyan purple. It’s of course, shaped by habit and familiarity. Every now and then, though, a tea comes along that nudges those borders a little as it happened this week.

Some time ago, Taiwanese producer and exporter Sean Hsu Hao Sheng, of Trilliant Tea, sent me a few oolong samples. I had reciprocated with some Indian blacks, and keeping the tea-off going, he replied with Taiwanese black teas.

More famous for its oolongs, these black teas were like being let into a secret world. Of the teas I received, the Ruby black tea, Taiwan’s most famous black tea, was one I was eager to try. It’s also known as Taiwan Tea #18, part of a numbering system that refers to cultivars developed by the Taiwanese Tea Research and Extension Station. The cultivar is called Red Jade and is indigenous to Taiwan, now protected.

Sean shared the story of Taiwanese black tea, tracing it back to older methods of tea processing described in the mid-19th century by Robert Fortune, the Scottish botanist who transported tea plants and knowledge from China to India. These steps, involving sun-withering, careful oxidation, repeated heating and rolling, shaped early black tea production. Over time, they evolved, in India under colonial plantations, and in China as well. Both black tea and oolong, interestingly, originated in the Mount Wuyi in northern Fujian, and so share overlapping processes.

In Taiwan, where tea-making styles were inherited from China, these processes evolved as tea makers and producers adapted and refining them. And of course, the development of new cultivars created a uniquely Taiwanese terroir and range. I had assumed the oolong to be their prime representation of craftsmanship but the black tea is not far behind, and seems to be a style that’s seeing growth.

The name ‘Ruby’ refers to the liquor, and it was indeed a deep, glowing ruby red in my cup. I brewed it as I do most black teas, western style, six minutes in boiling water.

The liquor was a rich red. My first sip disarmed me. The colour and the idea of a black tea had primed my mind and palate to expect maltiness and briskness. It immediately felt different, not like the Indian or Sri Lankan black teas. There was a pronounced woodiness but it was more rounded, lighter too. Notably, it was lacking that astringency, which our teas are known for. And then there was the after taste, a lingering finish that I have come to expect in oolongs and was pleasantly met with here.

I had this tea a few times over the week, and each began with the same moment of confusion when my palate expected malt and bite making me stop and turn my full attention to what I was tasting. It takes me a few sips before I settle to enjoy the pleasant woodiness. I still try to place it within a familiar spectrum. The Darjeeling autumn flush is mellow and woody I think, but I don’t think they are similar. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a batch to compare both.

The biggest difference between the Ruby black and other black teas, says Sean, is in its rich flavour with low astringency, a factor he attributes to “innovations upon traditions.” For me, it served a welcome reminder to keep an open mind, and that an interesting cup of tea may well disorient you before it befriends you.

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.