Alchemy in the Cup

What's in my cup: Houjicha, a roasted green tea from Japan

There is nothing especially sophisticated about houjicha. Maybe that is what I really like about it. Every cup is comforting, gentle on the palate, and easy to brew. Unlike other Japanese green teas, this one isn't particularly finicky when it comes to temperature or time. Houjicha is also a relatively young tea- it has been around for less than a century.

In the 1920s, a tea merchant in Kyoto, Japan was left with a surplus of late-flush bancha. This is a common tea produced from the last of the pick-able leaves on the Camellia plants in the autumn and winter. Bancha is a less-refined tea than earlier harvests of sencha, but, rather than let his product spoil, the innovative tea merchant decided to try roasting it in a ceramic vessel over high heat. The application of heat, and ingenuity, to the tea leaves gave the tea drinkers of early twentieth century Kyoto a new beverage.

This particular variety of green tea is not especially vegetal or astringent. It's mellow and earthy notes harmonize for a velvety serenade, one that is perfect at day's end. The roasting eliminates nearly all of the caffeine present in the tea leaves, and so I was able to enjoy more of this low-caffeine and low-tannin beverage after my kidney concerns. I really love the feeling of warmth spreading through my body that matches the warm and smooth taste on my palate with each sip of houjicha.

The secret to this tea is in it's simplicity; it is an entirely uncomplicated tea to master. With each successive sip, I found myself thinking about how easy it is to get caught up in the ceremony and and ritual of everything. Nothing about this tea holds onto false pretense. It has humble origins and undergoes a drastic transformation by a simple process, and that is what holds the key to everything we can learn from this tea.

Bancha, the base for this beverage, is often overlooked by tea connoisseurs. It is the least favorite child in the sencha family of leaves, consumed daily because of its price and availability rather than its complex aroma or sophisticated flavor. Despite this, houjicha is widely enjoyed as a delightful cup of tea with more notoriety than just any other late-harvest green. This tea began as a surplus. It wasn't particularly in demand, and would simply have gone to waste if not for some fast-thinking merchant in Kyoto. Perhaps he was inspired by the way that the Chinese pan-fire their green teas or by Taiwanese roasted oolongs. Perhaps the kami, or spirit, of the leaves themselves gave him the idea.

However it came to pass, houjicha went from one level to another. It underwent a process of transformation from a base substance to an infusion that leans a dark amber to golden brown. This is a tea of alchemy. We have a lot to learn from these leaves. Hundreds of medieval texts on magic and alchemy obscure the details of what it really was intended to be. Most of us today believe alchemists sought only the philosopher's stone in order to produce the elixir of life, a potion believed to endow one with immortality, and to transform base metals into gold. What we have yet to learn is that the complicated rituals and laboratory instructions are seldom intended to be taken literally.

Alchemy is a process of transforming the self. We take all of our dull, leaden bits and allow them to become shiny and golden. Attaining immortality has less to do with living forever than it does realizing that part of us that is undying and eternal. Real alchemy is an internal process of spiritual awakening whereby the alchemist becomes aware of the connection of all life and the simplicity of the spiritual truth that we are all one.

Our teacher for today, houjicha, undergoes a simple process involving a mere application of heat in order to become a new tea. It transforms from practically a waste product as a surplus harvest into a tea that will be forever endeared to the hearts of tea lovers around the globe. That sounds a lot like immortality to me.

Let's learn what we can from this tea. Houjicha preaches simplicity with each sip. It's difficult to spoil a pot of it because it is remarkably easy to infuse. Perhaps by uncluttering our minds and seeking simple pleasures, we can begin the process of transformation and open ourselves to what we are truly called to do in life. By allowing ourselves to be transmuted into the spiritual analog of gold, we can also touch those around us and live on forever in their hearts and minds.

A new harvest

What's in my cup: A fresh harvest of Mao Jian green tea from this spring

Autumn is in full swing in central Florida. The weather is fresh and crisp, like the aroma of a delicate green tea. The humidity has dropped, and there is even an occasional tree dotting the landscape that has remembered how to be deciduous. Fall is my favorite time of year. I don't entirely know why, but it does give me an excuse to wear scarves and drink lots of tea.

I know what you're thinking- Nicholas, you live in Florida, so there isn't an excuse to wear scarves. Also, you've got me on that part about the tea, too. We both know that I drink the same amount year-round. I like to pretend that it's justified, especially because it's not quite eleven o'clock and I have my second round on the way.

Playfulness aside, the fall never fails to remind me of everything in my life coming full circle. This is the time of year that is traditionally associated with the harvesting of crops, and I can't shake that feeling in my own life, either. So many things fall away year after year when the season finally shifts from the seemingly endless summer into the cooler, darker part of the calendar. It's as if life just permits the old bits to slough off just like skin cells; the new and the fresh is always awaiting just beneath the surface. 

This morning I finally got my long-anticipated package of new teas. I must admit that I shouldn't really add to the collection without downsizing first, but I could pass up a good deal when I found one. I was eager to dive right into brewing, but I know that tea really deserves more mindfulness than that. When I experience a new tea for the first time, I honestly endeavor to cultivate the "tea mind," a state of present-moment awareness that opens the consciousness to learning more from a cup of tea than you'd expect. So, instead of just jumping in, I took a moment to meditate, cleared some space mentally and physically for meeting this Mao Jian, and took the time to appreciate each aspect of the process.

I've had a lot of green teas before. I've tried a few Mao Jian teas in the past, and they never really left me excited. This particular one fascinated me because I even have the date it was harvested. Can you imagine knowing the moment when the tree made its sacrifice to delicate leaf and bud pairs to be lovingly handcrafted? How about knowing when human hands gently rolled those leaves into the characteristic pointed shape of this tea? It's incredible to be that connected to the foods and beverages we consume. It reminded me of all the sacrifices with which this year has come. Just as Camellia sinensis must lose a few leaves to yield a beautiful tea, I've had to let go and watch the process of change happen around and within me.

This tea is fun to watch brew. The thin, long leaves are bound into a rolled shape that twists open as it steeps. The downy covering of the tender buds disperses into the pot, which results in a tea of nominally higher viscosity. Bubbles tend to stay on the surface of the liqueur for longer than less downy teas. Because of that and the dance of the unraveling leaves I like to leave the lid off my teapot, just like this:

This newly harvested tea is one of many things that have recently transformed in my life. One of the big turning-points of being a grown-up has been getting my own phone plan. I know that might seem silly, but it is oddly true. I did a little homework, looked at fun gadgets, and ultimately just acted a little spontaneously. Steeping tea has taught me that sometimes you have to improvise. Some leaves don't behave just as you expect them to; they have hidden surprises, and you have to adjust your time or temperature accordingly. In light of that advice, I had to adjust my life. I have honestly had the same cell phone for half a decade. Now I have a smart phone. I feel like a kid with a new toy. It's going to take a while to get used to not having a veritable brick of a cell phone, and the whole qwerty keyboard thing is nifty.

The great thing about all of it is that I didn't freak out about the extra expense or the idea of having to do it all on my own. I usually hate the feeling of having to big, scary, responsible things without someone to hold my hand through the process. I confess that I had a friend with me, but it was more about getting input on colors, options, and having someone to crack jokes with during the boring bits than anything else. It wasn't as scary or stressful as I expected. All I had to do was be in the present moment and let myself receive the new harvest that life has to offer.

Many times, life is a little more stressful than we would really like. I always like to drink a nice cup of tea when things get hectic. It forces me to take time for me, time for clearing my mind, and time to appreciate something beautiful. That sense of appreciation opens the heart and ushers our vision beyond what our eyes can see. My life is completely different this fall than it was over the summer. I've felt as though some precious things have been plucked, withered, and rolled into a bunch of dead weight. Instead of focusing on the loss, I've really made the concerted effort to think of it as a fresh start. What happens when you take all that dead weight and just let it wash away? Well, supposing the metaphorical water is the right temperature, you will get a delicious pot of tea.