The village which produces authentic Jin Jun Mei and Lapsang Souchong is called Tong Mu Guan. ‘Guan’ means village, I’m going to omit it for the rest of the article in favor of writing ‘village’. It’s a small village of approximately 2000 residents, the vast majority of whom are tea makers or at least related to one. Tong Mu Guan is culturally significant to black tea (better known as ‘red tea’ in China) because it is this archetype’s birthplace. Today it exists within a UNESCO world heritage site which is protected by the Chinese government, not necessarily for the sake of tea production, but it’s a nice bonus. For the sake of the rest of the article, I will refer to this ‘red tea’ as a ‘black tea’ because my target audience is more familiar with this term (I would call it a black tea myself).
The following story is somewhat of a legend. A recent book I purchased points out that this story (while it is well known) cannot be proven because documents that support it do not exist. Black tea was first created by tea manufacturers trying to make the best of a bad situation. Once upon a time in feudal China farmers from a village called Tong Mu on the border between the warring states of Fujian and Jianxi were harvesting their tea leaves in an ordinary fashion. As this village is in the heartland of the Wu Yi mountains, they could have very well been picking tea to make a dark oolong style, but for the sake of this story, it’s said their goal was to make green tea.
The Fujianese farmers noticed the Jianxi army approaching from the North and decided to return to their homes and wait out any passing trouble. While the army was passing through the area they took a rest at the tea facility. Some soldiers laid on the tea leaves spread out by the farmers, others kicked the leaves around, stepped on them, generally caused grief for the farmers, and eventually left. By the time the farmers could go out and survey the damage created by the Jianxi army, the tea leaves had already become wilted and black. Leaves in this condition are unacceptable to produce a good quality tea. To the farmers, these tea leaves represent a large portion of their annual income; and since they depended on that to sustain themselves they carried out the production of the tea although they were certain they would not receive a good price for their tea.
In tea production, the final drying of tea leaves is traditionally carried out using the heat from charcoal as there is very little smoke. In this unfortunate situation, the farmers didn’t feel as if they had enough time to get the charcoal prepared. A fire was built using fresh pine branches and the tea leaves were dried over the heat and smoke. When the tea was finished, it was the first of its kind. Dried black leaves which reeked of smoke, totally alien to a pure fresh fragrance which was the original goal. Locally the farmers knew that no one would purchase or enjoy this tea. The farmers sent an envoy with the tea to the port cities of Fujian which would trade with Europe. The envoy pleaded the farmer’s case and was paid an extremely low price for his tea, better than nothing though. Europeans ended up enjoying the tea very much and requested for it to be made for the foreseeable future. This tea was and has continued to be called Lapsang Souchong.
The tea was rolled out by hand and left to oxidize before eventually being dried over charcoal. The following day upon tasting the tea everyone noted the quality. It was exceptional, but. As the picking is so incredibly time-consuming and detailed, the price of the tea to make a profit should be extremely high. For a market without much interest in black tea to begin with, and with western markets not willing to pay the high prices for quality tea that the Chinese themselves would pay, the factory would have to, unfortunately, decline to produce such an amazing product. The merchants took on a business partner specializing in marketing and commissioned a few kilograms of tea to be made as gifts for China’s elite influencers (politicians, actors, etc). They started a snowball which came to be what is considered the best black tea in the world — Jin Jun Mei (Those Chinese characters translate literally to Gold, Fine Quality Horse, Eyebrows). It now has a cult-like following and is extremely hard to get good versions outside of China due to the sheer demand for it domestically. There are a lot of fakes out there. Someone with experience looking at the dry tea leaf would probably be able to detect a fake from the size of the dried leaf, the amount of the golden colour they see, and ultimately the quality and richness in the flavor.
Opinion and Taste:
“High prices may often very well reflect high quality, but do not necessarily represent value for money” is a great quote by the author George van Driem on tea.
Imagine this: You’re sitting in a Mayan pyramid on a pile of gold coins, picking up and inspecting the various crowns and jewel-studded goblets within reach. There are impossible waterfalls of melting chocolate flowing along the walls around you. The best french pastry chefs you can imagine are working nearby, out of sight, and the aromas of their confections waft through the air.
There is something so intoxicating about the aroma of jin jun mei that I feel I could die happy if I suffocated in it. That got dark fast — back to the imagination:
Jin Jun Mei (to me) is the embodiment of hedonism. I adore this tea, it makes me glad I’m alive in human civilization’s best timeline. In my mind, there is not another black tea that is capable of competing with it. It is bloody expensive, but hey — yolo (people still say that?)
