THREE WAYS TO PAY ATTENTION
How you breathe,
that’s how you drink tea.
In Chaozhou, where this tea comes from, there is no ceremony. There is only attention. A man sets a pot on a stone slope. He pours. He waits. He pours again. Between the pours, he watches the mountain do nothing.
The word gongfu means skill through patient repetition. The tea teaches patience. We offer three ways to drink. Each one is a different rhythm of paying attention. None is more correct than the others. The leaves do not mind. They have already waited decades on the mountain. They can wait for you.
This is how tea is drunk in Chaozhou. Not on special occasions. Every day. At breakfast, between tasks, on a mountainside, in a doorway. Small cups, swift pours, the same leaves steeped again and again. Each pour a different sentence in the same conversation.
The vessel is small. A porcelain gaiwan, a Chaozhou clay pot, anything between 80 - 120 ml. Fill it generously with leaves. More than feels reasonable. The leaves should occupy most of the space. This is intentional. You are not making weak tea and hoping for the best. You are making a concentrated, brief encounter, and then brewing it again. And again.
Pour boiling water over the leaves. The first infusion is a greeting: let the water touch the leaves for a short breath, then discard it. This wakes them. Now begin. The second infusion is the first cup. Pour, count one slow breath, pour out into a small pitcher or directly into cups. Taste. Savour. Then infuse again. Each steep lasts a fraction longer than the last. By the fourth or fifth infusion, the leaves have fully opened and the tea is speaking at its fullest. By the eighth, it has softened, gentled. By the tenth, it is whispering. Listen.
Slow
Gongfu brewing. A practice, not a performance.
6g · 100ml boiled · 5–15 sec.
Short increasing steeps, many infusions, each varies.
This is tea at the pace of a paragraph. One cup, one sitting, the flavour arriving whole. You do not need special teaware. You need a vessel, hot water, and a few minutes between one thing and the next.
Heat your water to a rolling boil. Place a small measure of leaves into a cup, a mug, a pot. Pour. Then wait. Not long. Count three slow breaths. The leaves will begin to unfurl and the colour will deepen from pale gold to amber. When the colour looks right to you, separate the leaves from the water. Savour.
The first cup will be bright and forward. If you steep the same leaves again, a little longer this time, the second cup will be rounder, softer, as though the tea has decided to trust you.
Slower
Western brewing. For a morning, a desk, a quiet cup.
3g · 250ml boiled · 2–3 min One mug, one quiet moment. Re-steep once or twice.
6g · 100ml boiled · 5–15 sec.
Short increasing steeps, many infusions, each varies.
Slow
Gongfu brewing. A practice, not a performance.
6g · 100ml boiled · 5–15 sec. Short increasing
steeps, many infusions, each varies.
This is how tea is drunk in Chaozhou. Not on special occasions. Every day. At breakfast, between tasks, on a mountainside, in a doorway. Small cups, swift pours, the same leaves steeped again and again. Each pour a different sentence in the same conversation.
The vessel is small. A porcelain gaiwan, a Chaozhou clay pot, anything between 80 - 120 ml. Fill it generously with leaves. More than feels reasonable. The leaves should occupy most of the space. This is intentional. You are not making weak tea and hoping for the best. You are making a concentrated, brief encounter, and then brewing it again. And again.
Pour boiling water over the leaves. The first infusion is a greeting: let the water touch the leaves for a short breath, then discard it. This wakes them. Now begin. The second infusion is the first cup. Pour, count one slow breath, pour out into a small pitcher or directly into cups. Taste. Savour. Then infuse again. Each steep lasts a fraction longer than the last. By the fourth or fifth infusion, the leaves have fully opened and the tea is speaking at its fullest. By the eighth, it has softened, gentled. By the tenth, it is whispering. Listen.
Slower
Western brewing. For a morning, a desk, a quiet cup.
This is tea at the pace of a paragraph. One cup, one sitting, the flavour arriving whole. You do not need special teaware. You need a vessel, hot water, and a few minutes between one thing and the next.
Heat your water to a rolling boil. Place a small measure of leaves into a cup, a mug, a pot. Pour. Then wait. Not long. Count three slow breaths. The leaves will begin to unfurl and the colour will deepen from pale gold to amber. When the colour looks right to you, separate the leaves from the water. Savour.
The first cup will be bright and forward. If you steep the same leaves again, a little longer this time, the second cup will be rounder, softer, as though the tea has decided to trust you.
Slowest
Cold brew. The overnight steep. Time does the work.
This is tea at the pace of sleep.
Place a measure of leaves in a glass bottle or jar. Fill with cool, filtered water. Close. Place in the refrigerator. Then forget about it. Go to bed. Read. Dream of mountains, or don’t. In the morning, the water will have changed colour. The leaves will have given everything they have, slowly, without heat, without hurry.
Cold-brewed Dancong is a different tea entirely. The heat-soluble tannins that create bitterness barely extract at low temperatures. What remains is pure sweetness and aroma, silky and clean, the fragrance lifted and almost ethereal. It is the gentlest version of the leaf.
On a warm day, poured over ice, this is one of the most quietly extraordinary drinks in the world.
Slower
Western brewing. For a morning, a desk, a quiet cup.
3g · 250ml boiled · 2–3 min
One mug, one quiet moment. Re-steep once or twice.
This is tea at the pace of a paragraph. One cup, one sitting, the flavour arriving whole. You do not need special teaware. You need a vessel, hot water, and a few minutes between one thing and the next.
Heat your water to a rolling boil. Place a small measure of leaves into a cup, a mug, a pot. Pour. Then wait. Not long. Count three slow breaths. The leaves will begin to unfurl and the colour will deepen from pale gold to amber. When the colour looks right to you, separate the leaves from the water. Savour.
The first cup will be bright and forward. If you steep the same leaves again, a little longer this time, the second cup will be rounder, softer, as though the tea has decided to trust you.
Slowest
Cold brew. The overnight steep. Time does the work.
6g · 600ml cool water · overnight Strain in the morning. The texture becomes silk.
This is tea at the pace of sleep.
Place a measure of leaves in a glass bottle or jar. Fill with cool, filtered water. Close. Place in the refrigerator. Then forget about it. Go to bed. Read. Dream of mountains, or don’t. In the morning, the water will have changed colour. The leaves will have given everything they have, slowly, without heat, without hurry.
Cold-brewed Dancong is a different tea entirely. The heat-soluble tannins that create bitterness barely extract at low temperatures. What remains is pure sweetness and aroma, silky and clean, the fragrance lifted and almost ethereal. It is the gentlest version of the leaf.
On a warm day, poured over ice, this is one of the most quietly extraordinary drinks in the world.
Slowest
Cold brew. The overnight steep. Time does the work.
6g · 600ml cool water · overnight Strain in the morning. The texture becomes silk.
This is tea at the pace of sleep.
Place a measure of leaves in a glass bottle or jar. Fill with cool, filtered water. Close. Place in the refrigerator. Then forget about it. Go to bed. Read. Dream of mountains, or don’t. In the morning, the water will have changed colour. The leaves will have given everything they have, slowly, without heat, without hurry.
Cold-brewed Dancong is a different tea entirely. The heat-soluble tannins that create bitterness barely extract at low temperatures. What remains is pure sweetness and aroma, silky and clean, the fragrance lifted and almost ethereal. It is the gentlest version of the leaf.
On a warm day, poured over ice, this is one of the most quietly extraordinary drinks in the world.
Water & Storage
Freshly boiled. Bottled or filtered
Rinse · First infusion discarded. Wakes the leaf
Storage · Sealed, dry, away from light
Tea begins long before the leaves meet the vessel. It begins with water.
Use fresh water each time. Water that has been boiled once, then left to sit or repeatedly reheated, loses its liveliness. Bring it to a full boil, then pour. Dancong is shaped by mountain air, stone, and spring water; it asks for water that is equally clean and uncomplicated.
If tap water carries a strong mineral taste or chlorine, use filtered or low-mineral bottled water instead. The goal is not softness or hardness alone, but balance. Water should support the tea, never compete with it.
The first infusion is a greeting between water and leaf. Pour boiling water over the leaves, let them awaken for a brief moment, then discard it. It clears the surface, warms the vessel, and prepares the tea for the infusions that follow.
When the session ends, return any dry unused leaves to a sealed container. Always store dry tea away from heat, moisture, and direct light. Tea changes slowly over time. How it is kept becomes part of how it is tasted.
Water & Storage
Freshly boiled. Bottled or filtered
Rinse · First infusion discarded. Wakes the leaf
Storage · Sealed, dry, away from light
Tea begins long before the leaves meet the vessel. It begins with water.
Use fresh water each time. Water that has been boiled once, then left to sit or repeatedly reheated, loses its liveliness. Bring it to a full boil, then pour. Dancong is shaped by mountain air, stone, and spring water; it asks for water that is equally clean and uncomplicated.
If tap water carries a strong mineral taste or chlorine, use filtered or low-mineral bottled water instead. The goal is not softness or hardness alone, but balance. Water should support the tea, never compete with it.
The first infusion is a greeting between water and leaf. Pour boiling water over the leaves, let them awaken for a brief moment, then discard it. It clears the surface, warms the vessel, and prepares the tea for the infusions that follow.
When the session ends, return any dry unused leaves to a sealed container. Always store dry tea away from heat, moisture, and direct light. Tea changes slowly over time. How it is kept becomes part of how it is tasted.