Taiwan Tea Odyssey

I regularly hear from tea drinkers planning trips to Taiwan, and I’ve noticed some common misconceptions come up again and again. So I thought it’d be interesting to explore a few of these. A lot of it is exactly what I expected when I got here too, and coming to terms with the realities has been a humbling learning experience. While some of this is more specific to pu’er and aged teas, many of the broader points apply beyond as well.

Assumption #1: it’s easy to find good tea everywhere

Something that often surprises people when they get to Taipei, is just how much tea there is. It’s a bit hard to understand until you’ve seen it. There are literally hundreds of tea shops. Which might sound exciting, but it’s a double-edged sword. Because a lot of it isn’t very good, and you have to do your own curation.

When I first got here, it was pretty overwhelming because not only was there so much, but there were many cakes and brands I’d never seen before. The first tea I bought was a 2005 Dayi 504-7542, which seemed like a safe bet. But it turned out to have wetter storage than I was able to recognize in the shop. Tuition tea. Next was a 2003 Xiaguan Teji tiebing that I could tell was a bit wet-stored, but once I brought it home it became obvious was very very wet-stored, and not really drinkable. Tuition again. Eventually my luck improved, but it took a few of these to start figuring things out. Something I learned early on though, was that it’s harder to arrive with a set plan of teas you’re looking for, and is more fruitful to have a loose idea, and then see what various shop owners actually recommend.

So for instance, a bit later, I was in another shop and I asked if they had any Xiaguan cakes from before 2005. Ideally I would’ve liked something like a 2003 xiaofei, or maybe a 2001 for the right price. They only had one from pre-2005— the 2003 Huangyin Zhencangpin commission cake. The storage was good, and so was the price. It turned out to be a decent buy and I drank a lot of it over the following months. I wouldn’t buy more today, but after my earlier disappointments, it was a step in the right direction.

It’s easy to get set on this idea that you’re hunting for buried treasure. That with enough time, you’ll surely find something special at any shop you visit. I had this attitude at first, too. And it can be fun to explore random shops, but in my experience, there’s often not that much to get excited about. You might find something perfectly decent and at a reasonable price, but it also might not be anything you really truly want.

It took me a while to fully grasp that tea is big business here. While there are hobbyists too, many people make their living doing this and have been through these same shops before you. And know exactly what they’re looking for. So much of what you see are the leftovers.

I think there’s much value in the experience of visiting tea shops though— the conversations you have, the chance to observe how different people brew tea, the mental exercise of having to decide if you like something enough at the quoted price, the memories you’ll later associate with any purchases— but it can also be pretty time-consuming, and you can only do so much in a day. I’ve learned to go into it with the expectation that I might not actually walk away with anything that great. But those other, less tangible, benefits are worth something too.

There’s also a kind of sensory overload that happens if you’re not used to being around so many tea shops. I experienced it when I first moved here, and I’ve seen it happen to others too. I think it’s important to consider how it affects your perceptions. By which I mean, it’s easy to spend too much too fast. And to some degree you have to get this out of your system; I don’t think it’s entirely avoidable. But it’s easy to end up with a lot of tea that’s more mediocre than you thought when you were buying it.

Something else I learned from my early tea shop visits is how important it is to consider how a tea might differ when you’re drinking it in the shop versus when you bring it home and brew it yourself. Because it often does. Sometimes in subtle ways, sometimes not-so-subtle ones. And there can be a lot of reasons— obvious factors like brewing style and water quality, but then others that are trickier.

For one, there’s a certain sheen that new tea has, much of which is often just in your head. Or, for instance, you walk into a shop and there’s a weird smell, and you notice it but get used to it. You drink some tea and like it, so you buy some. Then you take it home, and realize it smells/tastes like the shop. Or there’s something else off about it, that was masked by that weird smell in the shop. It doesn’t happen often, but it’s happened enough for me to keep it in mind.

So just in general, thinking about the intrinsic variation of session experience, compounded by the experience of having a tea for the first time, brewed by someone else, in a new environment, is pretty important to me. And typically more reason to slow your roll.

Assumption #2: it’s easy to find famous Taiwan boutique pu’er brands

When I first got here, I had a rough list in my head of various Taiwanese boutique brands, and even specific cakes, I was hoping to find by hunting around in shops. And I gradually figured out that most of these aren’t available this way. There are ways to get them, such as through auctions and private collectors, but they aren’t something I’ve often stumbled upon.

And more times than I can count, I’ve had people write to me expecting exactly this— that boutique pu’er practically grows on trees in Taiwan. That all you have to do is walk into a shop and ask for Yangqinghao (or Chenyuanhao or Biyunhao or insert any other Taiwan boutique brand here) and you’ll have your pick of the litter. Even after spending several years hunting around, I’ve still met surprisingly few people who’ve even heard of most of these. Chenyuanhao and Xizihao are a bit more well-known, probably because they’re larger operations with more marketing. But even with these, I’ve only seen each of them once or twice in shops in Taipei, and the prices were rather high.

Another exception is Baohongyinji, at least in Taipei, because there are a few shops that have worked with them from the start, buying large amounts of newly-pressed inventory annually (presumably to facilitate cash flow for the next season). It’s similar to how some of the other boutique brands work with local collectors. So these have spread their way around, and occasionally you come across them.

There are quite a few other, less famous, Taiwan pu’er brands too, which you might see. There is no shortage of younger pu’er, most of which is made in this more single-origin and modern-processed style. But there’s a wide range with these, and you just have to try them to figure out what’s good.

Assumption #3: it’s easy to find (good) old tea

I remember an early visit I made to a shop that looked to be full of older factory teas. I mentioned that I liked 7542, and the owner showed me a 2005 Dayi 7542, that I believe was a later batch like 507 or 508. It was really cheap. We tried it and it was pretty watery. Not that interesting. Might’ve been fake, but I wasn’t paying too close attention.

Then she showed me an older 7542 in a pretty common ’90s wrapper, and said she wasn’t sure of the exact year but that it was from the late ’90s. And that it was made by Menghai Tea Factory. And it was surprisingly cheap. It was pretty wet too, but still, very cheap. It wasn’t a bad tea, but was unremarkable. And having since spent much time trying teas from this period, and learning more about how to authenticate them, I understand now that whatever I tried that day was just another old tea, of the kind you see all over Taiwan. And most likely not made by Menghai Tea Factory.

I often hear people expect there’ll be a lot of reputable older factory tea floating around, and easy to find. Like the famous ’90s Menghai Tea Factory productions, or even ones from the early 2000s. I’ve found these to be quite rare. And when I do find something believably real, it’s not cheap.

But there’s tons of tea available from this time period, and plenty will tell you that the iron cake in hand is an older Xiaguan, or that some older-looking cake in a bazhong wrapper is authentic Menghai Tea Factory. But most of these are like the 7542 I drank in that shop— they’re basically anonymous factory cakes. They could literally be anything. Might not even be from Yunnan. Occasionally one is somewhat decent. But most are not great. And many were stored pretty wet at some point. I’ve learned to avoid trying these without a pretty convincing recommendation. There’s just too many, and with each tea you sit down to drink, you’re committing to a chunk of time. And most of the time, it’s not worth it.

It’s also taken me quite a bit of experience with these reputable older teas to feel even halfway confident when I see one in the wild. It’s not the kind of thing you just buy on a whim. And considering the overwhelming amount of intentional knock-offs that get passed off as Menghai Tea Factory, if you haven’t spent a lot of time with these, you’re getting into pretty risky territory.

Here’s another example, of a cake I was shown recently, with the claim it was a 1988 Menghai Tea Factory 8582:

Such a specific year claim was already suspicious, and especially in the case of early 8582s, which are particularly rare and precious. They aren’t exactly just sitting on the shelves in a random back alley shop. And just in general, Menghai Tea Factory cakes from the ’80s aren’t just sitting out on shelves. And when you do see them, they’re often individually plastic-wrapped or stored in a cake box.

So the owner brought this out from the back of the store, an unopened cake. He mentioned something about Nantian, the Hong Kong company involved in the initial commission of the 8582. So, ok, maybe. The back actually was wrapped in approximately the right way for a Menghai Tea Factory cake. But then he proceeded to unwrap it to show us the cake, which is pretty unheard of with anything as valuable as this— that act alone would’ve just crushed its sticker price. And then he pried off the leaves covering the neifei so we could better inspect it. By this point, the lights are blinking red— “walk away.” And the cake itself looked pretty suspicious. The leaves didn’t look like typical Menghai Tea Factory processing. And amongst other things, it didn’t look nearly as old as claimed. We didn’t drink it. And got out of there pretty soon after.

Assumption #4: tea is considerably cheaper here

I think it’s reasonable to expect that tea will be cheaper here, but there’s a commonly-held belief that it’s wildly cheaper, and this is hardly ever true. I’ve found for myself that while it’s fun to go hunting for a better price, which sometimes you can find, it’s also a bit of an illusion. Because the time you end up spending on this is often more valuable than the difference in price anyway.

And it takes time to figure out what a good price is. There aren’t really shortcuts to doing this. I keep a close eye on Facebook auctions for instance, but the prices there aren’t really representative of the larger market on-the-ground. At brick-and-mortar shops the prices are almost always higher.

If you’re looking for Dayi specifically, it doesn’t hurt to get familiar with Donghe prices. That way, when you’re offered one of these cakes, you can better gauge someone’s prices.

There’s definitely a range though. For instance, that 2003 Xiaguan Huangyin Zhencangpin that I bought early on is one I’ve seen in several shops. There are counterfeits too, but I’ve seen the real thing several times. And offered for a range of price, from NT$5000 to NT$12000. The storage was different in each case (and none of these were overly wet), but this tea is really not worth NT$12000, good storage or not. Another time, I was offered one for NT$1500, and I’m fairly certain it was fake. If a price seems too good to be true, something’s probably not right there.

And like I mentioned earlier, bear in mind that tea is big business here. So not only is everything pretty well picked over, but there are plenty of people who are deeply knowledgable about the value of specific teas, and are willing to pay top price for something that’s worth it. So the market is well regulated, meaning that amazing deals are pretty rare.

Assumption #5: you can buy small samples of pu’er

People don’t really sell small samples of pu’er in Taiwan, like the 25g samples some western vendors offer. I’ve only been able to buy this way a few times here, ever. And it’s only because I’ve built up relationships and the owners know I’ll be back. In most cases, shops aren’t interested in the trouble of weighing out samples for you, and unless it’s being offered, it’s rude to ask. A cake is a sample.

This also means that you usually have to make your purchasing decision based on a single session in a shop, with someone else’s brewing parameters. And there’s a lot of ways to get misled in this process. Early on in particular, I had a number of fails thanks to this. One time, I was in a shop that had mostly wetter-stored teas. Not trad-stored, just on the wetter side. I tried a few and was feeling pretty so-so about them. Then the owner took out one more, an early 2000s Nanjian tuocha that it turned out was more dry-stored than anything else we’d had. It had so much more clarity than the others, and I found it to be generally more interesting. It had some nice sweetness, and a touch of smoke. Price was good, too. So I bought some. When I took it home, I found it to be far rougher and smokier than I’d remembered. It had a particular kind of cheap factory smokiness, that’s a bit like burnt tires. Not terrible, but pretty far from what I picked up on in the shop. But in the context of that day, and having had a lot of wet-stored teas, it stood out so much that it was easier to lose perspective. Oh well, tuition paid.

So it’s worth practicing, so to speak, how to read a tea based on whatever information you have. I find it helps to think about session variance— what some of these deviations are that you can look for, and to what degrees they manifest. And there are other data points, like how you feel about the shop owner and if they strike you as someone of good character, or whether their tastes align with yours. Also whether the price seems reasonable. Doing blind tastings at home is helpful.

In some cases, mainly with particularly expensive teas, it might not even be possible to sample in the store first, and this is pretty normal. Let’s say someone is offering a ‘97 Shuilanyin. Unless they already have a sample cake open, they probably aren’t going to break into one so you can try it. A tea like that speaks for itself, as does the reputation of anyone trustworthy enough to offer it. Many buyers won’t think twice. So it’s important to know what you’re getting into, and to recognize that trust is paramount.

Tea shop etiquette

So much of tea is about relationships, and there are certain points of etiquette I’ve found especially helpful to keep in mind, though they weren’t all obvious to me when I first got here.

One, regarding language: my Chinese isn’t great, but I’m around it all day and can understand more than I can speak. I always try to be patient, grateful, and open-minded about what’s going on. And depending on where I’m going, and what my goals are, sometimes will bring a friend to help translate, too. There are ways to eke by with apps like Google Translate, but spontaneity, and much nuance, get lost.

While Taiwan is one of the more English-friendly places in Asia, if you don’t understand any Chinese at all, you’ll face some significant limitations. Especially if you venture beyond tourist hotspots like Yongkang St. or Yingge. The majority of tea shops outside these areas don’t have English-speaking staff. Or oftentimes, their English is very limited. And some shop owners will seem on-edge if they aren’t really comfortable with English; they might actually understand more than they let on, but are embarrassed they can’t speak better. Which can add levels of complexity to the exchange that aren’t always immediately obvious. And it can be easy to misinterpret a situation.

Two, if you’re walking up to a small-ish shop and there’s already a customer seated inside, you probably shouldn’t go in. Because most shops can only handle one customer at a time, and if the owner is in the middle of doing business, it’s rude to interrupt. You’ll also likely make a bad first impression. I made this very mistake in one of my first shop visits, and the glare I got from the owner is well-seared into my brain. She was clearly in the middle of serious business and I was a nuisance. When you see someone else is already in there, come back later.

Three, don’t take photos without asking first. Especially of people’s tea, teaware, or even just the general shop interior. Most will be ok with it, but others don’t want photos floating around of their inventory. For instance, in some cases they’ll ask that you only take photos of what’s on the table, and not what’s on the wall. So always ask first. It’s rude not to.

Four, don’t pick up a shop’s teaware without asking permission. Some are very sensitive about this, and even if they’re not, you’re starting off on a better foot if you’re polite about it from the get-go.

Five, bargaining is rude. If you know the shop owner pretty well, then sometimes you can bargain, especially if you’re buying multiple items. But most shop owners in Taiwan take pride in their products and believe their prices are fair; trying to bargain suggests you think otherwise. It’s also a cultural difference. In Guangzhou for instance, it’s more common to bargain over tea. But in Taiwan, it’s not.

Six, when it comes to deciding whether to buy something in a tea shop, my personal rule of thumb is that you can drink one tea and still walk away. But once the owner starts preparing a second tea, the expectation is that you’re buying something. Maybe not a lot, but something. And you have to read the room— if you’re having an interesting conversation and the interaction feels relaxed and un-pressured, then there may truly be no obligation. But typically, when I see the second tea coming out, it’s time to decide whether to stay or not.

This is hard though because sometimes after the first tea you aren’t really sure whether the place has anything you like or not. You have to use your best judgment. If after two teas you’re still not sure, and they’re offering a third, at this point I often find myself more desperately hoping this’ll be the one, and sometimes steering them towards something that’s a safe enough buy (rather than pushing them towards trying something riskier). This can end up with what I call a “pity buy.” You don’t really want it, but you buy it anyway, with a smile and a gracious tone, so that everyone saves face.

Seven, there are times when a shop owner keeps offering you teas that are lower quality than what you’re after. It can be awkward to say that you want something better, but if you don’t speak up, you can end up stuck in a feedback loop of mediocrity. And they usually start to sense your dissatisfaction and don’t really know what to do. So it’s better to just say something, clumsily or not. And if you still aren’t getting closer to what you want, it helps to bring an example of a tea that’s along the lines of what you’re looking for. Worst case scenario, you take this out and have them brew it. It often points them in the right direction.

I think the single greatest through-line in my experiences with tea in Taiwan is that so much of it is about people and relationships. You’re not drinking in a vacuum; you’re drinking with other people. And as a result, what I’ve taken most deeply from my time here is a greater sense of open-mindedness and humility. The tea world is much larger than I once understood, and for many here it’s woven into daily life in fundamentally social ways. It’s easy to show up feeling confident in what you know, but more often than not I’ve had those assumptions challenged, or at least stretched in ways I didn’t see coming. And it’s been an ongoing learning experience.

There are so many perspectives on tea and how to drink it, and if you’re lucky, you’ll get to see a range of these. For me, these encounters have often been more meaningful than any tea I’ve ended up with out of them. Simply being in a place where tea is such a part of everyday life may be the most valuable takeaway of all.