Taiwan Tea Odyssey

If you spend enough time in Taipei tea shops, eventually you’ll come across one of these golden boxes:

This is competition-grade tieguanyin from Muzha, perhaps the most famous tea growing region in the greater Taipei area (and especially well-known for the many teahouses in Maokong). Twice a year, the Muzha Farmers Association holds a competition to determine the best teas of the season.

Since moving to Taiwan, Muzha tieguanyin has been a favorite of mine, so naturally I was curious about these competitions. I decided to call up the Muzha Farmers Association (or rather, my wife did, as my Mandarin isn’t there yet) and was delighted to find out I could personally attend the event.

TIEGUANYIN IN TAIWAN

Before we get into the nitty gritty of the competition, a few thoughts on tieguanyin. In Taiwan, the word tieguanyin can be confusing, as it has two meanings. First, there’s the tieguanyin cultivar brought over from Anxi, China, known as Hongxin Wai Wei Tao (紅心歪尾桃). And second, there’s the Taiwanese processing style of tieguanyin, as in light-to-medium oxidation and heavy roast. What’s tricky is that this processing style is applied to a range of other cultivars.

Compared with most oolong cultivars in Taiwan, Hongxin Wai Wei Tao is more difficult to grow, is one of the last to reach harvesting stage, and has one of the lowest yields. As a result, many farmers now grow other cultivars for their tieguanyin production. I was told that in Muzha, Jinxuan is the most common, followed by Qingxin, and that farmers also grow Wuyi, Shuixian, Meizhan, Foshou, Sijichun, Cuiyu, and others.

Because many of the Muzha farms are small operations, it’s helpful to grow a range of cultivars, as their different harvest times allows the farmers to stagger the workload, and avoid having to bring in extra help. Also there’s the fact that Jinxuan can produce at a rate close to triple that of Hongxin Wai Wei Tao.

There’s a certain prestige associated with Hongxin Wai Wei Tao, and it’s not only one of the more expensive teas you can buy, but also one of the harder ones to find. If you’re looking for it, it’s frequently referred to as zhengcong tieguanyin (正欉鐵觀音). It has a particular savory and bitter character, with a slight sourness, and hints of sweetness that some consider peach-like. It’s noticeably different from Muzha tieguanyin produced from Jinxuan. One farmer pointed out to me that casual tea drinkers almost always prefer Jinxuan, because it is quite a bit sweeter.

Many of the Muzha farmers still grow Hongxin Wai Wei Tao, but not necessarily in large quantities. And because of its desirability, some farmers have buyers lined up to take their entire harvest before the competition.

All cultivars are accepted for submission to the Muzha Tieguanyin Competition. There are no records kept about how many submissions there are of each cultivar, though I think this would be really interesting to track over time. I was told that while Jinxuan is the most common in the competition, the judges give preference to Hongxin Wai Wei Tao. But with so many variables at play, teas processed from this cultivar don’t necessarily come out on top.

One more factor in Muzha tieguanyin processing is the method of roasting. Traditionally, this was done by hand, over charcoal. But because this is quite an involved process, most tieguanyin today is machine-roasted and without charcoal. Charcoal roasting produces a particular profile and a sweetness that many purists prefer, but also means the tea needs to rest for longer before sale, in order for the roasted notes to settle down. I was told that none of the teas entered into competition are charcoal-roasted.

THE COMPETITION

The Muzha Farmers Association is housed in a nondescript office building in the Muzha neighborhood of New Taipei City.

Walking into the judging room, I didn’t know what to expect. Part of me imagined something like a county fair — tea farmers scattered across the room, eying the judges while nervously making small talk, a generally frenetic atmosphere.

In reality it was a much more quiet and meticulous process, with a lot of waiting around. There were about ten people in the room — two judges and a number of staff members. I was the only outside observer present.

This year, there were 380 submissions. Each farmer is registered with the Muzha Farmers Association in order to ensure they are actually growing tea in the region (as opposed to bringing it in from somewhere else; there have been scandals over this in other competition regions). Each farmer provides a 14kg bag of tea and their submission is assigned an anonymous number, to be used throughout the competition. The staff takes 100g of this for use on the competition table. The rest is stowed away, and if the tea receives an award, will be packaged with a special seal.

There were two judges this year, the same two as last year. Apparently some years there are three. The judges work for the Tea Research and Extension Station (TRES), a government organization that oversees many aspects of the tea industry, and is generally understood as the gold standard for all things tea-related in Taiwan.

The more senior of the two judges is one of only a handful in all of Taiwan to hold this high rank. He also regularly judges several of the other most famous competitions, including the ones in Lugu (Dong Ding) and Emei (Oriental Beauty).

The judges take into account several variables, including the appearance and smell of the dry leaf; appearance, feel, and smell of the wet leaf; and smell and taste of the tea liquor.

The judging process goes like this: 3g of tea are put into a competition cup. Boiling water is poured in, and the lid is placed back on. After 6 minutes, the liquid is transferred to an open cup, and the lid goes back on the competition cup. After another 6 minutes, the judges begin their walk around the table, specifically to open the competition cups and assess the smell of the wet leaves. After another 6 minutes (so 18 minutes total), they drink the (now cold) tea, and spit it out.

I found it particularly interesting how the process of competition cupping is so different from how most people drink tea. Of course, it makes sense when you think about having to drink several hundred teas in a day. But still, I think it’s worth keeping in mind; the qualities that are judged here are not entirely in line with what many tea drinkers value most. I don’t mean to suggest this is unique to the Muzha competition, but rather is a reality of tea competitions in general.

The judging process takes two days. Much of the first day is spent eliminating submissions that are somehow problematic. So in this stage, the emphasis is more on the shortcomings, rather than the strengths, of the teas. Reasons for elimination include: the roast being too light, presence of an off smell, or stale tea, i.e. from a previous harvest (yes, apparently there are cases of this every year). Teas eliminated in this stage are returned to the farmers.

In these early rounds, examination of the dry leaf is particularly important. Many samples are eliminated simply due to poor sifting. As in, there are small rocks or tree bark mixed in with the tea. Or there are too many crushed leaves, or the tea is rolled into balls that are too small or too big. The judges can also tell if the tea has been machine-rolled or hand-rolled. While this is not a dealbreaker on its own, they prefer traditional hand-rolling.

The smell of the dry leaf is even more important. It alerts the judges to various shortcomings, such as problems in the roasting, or if the tea was burnt in the kill green process (殺青 or sha qing).

When they finally taste the tea, they judge qualities like how clean and fresh it is. Because this type of tea is ball-rolled, sometimes the inside is not roasted enough, which is called “green” (菁 or jing). If it’s a little bitter that’s okay, but it shouldn’t be overwhelmingly so. The “convergence of astringency” (收斂性) is a special characteristic of tieguanyin, and they are looking to make sure it’s not overly astringent. At this stage, because they are spitting out the teas, they are not considering the “returning sweetness” (回甘 or huigan). Also at this stage, texture is less important.

This goes on for quite a while. They go around the table assessing each tea at least twice, and frequently three times. It was interesting to watch them work. Their process was so meticulous, and you could see how much thought went into each tea — discussing each as they went, often jumping back and forth between specific teas. At times, they’d intentionally skip over a tea to ensure that their perceptions of another tea weren’t being marred by the one right before it.

After one round of judging, the staff brought over the leftover tasting cups so we could try them out. Someone mentioned “honey fragrance” (蜜香 or mi xiang), as in, this tea has the honey fragrance that results from the plants being bug-bitten (similar to Oriental Beauty). There are some bug-bitten submissions each year. While this isn’t particularly desirable to the judges, it’s not enough to eliminate a tea on its own.

It was fun to stand around with the staff and try a handful of these teas. The staff were commenting about ones they could tell were Jinxuan or Qingxin cultivar. There were two that the judges had already decided would proceed to the next round, and the difference was quite apparent. They had a concentration of flavor, and a complexity of mouthfeel that went beyond several of the other samples.

THE FINAL ROUNDS

On day two, I returned to a different scene. There was now just a single table, and the previous day’s quiet atmosphere had been replaced by the bustle of some 30-40 onlookers, many of them the farmers themselves. There were also a number of buyers present, standing by to place orders for the top-ranked teas.

I was talking with one of the staff members, who said she herself felt a bit anxious. For many of the farmers, this is the biggest day of the year. How their teas place in the competition directly affects their profits from their most important harvest.

The judging process continued in similar fashion, though the staff were now preparing two competition cups for each tea. The judges were using these to assess the stability of each brewed tea, and would then select one of the cups for further consideration.

At the end of the second-to-last round, the staff again brought the leftover cups to the side tables for onlookers to sample. There was a mad rush to get a taste of these high-ranking teas. Who wouldn’t want to try them? One of them would even be the grand prize winner. And some of these teas were very good. Hours later, the aftertaste still lingered in my mouth.

From here, six teas were selected to proceed to the final table. One would be awarded the grand prize (特等獎 or tedeng) and one would be the runner-up (頭等壹獎 or tou deng yi jiang). The staff now set out three competition cups for each tea.

As the judges began their final rounds, there was a nervous energy in the air. Bystanders were still carrying on conversations, but in hushed tones.

The judges were even more meticulous in this final round. After smelling each competition cup, they dumped out the leaves and spent quite a bit of time unfurling and analyzing each sample.

When they were ready to taste, this time they were not spitting out the tea. They made two trips around the table, then selected one cup of each tea for their final assessments.

All of a sudden, there was a flurry of activity. The judges had finished. They stepped to the side and finally removed their lab coats. The staff rushed in to clear the samples and lay out numbered bags of tea across the table.

Then began the long process of reading out the names and numbers of every farmer whose tea had placed in the competition, starting with the silver award. Occasionally, the name of one of the onlookers would be called, followed by a round of cheers.

After much name reading, the announcer reached the final two. As soon as their names were read, there was a huge cheer, followed by a rush of people running over to congratulate their colleagues. This crowd lingered for a moment, with lots of shouting and excitement, and I could see one of the staff members standing next to the winners, making notes on a pad of paper. It turned out this was more than just offering congratulations — people were placing orders for the two top-ranked teas.

This was one of the most interesting aspects of the competition. The two top-ranked teas were sold out in minutes. I was told they wouldn’t have even been available to a regular person like me. It’s something of an unspoken rule that they are immediately reserved for a special class of people who are involved in the industry. Some are fellow farmers, some longtime friends, others high-level buyers. These will mostly be used as very prestigious gifts. It suddenly felt like something quite exclusive was happening, and was fascinating to watch.

By the end of the competition, of 380 submissions, 133 had been eliminated and returned to the farmers. The rest broke down like this:

Grand Prize (特等獎 or tedeng jiang): 1 recipient

Grand Prize (runner up) (頭等壹獎 or tou deng yi jiang): 1 recipient

First Prize (頭等獎 or tou deng jiang): 16 recipients

Gold Award (金質獎 or jin zhi jiang): 35 recipients

Silver Award (銀質獎 or yin zhi jiang): 44 recipients

Excellent (優良 or youliang): 150 recipients

Here’s the full list:

GOLD BOXES

In order to ensure the legitimacy of the winning teas, the Muzha Farmers Association handles all packaging. This is why the farmers provide 14kg, when only 100g is necessary for judging.

The room is converted into a manufacturing center, with stacks of boxes everywhere. Each tea is weighed out — the the upper three categories in 150g portions and the lower three in 300g portions. These are placed in vacuum-sealed bags, then into round tins that are sealed, and finally into the famed gold Muzha Tieguanyin boxes.

At several steps in this process, special seals are added by the staff, to ensure that the contents are in fact the teas that were entered into the competition. These include the specific number designation of each farmer, as well as a QR code so you can access the farmer’s Traceable Agriculture Product (or TAP) profile online.

Packaging this much tea is a huge process. A staff of 10-15 people works for 5 full days, from 8:30am – 8:30pm.

POP-UP TEA MARKET

When everything is finished, the farmers gather for one last day to celebrate the competition. The day starts with an informal tea market, with about 20 farmers setting up tables outside the building.

By this point, the tou deng (頭等獎 or First Prize; technically the third highest category) is also all sold out. Some farmers bring teas from outside the competition, as the market is also an opportunity to meet new customers.

Every farmer is also brewing tea, so you can try a range of teas, which I thought was even more interesting when the farmers themselves are making them for you. Some people attend every year, bringing their own tea cups, so they can just walk down the line, sampling at each table.

I had a chance to chat with the man who won the runner-up award (頭等壹獎 or tou deng yi jiang). His father and grandfather grew tea, but the family now run a tea business where they buy fresh tea from other farmers and process it themselves. He told me that his winning tea this year, as well as that of the grand prize winner, were both zhengcong tieguanyin, i.e. Hongxin Wai Wei Tao.

That afternoon, the competition closed with a formal ceremony, where local government officials and other special guests were invited to a tasting of the top-winning teas. The staff issued me a surprise invitation to participate as well. Of course I accepted, thrilled.

The tea was very strong, bold in flavor. Heavy roast but not obtrusively so, and not ashy. It had the slightest sweetness but the more dominant note was a mouth-filling kind of buttery savory bitterness. It had very good huigan. The texture was creamy and thick. It was pleasantly warming too, I could particularly feel it in my upper chest. The aftertaste had some characteristic interplay of sweet and sour, and lingered for quite a while.

It was a memorable tea, and I’m grateful for the chance to have tried it. Apparently the suggested retail price for 150g of this tea is 30,000 NT ($1000 USD).

FINAL THOUGHTS

It’s been a fascinating experience observing the tea competition system close-up over these two weeks. I was struck by how meticulous every aspect of the judging process was. These competitions are an important part of maintaining the tea industry and ensuring the farmers’ continued livelihood, and you can see how much the staff took this to heart.

I think in some ways the tea competition itself is a flawed concept. It can’t entirely account for the values of a seasoned tea drinker. And in the case of the Muzha competition, there are purists who disagree with the decision to allow cultivars other than the original tieguanyin cultivar into the competition.

I wonder what it would be like if there were a separate section of the competition for this more traditional interpretation of tieguanyin. But I also understand the realities of the industry; people’s livelihoods are at stake. If the competition were split in such a way, it might devalue the efforts of so many farmers who have chosen, for any number of reasons, to stop growing Hongxin Wai Wei Tao.

At the end of the competition, there was some surprise among the farmers that many of the highest-ranked teas were different from last year. People were speculating as to how the judges’ values might have changed. It’s interesting to consider that the concept of “the best tieguanyin” is continually evolving. There is quite a bit of power in the hands of the two judges to steer this. I have mixed feelings about this. While not necessarily practical, I think it would be interesting if there were a larger pool of judges, and not necessarily the same ones each year. Though I can see an argument for the continuity of the same personnel year after year as well.

Overall I am fully supportive of the tea competitions for what they do for the local tea economy. For one thing, I suspect they keep the farmers on their toes — a competition incentivizes the farmers to do better. If not to outdo your neighbor, at least to turn a higher profit. But more importantly, they raise awareness of teas produced throughout the island, and encourage regional identity and pride in a way that is wholly worthwhile.

Very special thanks to Ada, Angel, Joanna, and the rest of the Muzha Farmers Association staff for all their help in putting this article together!

Sept. 19, 2023 update: I’ve posted another article with further discussion of the Muzha Tieguanyin Competition here.