While I mostly drink pu’er, I have a soft spot for aged oolong too. In many ways, it scratches a similar itch. There’s something about the big and rich mouthfeel that both these types of aged tea have that keeps me coming back, more so than to other teas. But while there are similarities in the drinking experience, when it comes to acquiring aged oolong, it’s a pretty different landscape.
Perhaps most of all because with aged oolong, there’s basically no product standardization. And as a result, valuation is handled differently. With pu’er, say a well-known cake like Dayi 901-7542, there’s a lot of it out there and it’s easy enough to compare prices across sellers and determine market value. Wherever you see it, the wrapper is the same, there are ways to authenticate against fakes, and you can even drill down on details like how storage differences should affect the price.
But with aged oolong, the large bag on the floor in front of you is likely the entirety of what exists of a given lot. There’s rarely any documentation, branding, or production year. And there are no direct comparable counterparts in the market. So the price is set by the seller. And can be determined by a wide range of often fairly personal factors. And as a result can be wildly different.
In some ways, it’s kind of the ideal tea for those who enjoy the thrill of the hunt. My own appreciation of this deepened quite a bit in the past year, in large part due to a period where Marshaln was staying in Taipei. He’s spent more time than most hunting through Taipei for aged oolong (and much of the rest of Taiwan, for that matter), so whenever we had tea, not only would he bring some recent finds, but the conversation would inevitably get into what it’s like out there. For those wanting more on the subject of aged oolong, there’s quite a treasure trove right here.
While I periodically go looking for aged oolong, it’s never been a major focus of mine, as I tend to put more energy towards pu’er. Lately though, I’ve found myself with a greater urge to spend time on this, especially considering how good some of the teas we’d been drinking were.
It’s also something I don’t do that often because my rather basic Chinese is a limitation when you get into older shops. In these places, the staff rarely speak English. But recently another friend, Hanji of Wet Leaf Dry Leaf, was visiting, and was equally eager. And happens to speak excellent Chinese (and even some Taiwanese). So we spent some time combing the city and trying our luck at finding something decent. I thought it’d be interesting to share a glimpse into our experiences.
With any kind of tea there are specific caveats one must look for, and aged oolong is no exception. Because while there’s quite a lot around, there’s frequently something “off” about it. Sometimes they’re really sour. Or they were stored very wet, and have musty or ginseng-like notes, or just generally bad wet storage notes. Or the price is outrageously high. Or they’re just really low quality to begin with. Or, as happens far too often, they just don’t taste old. This last one is tricky because some shop owners will re-roast their aged teas, often because they’ve gotten a little too wet at some point. But this basically resets the age profile of the tea. So a tea might be 40 years old, but if it was re-roasted 10 years ago, it won’t taste it.
Part of what I’ve learned over time, through many conversations about this, is that the vast majority of the aged oolong you find wasn’t really intended to be sold as aged tea. A pretty common story is that a given shop owner sells new oolong every year, but that some inventory doesn’t sell before the next season, and loses the sheen of being new tea that can command the highest price. So after a few years, it enters a stage where it might be considered stale, and they put it in the back room somewhere. And it gets left there, intentionally or not, for decades.
So because of this frequent lack of intentionality with aging oolong, the quality of the tea, as well as of storage, is pretty all over the place. Aging oolong well requires a large amount in a single bag, often double-bagged, and stored as dry as possible (which is challenging in most Taiwan locales). There’s a lot of room for error.
And also, just because something is old doesn’t mean it’s good, or is aging well. For instance, aged gaoshan oolong is very very expensive. But it ages in a way that’s different from more traditional higher roast oolong, and I personally, along with most tea drinkers I’ve spoken to about it, don’t find it very appealing. But it’s something you come across fairly often.
And because there’s so very much aged oolong in Taiwan, there’s of course a huge range in quality. It can be quite good, but it’s rarely at that true top-shelf level of the finest oolong out there (and when it is, you’re certainly paying a premium for it). But despite this, a lot of it is quite solidly enjoyable, and surprisingly reasonably priced for something that’s say 30-40 years old. And finding that quality/price sweet spot is part of the fun.
Day 1, 11:00
The first place we visited had the feel of a typical older Taipei tea shop. Dreary concrete walls, fluorescent lights, minimal decor, lots of clutter, and most importantly, large metal drums spread across the floor. It’s a family operation, been there a few generations. The father and mother were still active in the shop, though their middle-aged son held court and brewed tea for us.
They used to do most of their business in baozhong, but in the 1970s, the rising interest in gaoshan oolong led them to refocus. Over time, they found themselves with large amounts of leftover baozhong and not enough buyers. Some of it got stowed away, and has gradually turned into some pretty nice aged tea. And thankfully, has never been re-roasted.
In some shops, when you ask about aged oolong, they’ll tell you exactly what they have. Maybe three or four large bags. Part of the fun in this place though was that you have no idea how much they have, and get the sense they might not even have a very exact count themselves.
We said we wanted to drink aged baozhong, so the matriarch disappeared into the back and returned with a sample. Seemed nice enough, looked fairly old, worth a try. No discussion of what other options there might be. And it was nice— smooth, reasonably thick. It had no major flaws, like bad sourness or storage notes. It didn’t taste too too old though, it was a bit borderline. It brewed fairly light, but seemed to have good bones, and could probably be brewed harder to good effect. Overall, just nice and smooth, and drank with all the traits I like about aged oolong.
A bit later, the matriarch came out with another tea. Also baozhong, similar in age, but it looked a bit different. The son said that personally he preferred this style— it was lighter-roast, and you could see this in the greener color of the leaves. It also had ginseng aroma, which is fairly common in aged baozhong that’s greener and has been stored more wet. It reminded me of aged green tea, which tends to have a version of this flavor note. It was quite bright and brewed surprisingly thick for such a lighter profile, though wasn’t really for me. Just not my preference.
As we drank, they told us how, back when their focus had been new baozhong, they would purchase from farmers every year and do their own internal blending to ensure a consistent product. But that as they started selling more gaoshan, they ended up with more and more baozhong sitting around, and stopped blending the batches. So some of what we were trying were the individual batches from the farmers (which might’ve been blended by the farmers, but not by the shop).
They’ve also found that when you age a large amount in one bag, say 40-50 jin (24-30 kg), gradually the top of the bag starts to taste different from the bottom. So they separate the teas into smaller quantities and as a result have many slightly different variations of the same tea. Meaning, it’s hard to guarantee you can get more of the same exact tea on a future visit.
Throughout, they continued to tell us about their experiences with the changes in the tea industry, which is always interesting to hear firsthand in these older multi-generation shops. They told us how, as Taiwan’s economy grew stronger over the ’70s, interest increased in luxury goods like Yixing teapots and expensive oolong tea (which was different from the somewhat more utilitarian tea-drinking of previous generations), and motivated many fruit farmers to transition to growing gaoshan oolong. And that also the Vietnam War had caused a decrease in demand for international sales, so the Taiwan tea industry pivoted towards the domestic market.
At one point they pulled some books from the shelf and showed us guides the government had published for farmers who were new to growing tea. Not only did they have to learn the ins and outs of a new agricultural product, but they had to learn how to process the tea too. At the time, the government even offered classes to teach the farmers these techniques.
After trying the first two teas, both of which were reasonably nice though neither quite blowing us away, we thought we should probably buy some and move on. While they were packing up our order, one of the parents emerged from the back with yet another sample— just something to drink while we waited for the tea to be packed.
This one turned out to be considerably more rich and aged-tasting than the first two. It’s funny how this happens sometimes, and makes you reconsider what you’ve just agreed to buy. So we ended up taking our seats again. It was more roasted than the first two, brewed darker, and had a nicer firmer structure to the mouthfeel. We both were pretty struck by it, almost immediately. It did lose steam a bit faster than the others, but its upfront strength was notable. It seemed like a particularly good tea for mug-brewing. So, of course this was cause to amend the original order.
It was tempting to stay longer, but we wanted to visit a few more shops that day. So we said our thanks, promised to come back soon, and off we went.
Day 1, 14:00
A bit later, we stumbled upon a tiny alcove of a shop, that was practically spilling into the street. It had the familiar large metal drums and hardly a place to sit. The owner took down a metal can from a shelf, and dug out a scoop of aged tea. It was pretty green, tightly ball-rolled, and didn’t look or smell that old. It was quite cheap, though.
We asked to see another, preferably something older. She showed us one that was a bit more expensive, also clearly machine-rolled, and quite dark, with the strong smell of roast. She commented that the evenly-dark color was a good sign of aging. It looked more like it was just very heavily roasted— more black than the darker brown you typically see with nicely-aged oolong. But more importantly, this tea too didn’t smell very old.
Ultimately we decided it was better to keep moving. Once you take a seat, you’re in it for a while, and that time is precious. As cheap as these were, they weren’t the kind of thing we were looking for. So on we went.
Day 1, 15:00
Next we ended up in a shop that felt pretty old, with a slew of large metal drums on the floor. In this case, there was only a narrow aisle left for walking to the back of the shop. We asked for aged oolong, and got the sense there was more here than we could really get a grasp of in a single visit. The owner, an older woman assisted by her daughter, dug around and presented us with several examples.
Her brewing approach was different from other shops we’d visited. She brewed pretty light, and instead of serving steep by steep, she would very quickly brew the tea repeatedly, stacking the brews in a chahai. She was quite deft at this, and if you weren’t paying attention, might be done before you even realized. She then handed us the chahai along with some cups and had us serve ourselves, so we could drink as much as we chose.
There was something refreshing about how she was entirely no-nonsense about it. Confident enough that the tea will speak for itself, that she doesn’t even drink it with you. Though she certainly knew the teas well, and offered observations along the way. It was nice too, to feel so little pressure, or any kind of insecurity, from the shop owner. Some hover over you in a way that can alter the mood of the room.
The first tea we tried was probably from central Taiwan, was pretty loosely rolled and a fairly dark uniform color. It had a slightly earthy storage note at the start, seemed a bit less clean than some we’d had earlier in the day, though this quickly receded. Its mouthfeel was a bit soft and it almost reminded me of hongcha, though she said it wasn’t really a more oxidized tea, just that it had more roast. The roast was quite well integrated. It was nice, smooth, but didn’t really stand out.
Next she offered an aged baozhong. Its leaves were quite large and unbroken, very pretty in appearance. They didn’t look particularly browned with age, leaning more towards a really dark green. When she grabbed some leaves to brew them, she made a point of crumbling them lightly in her hand first, saying that it helps to even out the brew. It reminded me a bit of Chaozhou-style brewing, but is something I don’t see that often in Taiwan. This tea had a really nice aged flavor, more so than the first, and was very smooth and sweet. Decent thickness. Seemed like you could brew it really hard and it would hold on well.
The third tea looked stronger. It had tighter rolling, though not machine rolling. It smelled a bit sour, but didn’t drink that way. It was probably the most typical aged-tasting tea so far, more plummy. Quite nice, and a good example of the kind of aged oolong profile I particularly like. Nice dark resinous notes, in a way that reminds me of some stronger red wines. Its texture was a bit thin, but it was more complex than the first two, with a nice brightness that unfurled slowly in the mouth.
We were already feeling intrigued by the second and third teas, but then she brought out something a bit different— a Wuyi yancha that she said was around 40-50 years old, and had been brought to Taiwan via Hong Kong when it was still young, in the period when Taiwan and China didn’t have direct trade relations. It had a storage note that I associate with Taiwan aged oolong, which was somewhat unexpected since everything that followed was a pretty different experience. It seemed to have been particularly transformed by its roast, even though this was quite well-integrated by now, too. It was a noticeably different profile from the Taiwan aged oolongs, in particular being less overtly sweet. It had quite a big mouthfeel, with a very nice chewy thickness. Wonderful lingering sweetness in the back of throat, that was at times quite cooling too. It seemed to have a deeper throatfeel than the others, though the shop owner pointed out that she feels like it’s pretty hard to distinguish the throat feel after drinking four teas in such close proximity.
This one really stood out to both of us. Another case of the final tea making the strongest impression. Perhaps it’s just that your mouth and throat are so well-coated at this point, that the tea impacts you more quickly. But also I sometimes suspect this is in part wishful thinking— that by this point you know you need to buy something, you want to walk away with the one that makes you the most happy, and are trying to talk yourself into thinking this is the one. And also, by about the third tea, it gets awkward to keep asking to try more, unless you’ve already committed to buying something. In this case though, this one really was very clearly a buy.
Day 2, 13:00
Walking around, we found a place that looked promising. It had the feel of an older, lived-in tea shop, with a collection of vintage tetsubins lining the wall, and what appeared to be some interesting older Yixing pots on another. It also had quite a few large metal drums labeled with various oolong names. It was another family operation, run by husband and wife, with the elderly mother hanging out in the back of the room.
We asked if they had any aged oolong. The owner said yes, but that they were all very very expensive. He quoted us a few prices, and they were multiple times what we were used to hearing. Maybe these teas were actually worth the price, but all the same, such numbers were hard to swallow. And the way he talked about it, it really felt like he was trying to discourage us. So we thanked him and kept on going.
Day 2, 13:45
As we were walking up one small alley, we noticed a dimly-lit place with some teapots in a display case. Upon closer inspection, this was another tea shop, but with no outside markings whatsoever. These kinds of places are surprisingly common in older neighborhoods. While Taiwan operates pretty heavily on Google Maps, I’ve come across many small older tea shops like this that have absolutely no online presence.
We walked in and found the owner, an older man, sitting at his tea table, drinking tea. Almost all the lights were off in the room. We asked if he was open, and he said, no, sorry, he’s resting today. So we thanked him anyway and as we headed out, he started to close the metal gate at the front of the store. So who knows, maybe it was a good place, but we’ll have to make another trip. We experienced several variations of this over the days we spent hunting. Especially with older shops, the owners might more or less be retired and the door’s only open because they live in the building. Other times, you get the feeling they’re just not that interested in selling tea that day.
Day 2, 15:00
The next place we walked into was pretty unassuming, and too small to fill its floors with metal drums of tea. The walls were lined with sun-faded gift boxes of various gaoshan oolongs, with little else out on display. There were a few smaller metal cans on the shelves, but the kind that look like they might just be decorative. It felt like a place that’s seen better days. Maybe they just don’t see many customers any more. But the owners, a husband and wife, were warm and welcoming, so we figured we’d give it a shot.
Right away they noticed the bags of vacuum-sealed oolongs we had in tow and asked about them. They were impressed to hear it was all aged oolong. So we asked about their tea. Though their main business seemed to be gaoshan, they had a few aged teas and sat us down to try an aged baozhong and aged gaoshan. They were ok, but just ok. The gaoshan didn’t taste particularly old, more in the category of a less-fragrant very slightly aged gaoshan. Not new, just not really showing aged notes yet.
The baozhong was smooth and sweet, pretty nice, but had this fairly unappealing dry storage note. It’s something I find pretty often with pu’er that’s been overly dry-stored in Taiwan, it’s this kind of plastic-like off flavor. We both found these just underwhelming. But because the owners were so friendly and convivial, we lingered.
Throughout all this, you could sense them trying to get a read on us. Two foreigners coming into an old nondescript tea shop, carrying bags of aged oolong, and asking for more aged oolong, probably doesn’t happen every day. Though they did mention that they’ve had other foreign customers come in specifically asking for aged oolong, including a guy from Seattle last summer, and more recently a Hong Kong professor.
At some point, we must’ve said something that passed a test. Probably sensing our ambivalence, the owner reached for a large bag in the back, the kind you see all over Taiwan, that tea farmers use to ship bulk quantities. As we talked and drank, she quietly dumped some of this into a chahai, poured hot water over it and just let it sit, all the while continuing to brew the first two teas. A bit later, as we were wrapping up the first two, she poured us a bit of this basically mug-brewed tea. And it was head and shoulders above the others.
It tasted older, sweeter, had no off notes, and brewed reasonably thick. It was quite wonderful to just keep drinking, and was the kind of tea we both could see reaching for pretty regularly. This was another aged baozhong, but older than the first. The difference was quite apparent in the leaves— it had a much prettier brown hue.
They were quite pleased to see how much we enjoyed it. They were particularly fond of this tea, and had been storing it for several decades. They told us the contents of this bag were all that was left, too. It wasn’t much, probably no more than 10 jin.
They asked about the bags of aged tea we’d walked in with. They were just curious to see what we’d found. So we opened a bag of the aged yancha from earlier and they brewed it. They liked it, thought it was quite good, though also seemed happy to find that it wasn’t really particularly better than their own tea. But it was a fun experience to share our finds with them.
They mentioned that they were actually planning to close down their shop in the next few years. Since they lived in the back, and their kids weren’t interested in taking over the business, they would probably remodel the space as an additional room for their home. It felt bittersweet to know that the next time we might try to come by, this place could be gone. Another old tea shop on its way out.
By the end of our visit, the mood was quite warm and far less transactional than it can feel in some shops. The husband even walked us to the MRT station to bid us farewell. We both hoped we’d have a chance to visit again sometime soon.
Day 3, 18:00
A few days later, after an afternoon of mostly misses, we found ourselves in a quiet neighborhood just as it was getting dark out, standing before a place tucked down an alleyway; yet another old shop with metal drums covering the floor. This one was pretty small, felt like it might’ve been a converted two-car garage. Low ceiling, with the entire front open to the alley. It was run by a husband and wife who live in the back, and were finishing up dinner as we arrived. They urged us to come in. He asked if we wanted to drink some Lishan oolong. We asked if he had any old tea. He moved over to another drum and brought out a large bag of aged baozhong.
The leaves were quite large and long. And there was very little broken leaf. Color was dark but didn’t look that aged. It had a really floral fragrance. He said it was from the early 80s and like all their old teas, had not been re-roasted. It brewed reasonably dark but was overall a pretty light profile, and different from most of what we’d encountered. Some roast, but lighter, with a lot of well-preserved floral notes, and no ginseng fragrance. It was a bit hard to place, and got quite fruity and sweet, and at times tasted almost like a lighter hongcha or some kind of mixiang tea. It mellowed out towards the end, and got generally more even. It was nice, but also not that aged, and got fairly astringent.
He brewed the tea quite hard— using an yixing pot (as opposed to the many shops that use porcelain), and packed in as many leaves as could fit. So the tea was quite concentrated and at times pretty bitter. It’s not how I would brew it at home, but we agreed it was nice to try this way, as so many shops brew really light, and it can be hard to tell how they’ll do in other settings when you’ve drank them this way.
We tried another that was a few years older. It brewed darker, and was generally nicer. This one was tempting, but still didn’t have a particularly aged profile. It was actually quite strikingly similar to the first one, with lots of floral notes. Just a bit darker and smoother and older. We asked if they had anything else that might be even older.
He dug into one of those large drums, pulled out a large bag, and reached into another that was beneath it. He said it was from right around when he started in the tea business. Sitting atop the leaves in the bag was a piece of paper with the year 1979 scribbled on it. This one was our favorite, without question. It again shared that lighter more floral profile, but was the only one that had a true plummy aged taste. And was noticeably less astringent. It brewed out a bit faster, but was really pleasant.
As we drank, he told us the exact year of each tea, and at one point also mentioned that these were all Qingxin oolong, grown in Yilan. Which is all pretty specific when it comes to aged oolong— usually the best you get is a rough approximation of a year. And a specific cultivar is even less common. But then he went on to explain that he had grown these teas himself— that although he lives in Taipei now, he used to have a farm in Yilan. And then it all made sense— there was a shared quality across these teas, because they were all this man’s vision.
I haven’t encountered many aged oolongs quite like these. For one thing, they’re of quite high quality. And they’re a bit more like gaoshan in how many higher notes they have. But the oldest one is also developing aged notes in a way that’s really familiar, and really nice. They have good throat feel, that’s smooth and clean-feeling, in a way that is a bit less common with the typical aged oolongs you come across. While those brighter notes are not my preferred profile for aged oolong, this was something a bit special. So we placed our order, and on we went into the night.
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