The classical Japanese season words have hundreds of years of cultural buy-in from Japanese haijin. Those of us who study saijiki know that each season has its own word associations that are deep and subtle. The season words (kigo) not only place us in the season as a whole, but also indicate where in the season (early, middle, late) the poem lives. Some classical terms seem universal. For example, “snow” is a well-established winter haiku.
alpine winds
the soft timbre
of fresh snowMona Bedi, Autumn Moon 9:1
Most people who live in temperate zones in both the Northern and Southern hemispheres experience snow at some point during their winter months. (Note that the hemispheres have their winter and summer months reversed.) While amounts vary, snow occurs frequently enough in winter that we have more or less global buy-in about the term as a winter kigo.
While season words have well-established associations, they are still malleable. For example, in the classical tradition, “moon” is an autumn kigo. Poets have to modify the word, or use a different kigo entirely, in order to place the poem in another season.
the end of visiting hours cold moon
ang katapusan ng oras ng pagbisita malamig na buwan
Alvin B. Cruz, Autumn Moon 9:1
In Alvin’s haiku above, “cold moon” places us in winter; the cold moon is the full moon that appears in December (https://www.almanac.com/full-moon-december).
The malleability of season words allows us to recognize that natural and wild phenomena have the potential to appear all year. The moon doesn’t just appear in autumn, so we have evolved our poetic language to write about the moon in all seasons. Likewise, while it can be difficult to fathom, no single weather phenomena belongs to a single season. I struggle to imagine snow in winter, but in high-latitude northern countries such as Iceland, snow can appear in the summer months. While it’s not frequent or heavy, it’s also a documented phenomena. Even in lower-latitude countries, mountainous regions can experience snow in the summer; we can see this throughout Europe and Asia, as well as South America. While I’m not likely to experience summer snow in my life (owing to my dislike of cold and tendency toward serious altitude sickness), I couldn’t realistically read a haiku that included the term “summer snow” and outright declare it preposterous. While season words such as snow seem universal, the experience of snow at different points in the year can never be truly universal, as said experience is dependent on fluctuations in geography and climate.
I’ve written frequently about how, as a child, I felt out of step with the seasons as they were dictated by the Gregorian calendar. Of course, I didn’t have a sense that different calendars had been used throughout history. I didn’t even have a concept that people operated within different calendar systems in contemporary society; my first exposure to that was when I was dating my first husband, and would occasionally attend shabbat services with him. That was where I learned about the Jewish liturgical calendar, which was operating on its own sense of time.
The Gregorian calendar creates a boundaried approach to the seasons, meaning that it uses the equinoxes and solstices as hard stop and end points. The upcoming spring equinox will signal a hard stop to winter and a hard beginning to spring. Meanwhile, as I drove to work this morning, yellow daffodils lined the grass of my exit ramp. There are buds on the crab apple and maple trees. Spring has definitely arrived in St. Louis . . . but we’re likely to get one more hard freeze later in the month. I might be wearing sandals today, but I know the remains of winter lurk in the atmosphere. Because of the hard seasonal boundaries it creates, the Gregorian calendar has value for the scientific community, but the organizational schema does not allow for the malleability of seasonal change. It creates a fixed view of when seasons start and stop and, in my opinion, that tends to create a sense of seasonal ownership versus seasonal association. When we operate exclusively with a fixed, boundaried view of the seasons, we limit our perception and our writing. Snow can only belong to winter . . . though if you’ve ever lived in Cleveland1 (or worse), you know perfectly well it can show up in spring.
While not everyone who is raised exclusively under the Gregorian calendar will inherently develop a fixed relationship to the seasons, it certainly happened to me. This is why I could get frustrated and say, “It’s spring! It’s not supposed to snow on my birthday!” Well, when you live in Ohio, snow doesn’t care about the equinox or about spring birthdays. A fixed understanding of the seasons ultimately led me to a mental framework that frequently set me up for disappointment and also inhibited my approach to haiku. A malleable view of the seasons becomes even more important as the effects of climate change continue to unfold2. John can say, “It’s not supposed to be 90 degrees in October,” and while historically St. Louis might not have seen persistent 90-degree weather in mid-autumn, the concept of supposed to becomes less and less relevant as the climate destabilizes. If we are going to maintain whatever emotional equilibrium is possible during the current era, and also continue to be able to write season-based poetry, we need to leave room to allow for the changing seasons as they are, even as we resist the forces leading us toward our own destruction.
When I first began my study of saijiki, I found it difficult to operate within two calendars at once. The classical haiku calendar, which uses the solstices and equinoxes as the midpoints of the seasons, made more sense in relation to my lived experience. However, the Gregorian calendar guides the country in which I live. Sometimes, it is deeply frustrating to see people celebrating “the first day of spring” when spring has been evident for weeks. I get irrationally annoyed that The Old Farmer’s Almanac – an inherently agricultural text! – eschews the preindustrial boundaries of the seasons and adopts the Gregorian seasonal boundaries. However, my exposure to different religious traditions helped me understand that all over the world, people adhere to different calendars. I’ve of course learned about the Jewish liturgical calendar; life in St. Louis has also exposed me to the Catholic liturgical year, as well as the Orthodox Christian year. In my own personal studies, I’ve learned about Hindu and Buddhist calendars as well. Most people with a specific religious or cultural identity navigate their specific calendar along with the Gregorian one. There’s no reason why a haiku poet can’t do that as well.
Likewise, my understanding of season words and what they mean cannot be limited to my experiences living in the Midwest and the American South my entire life. I have to recognize that my experience of summer will never be the same as the experience of someone living in Iceland. The world is too big to contain any individual’s limited knowledge of seasons. In fact, it’s too big to contain any one saijiki’s attempts to categorize the seasons. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t study saijiki. Rather, we have the saijiki as a foundation that guides our experience, but doesn’t dictate it. After all, even the strictest saijiki won’t refuse to let poets write about the moon in the spring.
As I wrap up this post, I’m reminded of this enduring haiku from Shiki:
for me going
for you staying—
two autumns
This haiku points to the individual experiences of two friends who will spend autumn in different regions. Today, it has me thinking about how there are in fact innumerable autumns (and winters and springs and summers). That is not to say that we should take a purely individualistic approach to the seasons, but rather that we should recognize the incredible variety within collective experience. Within the St. Louis area, we will all experience redbud flowers, bird migration, and the nerve-wracking experience of tornado season; due to geographic differences even in a relatively small area some of us will be more prone to flooding than others. Even in a single city, there is variability within each season. As haiku poets, it’s imperative that we study saijiki, understand our environmental foundations, and also leave room for the broader malleability of seasonal experience.
1I will always have a fondness for Cleveland, but not the lake effect snow.
2This is not to say that we shouldn’t do what we can to combat climate change, but when the AI bubble hasn’t burst and the US is rolling back environmental regulations, well . . .
Now that I’m using a slightly more spacious template for my personal phenology project, I find myself occasionally noticing things beyond my immediate surroundings. For example, last week I was making some notes before work. My brain wasn’t at its sharpest, but I had a thought about Groundhog Day that had never quite occurred to me before: that the prediction is whether or not spring will arrive at the old-fashioned start of the season (yes, February) or if it will arrive at the Gregorian start of the season (the spring equinox). I jotted down some coherent notes and went about my day, but have been mulling the idea over ever since. This initial thought required that I learn more about Groundhog Day as well as further my research about how different cultures have marked and tracked the seasons. Ultimately, this passing thought has yielded me some useful insights into my Culinary Saijiki manuscript, and I think learning more about the historic practice of Groundhog Day can provide a fruitful framework for naturalist and/or creative practices.
Groundhog Day emerges from a German custom in which a badger was the actual predictor of spring’s arrival. While badgers exist in North America, they’re primarily found in the Great Planes, and rarely in the regions where the Pennsylvania Dutch settled. As a result, Germans in the eastern United States decided to bestow responsibility on hedgehogs. Groundhog Day served an agricultural function back when our ability to track weather wasn’t as real-time and technological as it is now. The habits of the badger, and then the groundhog, provided a signal about the best time to start planting crops. A cloudy day on Groundhog Day (in which the groundhog would not see its shadow) suggested that planting weather was going to arrive soon. On the other hand, a sunny day actually indicated that a longer wintry period was in store, with a later planting season. The behavior of animals on the ground combined with the presence or absence of clouds in the sky provided humans with suggestions about when to begin the agricultural year.
The origins of Groundhog Day come out of ancient agricultural traditions in which the equinoxes and solstices were the height or midpoint of each season, unlike the Gregorian calendar, which uses these points as the beginning of each season. That means the starting points are days of the year that are less astronomically significant. Haiku practitioners know that in the classical Japanese calendar, spring begins around February 5th. In the Celtic tradition, Imbolc was the start of spring and generally occurred around February 2nd, the same as Groundhog Day. Even the old Christian observance of Candlemas, also occurring on February 2nd in Catholic and Protestant traditions, was considered the beginning of spring before the Gregorian calendar took over.
Today, Groundhog Day is observed almost exclusively in the United States and Canada, with the belief that if the Groundhog sees its shadow, there will be six more weeks of winter. However, if the Groundhog does not see its shadow, spring will arrive early . . . though according to the historical model, it wouldn’t be arriving early at all! Using the Gregorian calendar, Groundhog day tells us if spring will be early or on time. In older agricultural models, Groundhog Day tells us if spring will be on time or late. And while both models are valid, ultimately, the old agricultural models are more in line with lived human experience. I may be writing this on what we in the Midwest refer to as Fool’s Spring, but even that is a sign that the year is turning and a change is on the way. The material reality of spring will be here well before the equinox.
Although there isn’t empirical evidence that the actions of Punxsutawney Phil accurately predict the arrival of spring weather, I feel that’s ultimately beside the point. First, given the geographic diversity of the United States and Canada, spring does not arrive at the same time for every reigion–and nor does spring look the same. Cherry blossoms appear in Washington, D.C. and Seattle, but the lack of cherry blossoms in St. Louis doesn’t mean spring hasn’t arrived; we look for redbud blossoms instead. Further, it seems like too much a responsibility to ask a groundhog in Pennsylvania to predict the arrival of spring all the way out in Vancouver.
Perhaps Punxsutawney Phil’s predictions should only be applicable to Pennsylvania and parts of Northeast Ohio. Given the width of Pennsylvania, I’m not even sure Phil’s predictions can or should extend all the way to Philadelphia. But that doesn’t mean we can’t observe it if we live beyond that area. We can find our own groundhogs, or badgers, or other relevant animals. In fact, there are prognosticating animals all over the United States, such as an opossum in Alabama and an alligator in Texas. (You can view the map here: https://groundhog-day.com/map).
I think the purpose of Groundhog Day in the modern era is to encourage us to look for signs of spring wherever we are. It also serves as a reminder that we don’t have to wait for the equinox for spring to come. Historically, there have been many ways of documenting and tracking seasons, and ultimately, spring is going to come on its own time no matter what calendars or division systems that humans use. It’s less important to adhere strictly to a single calendar and more important to pay attention to the world around us.
The day before my birthday, I completed a second round of the Buson Challenge. This time, I had friends joining me via email, Discord, and WhatsApp. Though I had a bigger group of writing buddies, this go-around was a bigger struggle than last year. Winter is not my most creative time, and the state of the world really has me down. Plus, my job is intense (and I’m unhappy in my current role). There’s been a lot weighing on my mind, and that never makes for a smooth writing experience.
But the point of the Buson Challenge, for me, is that it’s a time-bound period in which you commit to showing up no matter what. And as always, such a big project reveals new insights. I’m still pondering some of the ideas that surfaced for me, so more on those later. But I did want to share the reading list I used this time around.
I didn’t go into Round 2 expecting to come up with a reading list. But as I was communicating with my fellow writing buddies, I often found myself referencing texts I thought would be helpful. Many of these are reference texts or educational essays; some are more general writing advice. But they all served a purpose in some way. Some of them might seem out of place for a haiku challenge. I certainly was surprised to find myself reaching for a handbook on metrical verse in Week 2! But when creative intuition calls, you follow.
The Old Farmer’s Almanac (use the one for the current year)
Haiku World: An International Poetry Almanac by William J. Higginson
A Dictionary of Haiku Classified by Season Words with Traditional and Modern Methods by Jane Reichhold. (Available as a PDF at https://thehaikufoundation.org/omeka/items/show/1798)
The Five Hundred Essential Japanese Season Words by Kenkichi Yamamoto (Available as a PDF at https://thehaikufoundation.org/omeka/items/show/821)
“A Definition of Haiku” by Michael Dylan Welch (Available here: https://www.graceguts.com/essays/a-definition-of-haiku)
“Fragment and Phrase Theory” by Jane Reichhold (Available here: https://thehaikufoundation.org/omeka/items/show/781)
“Beyond the Haiku Moment: Bashō, Buson, and Modern Haiku Myths” by Haruo Shirane (Available here: https://thehaikufoundation.org/juxta/juxta-1-1/beyond-the-haiku-moment-basho-buson-and-modern-haiku-myths/)
Poetry Pea S7E33: Madku Workshop with Bona M. Santos. Available here: https://poetrypea.com/s7e33-madku-featuring-west-coast-poet-bona-m-santos/
Rules for the Dance: A Handbook for Writing and Reading Metrical Verse by Mary Oliver
“Belief and Technique for Modern Prose” by Jack Kerouac (Available here: https://writing.upenn.edu/~afilreis/88v/kerouac-technique.html)
Bernadette Mayer’s list of journal ideas and writing experiments: https://www.writing.upenn.edu/library/Mayer-Bernadette_Experiments.html
Natalie Goldberg’s 7 Rules for Writing Practice from Writing Down the Bones (Available as a PDF here: https://lauradavis.net/wp-content/uploads/2020/04/Rules-of-Writing-Practice.pdf)
“The Etiquette of Freedom” by Gary Snyder from The Practice of the Wild. (Available as a PDF here: https://bewildrewild.org/wp-content/uploads/The-Practice-of-the-Wild-by-Gary-Snyder.pdf)
During this challenge, I’ve tasted a few incredible blends. Most of what I’ve tasted are teas that are enjoyable but not mind-blowing. Even if I didn’t love a particular tea, I wouldn’t be opposed to sampling it again, or enjoying a cup if someone offered it to me. I’ve been lucky that there are few teas I’ve tasted that I would never want to drink again.
I think this installment of the project features the first tea that I would not want to drink again under any circumstances. (Okay, I would drink it if I was dehydrated and it was the only liquid available.) Unfortunately, this tea is from a company I’ve been buying from for years! But it goes to show that not every company can get every blend right. They all have their strengths and weaknesses. Just because a company on the whole does a good job doesn’t mean they master every blend every time.
But while one of the floral blends this week was unpleasant, the other three were exceptional, with one becoming a new favorite. As we move from late spring into early summer, it feels like a good week to celebrate the Floral Greys out there.
As I’ve mentioned in earlier posts, Adagio Teas was the first company from which I ever purchased loose-leaf tea. I’ve been buying from them since 2006. So I’m clearly a fan. But this tea did not work for me at all.
I was put off just from the smell of the dry leaf. The scent was shockingly sweet, and the lavender smelled artificial. While there are clearly lavender flowers in the blend, they didn’t smell like the lavender currently growing on my patio. Things didn’t improve when I smelled the steeped liquid. The artificial lavender smell was overpowering, and I actually didn’t want to drink the tea at all.
When I did start sipping, all I could taste was a strong, artificial lavender, followed by intense sweetness. (I did not add any sweetener to this tea.) I got through one cup, and that was all I could handle. The sample size makes about 10 cups, meaning I have a fair amount left. I might try a cold brew version to see if that improves anything, but honestly, I’m not optimistic.
Fear not! While this tea wasn’t a winner, Adagio has a number of other Earl Grey blends. I haven’t tried them all yet, but their Rooibos Earl Grey and Earl Grey Green both make enjoyable cups of tea.
My friend @royal_teacups sent me the Dronning Louise (Queen Louise) blend made by Chaya, a Danish tea company. I’m fortunate to have included this tea in my roster, as I would not likely be able to get it here!
The Dronning Louise blend consists of Keemun tea, rose petals, and natural bergamot. Their website also refers to it as Chinese Spring Tea, and it definitely evokes the spring weather! In my neighborhood, roses are blooming, and this tea has a floral brightness that I see reflected outside (at least on days when it’s not pouring rain).
This is a remarkably complex blend. The rose and the bergamot harmonize well, and stand out on the palate. The Keemun tea is quite subtle by comparison. This is a tea that demands you stop and pay attention. You can’t just gulp it mindlessly while going about your day. If you want to appreciate the full nuance, you have to make time to savor your cup.
Given that I don’t generally care for rose-scented tea, I was honestly surprised to enjoy the Dronning Louise blend as much as I did. However, the flavors are balanced quite skillfully, and I think that’s why it works. It manages to be floral without tasting like perfume, and that’s not always easy to manage.
I started following The Tea Girl, a Canadian tea blender, on Instagram a while back. I was excited back in March when she posted about her spring tea offerings, including a few Earl Grey blends. So I was quite disappointed when payday rolled around and I went to her online shop, only to discover that she is currently only able to ship within Canada! Yet a few weeks later, I came home to discover a packet of samples from The Tea Girl in my mailbox, including an assortment of Earl Greys, plus two others. I’m thrilled I got the opportunity to try them.
The first blend I tried was the LalalaLavender Cream Earl Grey. Although I’m partial to a longer infusion time, I followed the recommendation to steep for only three minutes for my first cup. I like to make sure I’m experiencing the brew the way the tea maker thinks is best, and then adjust for my own preference on subsequent tastings.
While the lavender taste was admittedly a little strong for my taste, I commend Sarah (the actual Tea Girl) for her ability to avoid that overwhelming astringency that can occur when lavender, citrus, and black tea combine. (While I enjoy an astringent cup, there are times when it can just be too much.) I’m guessing that balance is due to the lavandin varietals of lavender that she uses.
There was enough tea in the sample for another two tastings; I did a second with a four-minute steep, and one that steeped for five minutes. Unsurprisingly, I liked the five-minute steep the best; I felt the tea had more time to develop, and balance out the floral elements. That, though, is strictly personal preference; your mileage may vary.
The Rose Hill Earl Grey blend was the item in The Tea Girl’s spring lineup that I was most excited to try, and most disappointed when I thought I wouldn’t be able to obtain any. And this is coming from someone who, just about 300 words ago, said she didn’t like rose very much. But I was swayed by the Instagram photos. The dry blend is particularly gorgeous, and yes, it was so pretty I just had to drink it.
Fortunately, I was not disappointed. The tea managed to exceed my already high expectations. This blend is definitely getting named in my best-of long list, and if you live in Canada, you need to order some while it’s still available. There was a nice balance to the scent of both the dry leaf and the steeped liquor. I perceived the scent of rose first, followed by black tea, and then bergamot, but they all flowed naturally. I didn’t have to search hard for them. That flavor progression is reflected in the steeped liquor as well. The experience is much like the way a fine wine gradually unfolds on your palate.
I wrote in my tasting journal, “This is the only rose tea I would stock on a regular basis.” I will be keeping an eye out for the day that The Tea Girl is able to ship outside of Canada, and once I can, I will be ordering a large quantity of the Rose Hill Earl Grey.
As of this writing, I’m one tea tasting ahead of schedule for the month. It’s possible that I’ll reach the halfway point by the end of May! I currently have just 15 untasted teas left in my queue, but I think I’ll wait until June before ordering more. Last week I did a full inventory of all the tea at my house (not just Earl Grey), and the number was embarrassingly high. So in addition to this project, I’m focusing on drinking up some of the older teas in my collection before I buy anything new. (Because let’s be honest, what are the odds that I go to a site to get Earl Grey and I only get Earl Grey? Pretty low.)
One of the things I’m surprised to discover is how few Earl Grey blends there are based on green tea. I haven’t added one to my queue in a while! There are a few on my wishlist, but even if I added those, I can see that Green Earl Grey blends are likely to be the smallest proportion of blends I taste. I assumed I would come across them regularly, because citrus and green tea go well together, but I was way off!
I was tempted to do a side-by-side comparison of my original pie chart to this one, but I think I’ll wait until I hit the 50% mark. That, I think, will be a more interesting point of comparison. Do you have any predictions for either the 50% comparison or the 100% comparison? Let me know in the comments!
Read previous installments here:
The Earl Grey Year Part 1: Four Classics
The Earl Grey Year Part 2: Four Florals
The Earl Grey Year Part 3: Four More Classics
The Earl Grey Year Part 4: Greens and Tisanes
The Earl Grey Year Part 5: Cremes and Special Variations
The Earl Grey Year Part 6: Classics and Florals
The Earl Grey Year Part 7: Classics and Special Variations
The Earl Grey Year Part 8: Cremes and Variations Part 2
Enjoying this series? You can support my tea wishlist here, or contact me if you have samples you want to share!
For more tea content, check out my tea pairings playlist on YouTube.
Note: This is an ongoing list of all the reading I have done so far for this project. The bibliographic entries here are not necessarily cited in this specific post.
Avila-Sosa, Raúl et. al. “Bergamot (Citrus bergamia) Oils.” Essential Oils in Food Preservation, Flavor and Safety. Ed. Preedy, V.R. (2015). Elsevier Science & Technology. pp. 247-252. http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/B978-0-12-416641-7.00027-4
Di Giacomi, Angelo and Giovanni Dugo. “Origin, History, and Diffusion.” Citrus bergamia: Bergamot and Its Derivatives. Ed. Dugo, Giovanni and Ivana Bonaccorsi. Boca Raton: CRC Press, 2013. pp. 1-8. https://doi.org/10.1201/b15375
Dugo, Giovanni and Ivana Bonaccorsi. “Composition of Leaf Oils.” Citrus bergamia: Bergamot and Its Derivatives. Ed. Dugo, Giovanni and Ivana Bonaccorsi. Boca Raton: CRC Press, 2013. pp. 227-236. https://doi.org/10.1201/b15375
Heale, Christopher. (n.d.) “A Guide to the Tea Grading System.” Herbs & Kettles. https://www.herbsandkettles.com/blogs/blog/a-guide-to-the-tea-grading-system
Lo Curto, Rosario. “Uses of Juice and By-Products.” Citrus bergamia: Bergamot and Its Derivatives. Ed. Dugo, Giovanni and Ivana Bonaccorsi. Boca Raton: CRC Press, 2013. pp. 531-542. https://doi.org/10.1201/b15375
Nishida, Kei. “What Does Astringency Mean for Tea Drinking?” (n.d.) Japanese GreenTea Co. https://www.japanesegreentea.in/blogs/japanese-green-tea-lovers-in-india/what-does-astringency-mean-for-tea-drinking
Twinings. (n.d.) “What is Bergamot?” https://twinings.co.uk/blogs/news/what-is-bergamot
As this project progresses, I find myself running up against the challenge of how to classify some of these teas that I am tasting. Perhaps ultimately, classification doesn’t matter all that much to you as the reader, but as to me the investigator, having a system to organize these different teas is useful as I taste, reflect, and learn.
For example, the two teas I have classified as special variations this week are named Earl Grey without any modifiers, suggesting that the blenders consider them standard Earl Grey teas. However, one has lemon in addition to bergamot (NUTE), and one has lychee flavor added to it (A.C. Perch). The latter tea is less debatable; lychee is not a citrus fruit, nor does it come from anywhere near the bergamot-growing region. It is a unique addition and, regardless of the name of the tea, the presence of this fruit creates an innovative variation on the traditional blend (assuming you enjoy lychee, of course).
However, NUTE’s blend with bergamot and lemon walks the line. Lemon, like bergamot, is a citrus fruit. The lemon used also appears to be lemon oil; I couldn’t detect any peel in the tea bag (Lady Grey teas typically include citrus peel in addition to or in place of citrus oil). This leads me to wonder whether lemon oil in and of itself is sufficient to actually qualify a particular Earl Grey as a special variation.
At the start of this project, I stated that a classic Earl Grey was nothing more than black tea and bergamot. I had not considered how subtle some of these additions would be; rather, I had assumed that all special variations would be a major change from the standard brew. As I sample more and more Earl Grey, however, I find that many of the additions are so minimal, and so similar to the traditional blend, that I wonder whether they should truly be considered true variations.
Ultimately, as I look at the graph breaking down the proportions of Earl Grey types so far, I’ve decided to go ahead and stick to my original system. Even with the abundance of special variations based on just one similar inclusion, special variations don’t seem to be over-represented, or skewing the data in an inaccurate way. I’ll reconsider if that seems to be the case, but for now, it’s not an issue.
Regular readers of this series will know I’ve been consistently impressed with the samples I received from The Cove Tea Company, and the Creme de Earl Grey is no exception. Of the four creme Earl Greys I’ve sampled so far, this stands out as the best. While the bergamot is a touch lighter than I would prefer, I also know that flavor preferences are largely subjective.
What I appreciate most about this blend is that the creme element (in this blend, created by French vanilla) is quite well-balanced. Subjective preferences aside, the bergamot, vanilla, and tea are all working harmoniously. Often the creme element can leave the tea tasting too sweet, or it can overwhelm the blend entirely. I think the presence of real vanilla makes a huge difference.
This blend contains bergamot, cornflowers, vanilla pieces, and vanilla flavoring. It’s hard to visually detect the vanilla pieces among the black leaves, but when drinking the steeped tea, you can tell they’re in the blend. I know vanilla beans are expensive, so I don’t begrudge most companies for omitting them. However, I’ve had three teas this month (one that wasn’t an Earl Grey) that contained vanilla pieces, and from the tea drinker’s perspective, that’s a small luxury that I consider worth the price.
That being said, the bergamot is slightly overpowered by the vanilla, which is my resounding criticism across Creme Earl Grey blends. Even a company as well-regarded as The Larkin Tea Company with highly qualified blenders seems susceptible to the challenges of combining bergamot and vanilla in a balanced way. My takeaway from this tasting experience is that it’s hard enough simply adding one flavor to tea leaves and getting the right proportions of each. Once you start adding additional components, there’s more opportunity for things to be a little off. As I move through my sommelier training and consider what it would be like to make my own blends, this is a valuable piece of knowledge.
As mentioned in the introduction, since NUTE’s Earl Grey contains bergamot and lemon, based on my classification system, this is a special variation. Unfortunately (for my palate, at least), the double dose of citrus is dwarfed by the tea.
That’s not to say it’s a bad cup. The steeped liquor was a rich, deep brown, and the base tea had a smooth, malty flavor. Nonetheless, when I drink an Earl Grey, I want the bergamot to really shine through. During my tasting, I could detect both the lemon and bergamot separately, so they weren’t completely drowned out. However, I was expecting more vibrancy from the citrus considering there were two different kinds in the blend.
As with many of the teas I’ve had so far, this one is solidly middle-of-the-pack. I know I’ve written about this before, but with each tasting, I further understand that there are going to be few truly fantastic or truly terrible cups. Most are going to be nice but not great, and that’s okay. If everything were spectacular, nothing would be. There’s something to be said for a tea blend that is simply fine, no more, no less.
This tea was an exercise in putting aside personal biases and trying to appreciate a tea I might have otherwise skipped. The Earl Grey from A.C. Perch’s Thehandel was part of the package that @royal_teacups sent me (as was the NUTE), and given that it’s a Danish company, it’s one that I might not have been able to get easily (or affordably) where I live. So I was quite excited to be able to try it at all! However, I don’t love lychee, which is used in this tea in addition to bergamot. So the task was to be able to put my opinion of lychee aside in order to be able to assess the tea on its merits.
The dry leaves had a strong lychee scent; in fact, it dominated the bergamot and tea leaf smells. However, in the steeped liquor, the flavors were a bit more balanced. I never felt that I was drinking a cup of lychee tea; the cup still was truly an Earl Grey.
However, as I’ve touched on elsewhere in this post (as well as in other posts in this series), the addition of a second fruit flavor threw off the balance of the bergamot a bit. The lychee overshadowed the citrus, just as second or third additions of flowers, spices, or other fruits in other blends have overwhelmed the bergamot. Not that I could do a better job at this stage of my tea life, though! I suppose what I’m learning is that while the novelty of special blends can be exciting and interesting, sometimes, the best blend is the straightforward, classic one.
Even with taking a break in April, I’ve sampled 38 teas, so I’m actually slightly ahead of schedule for the month! It’s nice to know that even if I step away from a project, I’ve managed to set a challenge that isn’t actually punishing. Not sure how I managed to do that, exactly, but I’m glad I did! I should probably try to replicate that for future projects . . .
Since this is my first update in a while, I’ve included the category breakdown again, though as you can see, there haven’t been any dramatic changes. I might not include this again until I hit the 50% mark, unless people really love seeing it.
While I don’t like to make promises too far in advance, the next post will probably feature another round of florals, since I sampled three of those in April. Other than that, it depends on what I happen to try from the list. I don’t classify the teas before I drink them, so we’ll see what direction the next month takes me.
Read previous installments here:
The Earl Grey Year Part 1: Four Classics
The Earl Grey Year Part 2: Four Florals
The Earl Grey Year Part 3: Four More Classics
The Earl Grey Year Part 4: Greens and Tisanes
The Earl Grey Year Part 5: Cremes and Special Variations
The Earl Grey Year Part 6: Classics and Florals
The Earl Grey Year Part 7: Classics and Special Variations
Enjoying this series? You can support my tea wishlist here, or contact me if you have samples you want to share!
For more tea content, check out my tea pairings playlist on YouTube.
Note: This is an ongoing list of all the reading I have done so far for this project. The bibliographic entries here are not necessarily cited in this specific post.
Avila-Sosa, Raúl et. al. “Bergamot (Citrus bergamia) Oils.” Essential Oils in Food Preservation, Flavor and Safety. Ed. Preedy, V.R. (2015). Elsevier Science & Technology. pp. 247-252. http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/B978-0-12-416641-7.00027-4
Di Giacomi, Angelo and Giovanni Dugo. “Origin, History, and Diffusion.” Citrus bergamia: Bergamot and Its Derivatives. Ed. Dugo, Giovanni and Ivana Bonaccorsi. Boca Raton: CRC Press, 2013. pp. 1-8. https://doi.org/10.1201/b15375
Dugo, Giovanni and Ivana Bonaccorsi. “Composition of Leaf Oils.” Citrus bergamia: Bergamot and Its Derivatives. Ed. Dugo, Giovanni and Ivana Bonaccorsi. Boca Raton: CRC Press, 2013. pp. 227-236. https://doi.org/10.1201/b15375
Heale, Christopher. (n.d.) “A Guide to the Tea Grading System.” Herbs & Kettles. https://www.herbsandkettles.com/blogs/blog/a-guide-to-the-tea-grading-system
Lo Curto, Rosario. “Uses of Juice and By-Products.” Citrus bergamia: Bergamot and Its Derivatives. Ed. Dugo, Giovanni and Ivana Bonaccorsi. Boca Raton: CRC Press, 2013. pp. 531-542. https://doi.org/10.1201/b15375
Nishida, Kei. “What Does Astringency Mean for Tea Drinking?” (n.d.) Japanese GreenTea Co. https://www.japanesegreentea.in/blogs/japanese-green-tea-lovers-in-india/what-does-astringency-mean-for-tea-drinking
Twinings. (n.d.) “What is Bergamot?” https://twinings.co.uk/blogs/news/what-is-bergamot
2. Getting my tea leaves read at Bottom of the Cup Tea Room, a New Orleans tradition for me.
3. Buying tea from New Orleans Tea Company
4. Finding a nice poetry chapbook at Crescent City Books, and also getting to meet up with my college friend Geoff, who works there!
5. Finding a great haiku haul at Arcadian Books & Art Prints.
For the past decade, my relationship to New Orleans has been complicated. My ex-husband is from there, and in the wake of my less-than-amicable divorce, I wasn’t keen on visiting the city ever again. But after nearly two years living in one of its sister cities, and after 10 years of time and distance, it seemed like it was time to revisit the place.
There were a few other factors as well. John loves New Orleans, and it had been over a decade since his last visit as well. Plus, there was one restaurant in particular I was dying to try (more on that in the Day 2 section). It was also about to be my birthday, and while neither of us could take time off work for an international trip, New Orleans is pretty much a straight shot down I-55 (I hate to fly and if I have the opportunity to drive, will always choose to do so). With that, it was time to put bad memories aside and start fresh with New Orleans.
And while we did more than just eat . . . let’s be honest, that was a big component. So without further ado, the exhaustive culinary list of my birthday road trip (including Mississippi and St. Louis).
While most of our travel day involved eating outside of New Orleans, that food was nonetheless part of the culinary journey! From my favorite breakfast sandwich to my first taste of Memphis barbecue to our arrival at a standard New Orleans tourist destination, it was a delicious drive. (Even though it rained the entire length of 55 South.)
I believe in a fortifying breakfast before a long road trip, so before leaving Soulard, we stopped at Cafe Miami, which I think has the best breakfast sandwiches in the neighborhood. I got the Everything Breakfast, which is my favorite, while John got the Breakfast Chopped Cheese. We’d already had a pot of coffee before getting on the road, so we just got food this time around (though they do source their coffee from Dubuque Coffee Company, which I love). After that, it was time to hit the road for real!
It might be difficult to believe, but until last week, I’d only ever eaten Texas barbecue. Since barbecue is a geographically-dependent food, not all styles are the same. Coleman’s Bar-B-Q is in Mississippi, less than an hour from Memphis, and it was my first experience with Southern barbecue.
However, I was unprepared for the differences between Southern and Texas style. Mainly, that there is only one meat, and it is pulled pork. I have no problem with pulled pork, but just imagine that after 15 years of eating only Texas barbecue, to be confronted with a menu that just said things like “barbecue sandwich,” and “barbecue plate,” I was confused. We’d also been on the road for a solid four hours at that point, and I was wrestling with the inevitable disorientation that comes from travel.
In spite of all that, I enjoyed my lunch, and would stop by again if I was in the area. I got the small sandwich, plus onion rings and potato salad. It was a delicious meal that had me fortified for another 6ish hours of driving.
We arrived in New Orleans around 8:00 pm. We’d been on the road roughly 10 hours, and though we weren’t ravenous, we both felt peckish, and wanted to walk around a bit after spending the whole day sitting in the car. So our first official New Orleans culinary stop was Cafe du Monde for evening beignets and coffee. (Yes, we drank coffee at 9:00 pm . . . Since they serve chicory coffee, the cafe au lait there is lower in caffeine. Plus, there is no amount of caffeine that could override how tired I was after that road trip.)
John believes that the best time to go to Cafe du Monde is at night. This was my first time going there after dark, and I have to say that I agree with him. For one thing, it’s less crowded. But beyond that, the cafe is lovely at night, with romantic lighting. There is truly something special about beignets after dark.
Day 1 set the culinary tone for the trip: a mix of classic restaurants and new, innovative places. In between food stops we walked extensively around the Garden District, Irish Channel, and French Quarter, visiting art galleries, bookstores, and tea shops.
Molly’s Rise and Shine was the second-highest food priority for this New Orleans trip. (If you know anything about this place and their sister restaurant, you have probably guessed my highest priority . . . which I saved for Day 2.) Since we had a huge dinner planned, we wanted to start the day with something hearty so we wouldn’t be tempted to overdo it at lunch. (Sometimes you have to eat strategically.)
Our trip to Molly’s Rise and Shine was the only time we took a Lyft; we had plans to meet a friend who then had to go to work after breakfast, so we didn’t want to worry about dealing with public transit delays. Our Lyft driver was excited that we were going there, and told us we had to get the hash browns. He was absolutely right about that! There was also a sign out front that said, “Don’t sleep on the carrot yogurt.” I’d never heard of carrot yogurt, and was intrigued . . . but I’m also disinclined to order a yogurt bowl from a restaurant, as I make one for myself most days of the week.
That being said, curiosity got the better of me, and I did order the carrot yogurt, along with the special hashbrown (topped with salmon cream cheese, chives, and roe). John got biscuits and gravy, scrambled eggs, and plain hashbrowns. Not only were both the plain and fancy hash browns excellent (seriously, get them), but I am so glad I ordered the carrot yogurt. The bowl is topped with carrot marmalade, granola, and whatever fresh fruit is available. And the miso in the biscuit gravy brings an innovative take on a classic dish.
Unfortunately, we didn’t actually eat here. After spending our post-breakfast morning walking around the Garden District, we were hot, thirsty, and needed to sit for a bit. And while we probably both could have eaten, we both wanted to be hungry for my birthday dinner. The food looked fantastic, but it looked like the kind of place where I filled up on lunch and been set for the rest of the day. So we stuck to cold drinks. John had a Vietnamese Iced Coffee and I ordered the Mint Soda Limeade. Both of our beverages were perfectly refreshing. I’ll be adding Banh Mi Boys to my to-try list for next time.
Late in the afternoon, hunger did start to get the better of us. (We walked a total of 7.2 miles on that first day, so it’s no wonder.) We were standing in Jackson Square, pondering our options, when a Lucky Dogs cart came into view. Though Lucky Dogs are a New Orleans institution, I’d never had one before! I got mine with chili and mustard, and it was a perfect snack to carry me through to our dinner reservation. While I prefer all-beef hot dogs, the pork-based Lucky Dog had an excellent texture and great flavor. The bun was soft yet sturdy. I’m glad I finally tried one of these.
Tujague’s is one of the historic Creole restaurants in the quarter. I’d never been (my former MIL had a strong preference for one of the other big four), and when perusing the various menus of the nicer establishments, I decided this was the one that interested me the most.
Although the entire Tujague’s menu is now a la carte, they still offer the table d’hôte with full table participation. The current version of this is similar to prix fixe, except you get to select your entree. While I hadn’t intended to go with the table d’hôte, at the last minute, I decided to go for it. After all, I’m terrible at making decisions in restaurants, so why not just reduce the number of decisions I had to make?
I am so glad we went with the table d’hôte. All of the food was wonderful, and I really feel like I got to sample the best of what Tujague’s had to offer. (They were also gracious about accommodating John’s shellfish allergy.) For entrees, I got the scallops with peas and risotto, while John had the steak. I think the current iteration of table d’hôte captures the essence of a fixed menu, while also allowing individual diners to get exactly what they want.
After ending my birthday with a very heavy dinner, we kept things a little lighter the next day. Well, as light as you can keep it in New Orleans. We also walked 9 miles that day, so we were bound to get pretty hungry eventually. I have left one thing out in this section, but that’s because only John ate there on Day 2. I’ve included the write-up for that spot in Day 3, when we both went there.
Turkey and the Wolf was my culinary priority for this trip. After being introduced to some of the food through Sandwiches of History and getting the cookbook for Christmas, I would have considered the trip incomplete if we didn’t make it there. So after skipping breakfast (John is generally not a breakfast person, and I needed to finish digesting dinner), we made our way back to the Garden District and arrived at Turkey and the Wolf just after they opened.
The line was already out the door, and you could tell there was a mixture of locals and tourists there. As we waited, I was torn on what to order. My initial impulse had been to order the collard melt, as that’s something John would never want to eat if I made it at home (there’s a recipe for it in the cookbook). But after seeing plate after plate of The Bologna come out, I changed my mind. Even John ordered it, and he’s not a fan of bologna in general. I also got the frozen margarita, which I might have skipped if my friend Nate hadn’t sold me on it . . . it’s made with Mountain Dew, which does not sound appetizing (at least to me), but it actually worked.
The sandwiches were fantastic, and the fries were excellent as well. I will definitely visit the next time I’m in town, and hopefully The Tomato will be in season the next time I’m here.
Walking around the French Quarter after lunch, the heat and crowds started to get overwhelming. French Quarter Fest happened to coincide with the trip, and while we did enjoy the free music options, there were definitely more people there than we expected. My one complaint about the French Quarter is that there isn’t much café culture . . . there’s bar culture for sure, but if you want to take a break, sit down, and have some coffee, tea, or a soft drink, your options are pretty limited.
Fortunately, when we needed a break, we were able to duck into PJ’s Coffee for some iced teas. We even managed to find a shaded bench to sit on, despite the crush of people like us who were seeking a little relief. John got a standard iced tea, while I went for the Green Tea Mojito Tea Mixer, because I wanted something refreshing but festive. However, the tea ended up being too sweet for my preference. I did finish it, but I wouldn’t get it again. There are probably plenty of people out there who enjoy a sweeter green tea, and they would probably like this. But it wasn’t my favorite.
Raw oysters are not really a thing to eat in Missouri. So I wasn’t going to miss the chance while in New Orleans! By the time I was in the mood to eat again, it was late afternoon, and the Quarter was super crowded due to the festival. I was tired of being around lots of people, so I ended up at Luke, which was across from our hotel.
Luke is a lovely brasserie that has been open since 2008. We happened to arrive at happy hour, and the special price on Gulf oysters was so good that I got a full dozen. I also enjoyed my oysters with two glasses of sparkling rosé, which was the perfect companion. (Sparkling water is not covered by happy hour, so John’s sparkling water was ironically as expensive as my wine!!)
Lukey was a lovely dining experience, and the oysters were of top quality. That dozen was some of the best I’ve ever had. I would recommend making reservations, especially during the weekend. We were lucky to get seated, and if we’d been there for a full meal, we would have been out of luck.
We finished our second day with the late show at Preservation Hall, after which we weren’t ready to turn in. So we walked to the Sazerac Bar for a nightcap. The bar was quite crowded, probably due to the conference in the Roosevelt Hotel more so than the French Quarter Festival. Somehow, we managed to find seats, and we ordered the eponymous cocktail. We also ended up chatting with a lawyer who was in the hotel for a conference.
I enjoyed my Sazerac, but it had been so long since he’d ordered one that John forgot he wasn’t a fan. He had a Vieux Carre for his second round, but was ultimately unimpressed. Ultimately, he felt that the Sazerac Bar has such a captive audience (hotel guests) that it doesn’t have to work as hard to make quality drinks. Still, we came there in part for the impressive interior design; the paneling is made out of a single tree. It’s gorgeous, and worth stopping in even to just have a look at the stunning space.
Our final day in New Orleans started with two well-regarded places that were safe best. We finished the day with some food experiences that were either more contemporary or, depending on your constitution, simply required an adventurous nature.
We started off with omelettes and croissants from Croissant d’Or Pâtisserie. John also bought a pain chocolate for us to split; I’m not a big fan of them, but he was convinced if I had one from this shop that I’d change my mind. (He was correct.) I ordered the ratatouille omelette, and while that is not something I would have thought to make on my own, I would definitely try to recreate it in my own kitchen. The already-cooked vegetables make a perfect omelette filling. There was no cheese, but honestly, it wasn’t necessary. (And that is not a thing I am normally inclined to say.) I enjoyed my meal so much that on the morning of our departure, we stopped in for a light breakfast and some croissants for the road.
Our one mistake of the trip was waiting until Saturday afternoon (of a festival weekend, no less) to visit the Carousel Bar. We should have gone on our first full day, before my birthday dinner. If you didn’t know, this bar has a functional carousel in the middle of it, that does a full rotation approximately every 15 minutes. As you can imagine, it draws a crowd, and it’s difficult to get a spot on the carousel itself.
When we arrived, the place was pretty much full. We did manage to snag a small table. John got the Viex Carre, which was invented at the Carousel. I ordered the Oaxacan Midnight. While in theory I want to order the drink the bar is known for, something about the Oaxacan Midnight sounded so enticing that I just had to order it.
Some spots opened up at the bar not long after we got our drinks, but we hesitated a second too long (yes, spots can go that fast), and missed out. I was a little heartbroken but trying not to make a big deal about it. Then a single seat opened up. John told me to grab it, and he just walked behind me for a while. The carousel moves slow enough that it’s a reasonable thing to do. Finally, a seat next to me opened up so John could sit by me.
We did one turn of the carousel and then called it good. I got the experience I came for, and there were a lot of other people hoping for seats, so I didn’t want to sit forever and keep other people from enjoying the ride. Plus, one drink was plenty. I was three days into New Orleans without a single hangover, and I wasn’t about to break that streak.
John really wanted to try banh mi in New Orleans. Between the sizeable Vietnamese population, the abundance of French bread, and the existing sandwich culture (poboys and muffalettas), it’s a city poised to have excellent banh mi. He put a lot of thought into which place we chose, and eventually settled on Eat-Well Food Mart. The rationale was that it was easily reachable via streetcar (although we did a road trip down, we avoided driving in New Orleans once we were there), it had good reviews, and a convenience store was not likely to be overrun with tourists.
I’m glad we ended up there. It was a nice break from the crowds, and the experience gave me a sentimental feeling of getting Chinese food from Wok ‘N Express back in Austin.
We each ordered the regular banh mi, and John also got an order of the yaka-mein, a New Orleans-specific noodle dish. We both enjoyed the banh mi. The bread was fantastic, of course. I loved the combination of pork and meatballs, and we both appreciated that pate was available to add to the sandwich. While they weren’t our favorite banh mi ever, most of our quibbles can be boiled down to personal preference. John would have liked a greater proportion of fresh veggies, and we both found the sandwich filling a little dry. (But the latter issue was resolved with the addition of sriracha.) However, there are a number of ways to approach banh mi, so our dislikes might be something you really love.
After lunch, we decided to walk along the river. French Quarter Fest was in full gear, and there was plenty of music and sunshine to enjoy. Between the sun and the crowds, we started to overheat, and fortunately found CC’s Coffee House to sit down and recharge.
Their iced tea menu is simple: black, green, herbal. True to form, John got black tea and I got green tea. While my iced beverage wasn’t anything special, it was refreshing. Honestly, with all the novelty of the French Quarter (and the novelty of the seasonal coffee drinks on the CC’s menu), it was nice to sit down in the air conditioning with just the basic teas to choose from. Not everything needs to be a culinary spectacle.
Before we went on our trip, some friends said we absolutely had to try the monkey buns at Copper Monkey Bar & Grill. Monkey buns are banana-stuffed beignets, topped with banana syrup and powdered sugar. Although I like bananas, I often don’t care for banana-based desserts, but I also figured my friends wouldn’t steer me wrong.
I’m glad we made time to stop by and get an order; they were excellent! John said that they were even better than the beignets at Cafe du Monde. Honestly, I want to say that as well, but it’s hard to put anything above such a classic. But maybe monkey buns should be a new classic. Seriously, if you’re in the French Quarter, make a point to stop in and order some. (I recommend pairing with an Abita Lager, if you’re so inclined.)
Verti Marte is a deli and convenience store that serves giant sandwiches and a range of sides. My friend Geoff, a lifelong local, describes Verti Marte as, “The best table in the Quarter.” Here’s the thing: there are no tables. The interior is cramped and there are no chairs, tables, or even a bench outside to sit and eat. If you’re staying somewhere nearby, you can walk back and eat in the comfort of your hotel room. There’s also a park a few blocks away, but even that is a bit of a hike. If you want to ensure your sandwich and/or side dishes are enjoyed hot (as they should be), the table in question is . . . the top of a nearby trash can.
Some of you are absolutely horrified that I would say this. And in fact, when John went there the night before for his own dinner, I was horrified to see him spread his sandwich wrapper over the rain guard covering the trash can on the corner and dig in. (He didn’t get sick, for what it’s worth. And no, he hadn’t had anything to drink at that point in the day. The meal was enjoyed stone-cold sober.)
When you enjoy the full Verti Marte dining experience, fellow tourists will give you weird looks. After all, you are using the rain cover of a trash can as a table. But locals? Locals will look at you and say things like, “That’s what’s up.” Because when there are lines out the door at every other restaurant, or when it’s an odd hour of the day, you can count that Verti Marte will be open, serving good food . . . and you probably don’t have to wait for a table.
Sure, you could sit on the ground. But as John points out, the covers on those trash cans are too high up for anyone to pee on. The sidewalk, on the other hand . . .
When we went on the last night of our trip, John got the same sandwich he’d had the night before. I just ordered a side of macaroni and cheese, and that side dish was definitely a meal unto itself. It might be the best macaroni and cheese I’ve ever had; I’m still thinking about it nearly a week later. And yes, we got some weird looks. But we also got a “Heck yeah” from someone who knows the joy of a Verti Marte meal. Because if you’re going on a city vacation, sometimes, you have to make it a little bit like camping.
(But next time, I’ll bring Clorox wipes and disinfect the trash can lid.)
On the way back, we saw a Whataburger in Jackson, Mississippi. Since the franchise hasn’t expanded to St. Louis yet, that was where we stopped for lunch. (The original plan had been Delta tamales, but all of the locations on our route were closed on Sundays.)
Given that my opportunities for Whataburger are now few and far between, I ordered my favorite: the honey barbecue chicken strip sandwich. And yes, it was as good as I remembered. Although Whataburger is a Texas chain, getting to enjoy some true nostalgia food was a nice way to wrap up our adventure.
The trip was in part about getting to make new memories in a place that felt complicated. The Gin Blossoms’ line, “The past is going but something might be found to take its place” has been bouncing in my head all week. I can have fresh experiences in New Orleans that have nothing to do with the mistakes of my youth, and even though I moved away from a place I love, there are still ways to keep the good memories and experiences in my life.