滇红金针-大芽

The dry leaf is large and needle-shaped, covered in golden hairs with only the occasional streak of black leaf peeking through. Most of the material appears to be buds, though in a few places you can see a bit of leaf still attached. The aroma is gentle but layered—reminiscent of Bai Mu Dan—with faint floral touches and a hint of molasses. I used 5 grams in a 110 ml porcelain gaiwan, starting with a 10-second infusion after a rinse and adding 5–10 seconds with each steep.

As soon as the leaves warm up, they release a rich strawberry jam aroma that carries over clearly into the first steep. The liquor is a pale ochre, slightly cloudy from the fine hairs, and smells softly of sweet boiled corn. In the mouth, it’s juicy and smooth, with notes of strawberry preserve, molasses, and a delicate floral tone that lingers on the palate. The second steep is thicker, with a sweeter finish, and as it cools, the corn note becomes more noticeable. By the third infusion, there’s a bit more dryness and a faint ethereal edge rising from the throat between sips.

The fourth and fifth infusions deepen slightly in color and hold their flavor well. The jammy note fades, replaced by a fresh, fruity brightness and—once cooled—a hint of milkiness that suits this style of tea. A blended cup of the first five infusions is silky and light, showing molasses, soft floral notes, and traces of preserved fruit. From the sixth steep onward, with longer brew times, the tea gains complexity, staying smooth but picking up a little astringency.

Eventually, as infusions reach 90 seconds or more, warm spicy notes begin to emerge—clove, nutmeg, and a hint of pepper. The wet leaf is plump and whole, reflecting the tea’s quality, with aromas of molasses and spice. This was a session that began softly and built up in both intensity and character—a tea with charm, depth, and a story that unfolds patiently in the cup.