The first rain arrived after midnight, soft enough that it could have been missed beneath the tiled roof. By morning, every path on the estate was dark red and the youngest leaves held a bright, glassy sheen.
Weather is an ingredient
Tea remembers what happened to it. A dry week concentrates one kind of sweetness. Cool mist slows the leaf and deepens another. The task is not to force consistency, but to recognise character at the right moment.
“We pick when the leaf is ready, not when the calendar says it should be.”
That means a batch may be smaller than planned. For us, this is not a supply problem. It is the reason the tea is worth paying attention to.
A brief, vivid window
Within days, the gardens change again. The finest leaves are rolled, rested and dried close to where they grew, then tasted before breakfast while the air is still cool.