It took me a very long time to figure this tea out. It’s the first yancha I tried out of Tea Hong’s catalog, and the last one I’m leaving a review for. I initially tried it a little over two years ago, and although I was immediately intrigued, it took me a while to fully understand that there is something divine in these leaves worth seeking out – an authentic expression of 岩骨花香 or “rock bone flower fragrance” I spent a little over a year exploring all of the Wuyi oolongs in Tea Hong’s catalog, as well as a few others. I won’t name them here, but these are top-tier vendors that specialize in yancha. Through them, I was able to procure some high-end tea, including an assortment of fully hand-made yancha from 8 of the 12 original Wuyi Heritage Masters, and more. The more I drank high-end yancha the more I realized why Red Cloak Grande doesn’t taste like standard Da Hong Pao – because it’s not. This tastes just like Da Hong Pao which costs $2 a gram or more, and is made by a famous master. Some might mistake it for having a “light roast” but that’s just not true. This is clearly made with an exceptional level of skill – it’s very patiently withered, oxidized deeply but not excessively, and fired perfectly. No, it doesn’t taste like charcoal or coffee, but you know what else doesn’t? All of the fully hand-made yancha from Wang Guoxing that I paid between $5 and $10 a gram for. Even the masters of heavy roast – like Zhang Hui Chun – keep the roast closer to medium for their most premium offerings. Chen De Hua – a legend of blended Da Hong Pao – never puts excess fire to the leaf. Same thing with the single-cultivar Qi Dan and Bei Dou made by Chen Zhenying … and although I skipped out on tasting You Yuqiong’s work, at this point I’d be willing to bet that her yancha – just like Ms. Chen’s – would strive to capture the essence of 岩骨花香 – rock bone flower fragrance. All of the highest-end yancha money can buy tastes similar to Red Cloak Grande. There is no such thing as charcoal bone coffee fragrance. I can’t stress this enough – the most skilled producers in Wuyi are not interested in making yancha that tastes like Starbucks. Wuyi is a gorgeous region, it’s a UNESCO World Heritage site with incredible biodiversity. As a simple matter of personal preference, this is what I seek out in yancha now that I’ve been around the block – I want to taste a warm, thick breeze moving through bamboo forests, picking up aromatics of wild exotic fruits and flowers growing all around and even straight out of the surrounding jagged limestone cliffs. I love the sensation of the mineral-rich soils all along the nine-bend river, the damp micro-pits of Hui Yuan which only see 1-2 hours of light a day, the wide-open pockets of Bi Shi Yan and fully-lit fields of Ma Tou Yan. There’s something magical about Tian Xin for sure, and without a doubt Eagle Beak Rock has a significant influence on the flavor profiles of all cultivars grown at its base. All of this is what I crave. If that’s what 岩骨花香 means then I need as many of these rock bones and flower fragrances as I can possibly get, please and thank you. The real glory of Wuyi is found by tasting the biodiversity that is captured by and conveyed through properly-made yancha, not by chasing high roast and thinking that the flavor of charcoal is the only defining factor of good quality. If I had to guess, I’d say that Red Cloak Grande is a blend of old-bush Qi Dan and Bei Dou grown in Jiu Long Ke. I have no good reason to believe this though, and it doesn’t matter ultimately because this is mighty fine Da Hong Pao and I’m going to keep drinking it until Tea Hong runs out.
