Back when I was a noob, straight off the farm — fresh to Taiwan and clueless about where to find good tea — I wandered into a very well-marketed shop called Ten Ren. After chatting with the attendant, I walked out proud as could be with what they assured me was some of their finest oolong: the King's Tea. It was, in fact, ginseng-scented oolong. I shudder to even utter those words.

It's not just that I'm a tea snob. It's that I know better now. And look — plenty of people love this stuff. But come on.

Anyway, I was happily brewing away day after day until I met the man who would eventually become my teacher. At the time he was just a friend. I told him proudly that I'd been having a great time with tea — the King's Tea, actually, expensive stuff from Ten Ren. He bowed his head. Shook it slowly from side to side. Then he got up, went to the back, and returned with a neatly packaged bag of tea. "Try this," he said.

So I did. I went home, brewed it up, and — oh my goodness. It was an osmanthus-scented oolong.

I was completely head over heels. I brewed it every chance I got — morning, noon, and night. I became so familiar with the scent that I felt almost compelled to seek it out, session after session. I couldn't believe what I'd been missing.

Then one afternoon, sitting on a bench in a park in Taiwan, the aroma of osmanthus drifted through the air. You have to understand — it's a distinct scent. Like jasmine, but stickier, earthier, a little fruitier, with that same clean quality. I couldn't figure out where it was coming from. I turned around, and the wall behind me was an osmanthus bush in full bloom.

I sat there for a long moment, completely absorbed. And then, just like that, I was transported back to the tea table. I turned to my friend and said, "Hey — tea sounds really good right now. Come over, I'll brew some." And that's exactly what we did.

That's the thing about sensory memory. Something as tactile as an osmanthus-scented oolong can reach back through time and pull you somewhere specific — a feeling, a place, a moment.

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Recently I imported three batches of osmanthus-scented oolong for the shop. There's a high mountain oolong — the sweetest of the three. A milk oolong, which is just sublime. And an Iron Goddess of Mercy. What inspired me to source these? Honestly, it was prep for the International Tea Festival in San Francisco. Last time I was there, I noticed the palate of the crowd was a bit different than what I encounter here in the Pacific Northwest, and I wanted to bring something that would land well. These were some of the best I could find.

Interestingly, while I was brewing this tea for a friend at the teahouse, they mentioned there's a large osmanthus plant up in Hendricks Park. So we made a trip — camera in hand — to photograph it and grab some footage for the YouTube channel. The flowers won't be in bloom until September or October, so I'll update you when the time comes. For now, check out the images below, and let's find some time to brew a pot of osmanthus oolong together soon.