Learning how to identify gu shu & make maocha

There are many villages surrounding Yiwu, that supply the maocha that gets pressed into Yiwu puer cakes. Tea produced in Yiwu is generically labeled “Yiwu zheng shan” but more recently, producers of single origin gu shu cakes have started promoting specific villages like Luo Shui Dong, Ma Hei, Man Zhuan & Gua Feng Zhai by proudly printing the village names on the front of the cake. Whilst there is a lot of plantation tea in Yiwu, these small villages are known for having some excellent “gu shu” or ancient trees. Luo Shui Dong and Ma Hei are relatively close to Yiwu town and can both be covered in a single day, but Man Zhuan and Gua Feng Zhai are each 2-3 hours drive away.

Our wonderful guides, Echo & Ah-Hong from Banna View, introduced us to Yiwu’s local school teacher, Mr. Gao. Apart from teaching maths & science, Mr. Gao is also responsible for protecting the chastity of the teenage girls who stay at the school dormitory! We shared lunch with Mr. Gao, who has also written a book on Puer’s history, and produced a popular map of the Yiwu area, showing the location of each tea producing village. Short, sun-browned & stocky, Mr. Gao is an outspoken but loveable local character. Each year, he picks & hand processes his own maocha, and presses his own cakes for personal consumption. He doesn’t wash or rinse his leaves, because he knows it’s all organic and very valuable. “The only way to drink perfect tea is to make it yourself,” he says jokingly, “Even Hu Jin Tao doesn’t drink tea as good as this.” 

Mr. Gao showing us a 700 year old tree in Luo Shui Dong

Caterpillars eating tea leaves

Mr. Gao took us to see a 700 year old tea tree, halfway along the cobblestone road from Yiwu town to the nearby village of Luo Shui Dong. I was impressed by the height of the tree, about 15m tall, but it looked sickly, and was growing out of the mountain at an awkward angle. Its foundation had been shored up with a retaining wall & some metal poles, as it was in danger of toppling over in a landslide. Nearby, some other old trees had reached 3-4 meters in height, but the vast majority was still shrub height bushes, about 100 years old. Mr. Gao pointed out some caterpillars that were fattening themselves on tea leaves. “No pesticides used here.”

The village of Ma Hei, Yiwu

Dog & Monkey in Ma Hei

We drove on to Ma Hei village, where I photographed this monkey & dog, fighting over a cracker. Whilst I felt sorry for the captive monkey, its good to know there’s still some running wild on Yiwu mountain. We checked out some bright green leaves wilting in the shade. Mr. Gao showed us how to identify gu shu (ancient tree) tea leaves by looking at their texture, rubbing them between your fingers, and eating them raw. Old tea trees produce thicker, more leathery leaves that don’t easily come apart when you rub them. And gu shu buds should be white & shiny. When you chew them, the flavor is very bitter but there is also a strong sweet fragrance, and the juice is relatively easy to swallow. Tai di cha (terrace plantation tea) is also bitter but with a strong, lasting astringency on the sides & front of the tongue, and the juice is harder to swallow.

Gu shu mao cha

When examining maocha, the colour of gu shu leaves tend to be more highly contrasted with a bright white hairy bud/tip surrounded by a grey, open leaf wrapper, with dark black stem & leaves. By comparison, tai di cha is almost all black, due to the use of fertilizer, the leaves grow quickly and the buds have less white hairs.

Gu shu or Tai di?

It was Mr. Gao’s opinion that the batch of wilting leaves we were examining was approximately 30% xiao shu (small tree), and 70% da shu (big tree). Because big trees grow amongst smaller, younger trees, they are often picked together, and the leaves mixed up in the picker's basket. Some farmers will do separate gu shu and xiao shu pickings, if their customers pay a decent premium, but for most, it's easier to pick all their trees at the same time, and sell the blend as gu shu. There just isn’t enough gu shu material to meet market demand, and with so many buyers, you not only need to be able to tell the difference, you need to have strong relationships with the farmers who own gu shu trees. I had heard from other puer buyers that Ma Hei farmers now use pesticide & fertilizer to boost yields. But as we stood there critiquing this batch of Ma Hei tea, a large, multi coloured beetle crawled out of the leaf pile. “We call this guy the tea boss” Mr. Gao explained. “If he’s around, it’s a good sign!”

茶老板 Cha lao ban, "the tea boss"

The terms "Xiao shu" (small tree) and "tai di" (terrace plantation) are often interchangeably used, but they should be given separate meanings. "Tai di" connotes high intensity farming, with the entire slope cleared & terraced to plant hedgerows & use of pesticide & fertilizer. But in many gu shu growing villages, there are also new tea plantations which are too young to be called gu shu (ie. less than 100 years old), but they aren't exactly "tai di" either. Many of these plants are growing next to old trees, in a bio-diverse forest clearing, with lots of space around them, not all are sprayed & fertilized. In the future, they will grow into "gu shu", until then we should call them "shen tai xiao shu" (naturally grown small trees)

There is also a lack of formal definition for "gu shu." Some say "gu shu" should only refer to trees over 300 years of age, that is left to grow tall, and not pruned back. But in reality, most "gu shu" trees are cultivated, which entails annual pruning to encourage regrowth & lower branches for easy picking. A lot of "gu shu" on the market comes from trees as young as 100 years old, some of which is as short as 1.5m high. But a 100 year old tea tree growing in the wild can also grow higher than 3m high. Eventually the government will legislate what classifies as "gu shu." Until then, let the buyer beware!

In a dark hut, we watched a local Ma Hei woman & her daughter in law “chao qing” tea leaves picked earlier that day. The chao qing process (“frying to kill green” in English) involves wok frying the leaves at high temperature to fix the tea enzymes & stop further oxidation. The giant, black wok, is heated over a wood fire, which some say gives traditionally produced maocha a slight smokiness. Once the leaves are thrown in, you have to constantly scoop & flip them in a rapid spin cycle using your hands (most wear gloves, but Mr. Gao showed us how to do it with bare hands). It can take up to 8-10 minutes to finish the frying, depending on the size of each load. The trick is to turn the pile fast enough so the leaves don’t burn on the bottom or side of the wok. Even after withering the leaves still weigh several kilos, and to keep them turning using only your hands is tiring, back breaking work. But when done properly, the end result is so much more satisfying than maocha produced by electric shaqing drum.

“Faster faster!” Mr. Gao pressured the young girl, who looked really tired & grimy, “You’re going too slow!” She gave him a pained look, wiped her sweaty brow with her wrist. But he was right, when we examined her output, the leaves were slightly overdone, some were even burnt black.

Mr. Gao is well known around here, as he has taught most of the kids in Yiwu at one point or another, but his advice on how to hand process maocha is not always so welcome! I asked Mr. Gao why he doesn’t teach more youngsters how to fry tea properly. “Kids these days have no patience,” he grumbled, “They’re lowly educated and have no ambition. Even my own brother doesn’t always listen to me!”

Dinner in Ma Hei - ku suan on the right

We had an interesting dinner of “ku suan” (bitter bamboo shoots) on a hilltop overlooking Ma Hei. Thunder & lightning flashed in the distance as the sun began to set, and it began to rain as we drove back to Luo Shui Dong, where Mr. Gao asked his god daughter to show us how chao qing should really be done. 

Mr. Gao's god daughter frying leaves in Luo Shui Dong

Adding a little water to the wok, she energetically turned the leaves with her hands, switching to thin bamboo spatulas for the larger loads. “These are the same tools my mum used when she was my age” she told us proudly. “You have to keep frying until the leaves feel like dry, soft rubber - no longer sticking together.”

Wok frying tea leaves

Bamboo spatulas for wok frying large loads of tea leaves

We each took turns frying a wok full of leaves, trying our best to emulate her technique. Bent over the hot wok, I began to sweat immediately. You have to scrape the bottom of the wok each time, and my fragile city slicker fingers began to burn, despite the woolen gloves I was wearing. My arms quickly tired from the constant circular motion of the spin cycle, and I found it hard to keep all the leaves in play, whilst maintaining the consistent rhythm & pace demanded by my teacher. My great respect for tea firers multiplied in those few short minutes!

A tea firer's beautiful black & blistered hands

Mr. Gao’s god daughter showed us her hands, black & blistered from constant contact with the wok. Her shoulders and arms were built up from frying tea day after day. “It’s impossible to make tea and look beautiful” she joked, laughing heartily.

Learning to "rou nian"

Her father squatted on the ground nearby, kneading & rolling the freshly fried leaves on a bamboo tray. With seemingly effortless movements, he rolled the ball of leaves around & around, fingers splaying wide to gather errant leaves back into the ball. This circular kneading motion called “rou nian” looks easy but is hard to master. The trick is to apply enough pressure to bruise & break the leaf walls, whilst rotating the leaves in a tight ball so they are evenly processed & tightly curled. The tight curl makes them look better when pressed into a bing. He let each of us have a go, laughing as we struggled to keep the warm, sticky leaves together.

Cleaning the wok

Finally, the day’s harvest was processed, and it was time to clean up. Mr. Gao opened the tap above the wok and began scrubbing it vigorously with a reed brush. A huge billowing white cloud of steam shot up as the water evaporated.  The fried leaves were evenly spread out to dry on tarpaulins laid out over the floor. If all went well, and tomorrow’s skies were clear, they would be put out to “shai gan” (sun dry). By now, it was already 10pm and everyone was visibly exhausted. But we were thrilled that we had been taught to fry & roll kilos of such valuable gu shu leaves! The warm welcome and tea education we received in Luo Shui Dong is a memory I will treasure forever. 

Reed brush used to clean wok

Mug-steeping tea in Ma Hei