Chinese are very particular about the quality of the water they use to make tea and how they go about boiling it. But it goes beyond that-when a true aficionado experiences a tea, the tongue, the palate, and the throat all go to work.

If you want to make a pot of good tea, high-quality tea leaves and a tea service are just part of what's necessary. According to Cheng Pei-kai, a professor at the City University of Hong Kong who has edited and annotated records in the second volume of the Tang dynasty Classic of Tea by Lu Yu, when Chinese people make tea, they typically take note of the following: (1) You've got to have good water, and the best are (in order) mountain spring water, river water, and well water. (2) You've got to pay strict attention to how the water is heated, carefully controlling the momentum of the boil. Which is just to say that you've got to pay close attention to the water quality and boiling time.

Half-and-half

In Taiwan of the 1990s, the same principles are respected. On weekends and holidays, tea lovers make the long hike to a clear spring in the mountains of Hsichih. There are several waterfalls in Wulai outside of Taipei, and on weekends and holidays other tea drinkers drive here to draw water for making tea. How peaceful it feels to sit quietly and listen to the gurgle of the mountain springs! And there are some tea houses that make a point of using charcoal to boil their water for tea.

Ancient tea lovers were just as sensitive about tea water as their counterparts are today. Professor Cheng tells this story about Lu Yu, who was regarded as a "tea god":

Once when Lu Yu was traveling, he passed through Yangzhou and paid a visit to his friend Li Ji. Overjoyed, Li Ji suggested they go draw some water from the famous Nanling Spring in the middle of the Yangzi River and make a pot of tea. So he sent a trusted officer to fetch the water. After a short while the officer returned. Lu Yu used a ladle to scoop up some of the water, and said, "It is Yangzi River water, but it's not Nanling water. It appears to be water that was drawn close to the bank."

The officer vehemently denied Lu Yu's assertion: "More than 100 people saw me take a boat to the middle of the river to draw the water, so why would I lie to you?" Lu Yu said nothing more, and started pouring the water out. When half of it had been poured, he suddenly stopped and took out a ladle full of water, saying, "Beginning here, it's Nanling water." The officer was taken aback and lay prostrate, confessing his sin: "After I took the Nanling water, the boat shook as I approached shore and I lost half of it. Because I feared it wouldn't be enough, I added some water from the shore. Able as you are to discern even the finest of distinctions in the water, you are truly a 'tea god.'"

Tasting the fuel

Chen Huan-tang, a tea dealer, once remembers as a child hearing his parents and grandparents talking about a rich family who were very particular about what fuel they used to heat the water for tea. To boil the tea water, they used the same vegetable oil they used for cooking and lighting lamps. The purpose was to better regulate the flame and to make a good-tasting pot of tea.

There is a widely told story about one rich family who tried to pretend that they hadn't lost their fortune when an old friend, whom they hadn't seen for many years, came to visit. They took out an expensive tea and exquisite tea service, but by the time the friend had finished his first cup of tea, tears covered his face, for he knew, without needing to be told, what had befallen his hosts. He could taste that they had boiled the water for tea with bamboo instead of vegetable oil, and thus had tasted their fall from wealth.

In Taiwan in the 1990s, do people still have previous generations' ability to taste in the tea the fuel that was used to boil it? In the 1970s, when the art of tea appreciation took hold here, many tea lovers strove hard to cultivate a taste for tea no less refined, as the following paragraphs describe:

"'Proper tea drinking puts a premium on clarity, moderation and cultivation.' What's being described here are the 'three flavors' of drinking. 'Clarity' does not refer to clarity of taste but rather the general bodily feeling that arises as tea is experienced by the sensory organs.

"We first must have a feel for our sense of taste, which we get from our taste buds that extend from both sides of the tongue at the tip back to the root of the tongue. When we drink tea, we use our palate even more, and we rely on our nostrils. When the tea enters the mouth, hold it for a moment on the tongue. In the time from when it enters our mouth to when it stops on the tongue, we can determine whether it is robust. . . ."

This was written by tea-arts instructor Chan Hsun-hua in his book Tasting Tea. But as far as most people are concerned, all this may seem a bit arcane.

p.97

By the Song dynasty, the art of tea had developed to the point where they had begun to use the terms "dian cha" and "dou cha," which are used in tea making competitions today. "Dian cha" (whisking tea) describes what tea artists do when making green tea. First they put green tea powder in a bowl. When they add boiled water, bubbles rise with the powder, which the makers whisk with long spoons, conjuring up images in the water. Only when the bubbles have risen to the surface is the tea ready. "Dou cha" (fighting tea) describes what happens when two tea makers compete at "dian cha." Selecting water of good quality and controlling its boiling are, of course, also very important for making a good tea. (Fighting Tea by Meng Fu, Yuan dyansty. Rephotographed from The Art of Tea, published by Youth Cultural Enterprise.)