Black tea leaves from the Wuyi Mountains of Fujian, withered and dried over smoldering pine rather than the usual charcoal or hot air, so that tar, resin, and a faint sweetness settle into the leaf itself. The tea is hand-processed in small batches, the leaves twisted and dark, carrying an unmistakable campfire scent even before water touches them.
The story goes that lapsang souchong was invented by accident, when a passing army delayed a batch of tea long enough that the farmers, rushing to dry it before the next harvest crowded the sheds, fired it over the nearest fuel to hand — pinewood — and found the result worth keeping. Whether or not the story is exact in every detail, the method has held for roughly four hundred years, and the tea became a favorite of European drinkers who wanted their cup to smell of woodsmoke and old libraries rather than flowers.
Steep a teaspoon for three to four minutes in water just off the boil. It holds its own against milk, and stands up equally well taken plain.
An ordinary black tea beyond its smoke, carrying the caffeine any black tea does — a cup kept for the ritual and the flavor, not for any claimed effect beyond that.
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