The Melting Teapot

I love the blossom and the vines twining around this small, fist-sized teapot.  The shape and the ornamental nature of the pot make me think of kabocha squash, which is a favorite of mine.   The teapot has been sitting on a shelf since last August, when my mother gave me a box full of Asian teapots.  This one has been calling to me while I searched for just the right tea to use in it.

My mother enjoys going to estate auctions, and she always keeps an eye out for tea-related items for me.  Last summer, mom stumbled upon a collection of yixing teapots at bargain basement prices (about $3 each!).  She phoned me before purchasing them, asking if the small child-size pots, made from what looked like unglazed terra cotta clay, were the type I’d spoken of in the past.  She described them as intricately detailed, in various shapes and colors, and said that they included several wooden stands in the box.  No one else at the auction seemed interested, and mom was sure she’d be able to get them for me.

On my end of the phone connection, four states away, I was jumping up and down (well, as up and down as my bad knees and chunky frame allow).  You see, I know that yixings can be quite a bit pricier than a mere three dollars; they range from about $20 for mass produced pots, to thousands of dollars for artistic or antique pieces.  Even if these were at the low end, I would be getting a great deal.  More importantly, though, I would be able to appreciate the teapots that had been so carefully collected by the previous owner.

After a trip home to Wyoming one month later, the number of my yixing teapots more than doubled. I now have a substantial collection, and I’ve been gradually assigning teas to each pot.

Yixings are small, unglazed clay teapots.  They are usually used for Chinese and Taiwanese tea, with leaves packed in the pot for multiple steepings.  Owners dedicate each teapot to a type of tea, to a specific region or mountain, or even to one particular farm's tea.  Over the years, the clay begins to take on the characteristics of that tea.  There are apocryphal accounts that say after decades of use, an yixing pot with only hot water added will still produce a cup of tea.

I don’t know if that will ever happen with me, but I can say that the most used yixing at my house has definitely begun to take on some of the aromas of my favorite morning tea.  The porous clay now contains traces of the peppery cocoa nibs that characterize Golden Yunnan.   It has also grown deeper in color, the brown becoming a dusted chocolate and the cream taking on a dark golden hue it did not have six years ago.

I’ve slowly been dedicating each yixing pot to a different type of tea.  In addition to the yixing above, there are two other teapots used exclusively for black teas. Three more are puerh pots -- one for baked puerhs, one that I use for smokey roasted puerhs, and a pot that is for raw or green puerh.   I also have yixings in use for three different types of oolong:   Lishan, Alishan, and other high mountain.

Recently, a friend of mine brought some Dong Ding oolong to share with me.  I had not established a Dong Ding yixing yet, so we contemplated various pots.  Dong Ding is usually a more roasted tea than many Taiwan oolongs, and the region is not located on a high mountain. My friend had me lightly tap the teapots with their lid, listening to the soft chime.  Higher pitches are evidently good for high mountain teas, while lower pitches are best for other teas.  The squash pot acquired by my mother was of a medium pitch compared to the rest, so it seemed appropriate for this oolong.

Something I didn't notice until actually using the teapot was the size of the handle.  It has quite a bit of space for the fingers, which protects them from the heat of the pot.  It is also extremely well balanced as it pours, taking no effort to remain steady in the hand.  The lid fits well, so there is no need to hold it to keep it from sliding off. The combination of artistry with utility is spot on.

I find myself craving roasted teas in the chilly days of autumn, when the smokey sweetness from the roasting process seems to best match that time of year.  It will be pleasantly harmonious to brew Dong Ding in my squash teapot during the height of squash harvest.

By the way, the Dong Ding from my friend was delightful.  We only shared one brewing that day, so I kept the tea leaves in the pot overnight to brew on day two.  I ended up with six or seven steepings of the tea, and there probably could have been more.  The tea had a comforting aroma of roasted coconut, and the taste was light and not overly smokey. There was an elegant, long-lasting finish that reminded me of late summer fruit.