Farewell, My Concubine

China's favourite old classic romantic opera, a "Tosca" in Mandarin, but three or four times as long, is entitled "Farewell, my Concubine."

Unlike Mandarins of yore, and by no means all of them Chinese, concubines have I none. No matter whether Chinese, European or Uzbek, men of my age and condition are wise to remain monogamous apart from all but the most unavoidable amatory involvements. This does not mean my love belongs exclusively to the "Love of my Life," but in place of philandery or philately, I have my tea. The daily companionship of this magical leaf aids sociability and solaces solitude. But the life of some teas is short, not unlike the tea's flavour on the tongue, which may persist and linger a long time, like the sound of a song in the distance.

The Autumnal equinox has brought us the last days during which we may still enjoy our beloved Green Teas, those beautiful concubines whom we have promiscuously and shamelessly enjoyed since their appearance in our world last spring. These beauties that have unfailingly uplifted spirits and made up for the way the world won't come right, are soon to be taken from us by Time, which gradually renders leaf sear and yellow and diminishes aroma and leaves flavours finally stale.

Farewell, my concubines! The Dragon Well has yet to loose its freshness, and the Anji Bai Cha is still a child. And look at the others, the Sencha and also Gyokuro. But youth is fleeting and we must hurry to drink up teas like these before their adolescent charm has vanished, as it surely will have before the Chinese New Year is upon us. Now the Autumn Moon Festival has passed and the days and nights are equal and we begin our slide into longer darkness and the winter cold. These are the last days of those concubines, our beloved Green Teas. Let us linger over their innocence before bidding them farewell, before we enjoy their cousins, the complex and seductive Oolongs.

James Norwood Pratt is author of New Tea Lovers' Treasury and the Tea Dictionary.