I’m often asked how I taste tea. And to be honest, most of the time it’s simply a matter of brewing tea for my wife and myself and enjoying the fleeting moment. I pay attention to the quality and temperature of the water, the nuance of the fragrance, the feel and texture on the palate, the taste itself, and the aroma that lingers after I swallow. Then, of course, there is the subtle shift in my body as caffeine and theanine begin to work on my nervous system.
But the question people usually mean to ask is different. They want to know how I evaluate tea—what I look for when assessing a tea’s quality in a more formal sense. This kind of evaluation is separate from personal preference. It’s about identifying characteristics that reflect a producer’s skill, intention, and control, regardless of whether the tea aligns perfectly with my own tastes. Naturally, the teas that make it into our catalog tend to satisfy both criteria: they demonstrate technical excellence while also being deeply pleasurable to drink.
After revisiting the interview I did with Yoshiaki Hiruma, I felt inspired to reach into the small cache of his teas tucked away in my refrigerator—not just to taste one, but to apply my own method of evaluation and do my best to summarize the experience here. It’s important for me to say that while some of the criteria and structure of this approach overlap with formal tea evaluation protocols used in Japan, what follows is very much my own way—for better or worse.
This method is simply how I arrive at my conclusions. It has served me well for a decade and a half, and more often than not, I arrive at the same conclusions as tea professionals in Japan. That said, it is not meant to be definitive, and some may find faults in it. So be it.
In the case of this tea—as with all teas I try for the first time—I follow the producer’s instructions first. Even when I feel dubious about the suggested parameters, I believe it’s essential to experience the tea as the producer intends before applying my own adjustments.
Most of the teas I have from Hiruma-san are versions of temomi-cha, hand-rolled teas that speak as much to devotion as they do to flavor. What caught my attention this time, however, was something more orthodox: a 2024 hinpyōkai competition sencha labeled Shizuku—a name some may recognize from our Yame gyokuro—meaning “to drink drip by drip.”
Made from 100% Yabukita leaves grown in the town of Iruma, in southern Saitama Prefecture near the Tokyo border, this tea showcases the character of its parent cultivar far more than the character of its place. Simply put, this is a tea designed to express Hiruma-san’s ability to coax a precise profile through intimate knowledge of his fields, the season, and every machine in his factory.
What follows are my notes, with explanations of the finer points.
Brewing Parameters
5g leaf
30g water @ 160°F
Brew time: 1 minute
Dry Leaf
Competition sencha is often celebrated for its beauty. The ideal of the needle-shaped leaf is taken to an extreme, with the finest examples showing long, uniform needles and very little—if any—small leaf particles. This visual precision is not incidental; it is the visible result of restraint, timing, and skill at every stage of production.
What is most impressive about a well-made hinpyōkai tea is how many points of talent it demands. Harvesting must be done with great care—ideally by hand—to ensure that only the full leaf and a minimal amount of stem are taken. Steaming then becomes a narrow margin exercise: too short, and the leaf remains hard and resistant; too long, and the leaf weakens, breaking down during rolling.
While every processing step matters, it is ultimately steaming and rolling that make—or break—a tea of this caliber. These two stages determine not only the structural integrity of the leaf, but also whether the finished tea can achieve both visual perfection and aromatic clarity.
In the case of this tea, the rolling and overall processing were handled expertly. The leaf shows strong control and intention. That said, the harvest itself may have come from mechanical picking or from a group of pickers operating with less-than-perfect consistency, as suggested by minor irregularities in leaf uniformity. Still, for all that, it’s not too shabby at all.
Nose
When lightly steamed, as this tea has been, the Yabukita cultivar typically exudes a piercing grassy quality. This is due largely to the presence of cis-3-hexenol and cis-3-hexenal in relatively high concentrations. Both are plant-derived aldehydes.
Hexenal develops primarily through the physical disruption of the leaf during harvesting and reads as fresh, vivid, and sharply green. Hexanols, by contrast, tend to develop through mechanical stress during processing—most notably rolling, crushing, and shaping—and express a greener, more raw, “plant-like” character. Fukamushi teas are often a clear showcase of hexanol-driven aromatics.
When evaluating a well-harvested, lightly processed hinpyōkai sencha, we hope to find hexenal more prominently than hexanol. This balance is one of the markers of best-in-class asamushi: bright and articulate rather than heavy or coarse, revealing precision rather than force. In the case of this tea, indeed we find the light “Wet” dew-like grassiness we would hope to find in a tea of this class. So I will chalk that up as a great sign - one that points to a well-made “competition” tea.
Color
Yabukita is the reference point for Japanese tea—its baseline cultivar. Color, more than almost any other attribute, is judged in relation to Yabukita: other cultivars are read as darker or lighter by comparison. The ideal expression is one of restraint. A soft, luminous green with high clarity rather than density.
This is not the opaque, green-pea broth often associated with Asanoka or Saemidori. Quite the opposite. Yabukita is not overtly seen—it is felt. The liquor can be viscous on the palate while remaining visually light in the cup.
This offering exemplifies that balance. As shown in the photos above, the brewed tea glows with a gentle, neon hue—clear, refined, and quietly expressive. It is a testament to Hiruma-san’s precise control in the factory, where subtlety is not accidental but intentional.
Flavor / Aromatics
Here we arrive at the true showcase of the tea: its flavor and aroma. While much can be inferred about quality before the first sip, there is always a quiet thrill in tasting—discovering what is actually present once the tea meets the palate.
This tea offered a surprise. It opens with a soft, green–almond fragrance, followed by a lush, springlike bouquet of flowers—unexpected and utterly captivating. My notes also reveal a gentle, dark-chocolate bitterness, a subtle saline backbone, and an abundance of hexanal-driven aromas that lend freshness and lift. Lovely and precise.
Final Thoughts
And I suspect you can already guess whether this tea brought me a feeling of joy and satisfaction. If you know me—and if you know how deeply I admire Hiruma-san’s teas—you already have your answer. Yes, yes, and yes.
This is not only a tea of high quality and a first-class example of Shuppin style; it is also deeply satisfying and eminently drinkable. It is a serious tea, but not one that asks to be taken too seriously. Lithe, compelling, and quietly enchanting.
For a tea that is meant to “check the boxes” (which it does, effortlessly), it still manages to surprise. And perhaps that is what I am always searching for: that moment of surprise, and the reminder of how compelling tea can be when it is made by someone genuinely striving to do their very best.
0 comments