“Yes, it’s a roasted oolong, but what do you get beyond that?”
“Um.”
I swallowed and looked down at my scribbled notes.
I felt like I was back in Algebra II, trying to figure out the equation of a parabola.
“Good mouthfeel?”
Mr. Edwards nodded, but I could sense the disappointment hanging off his shoulders as he began a second steeping.
We did three more steepings, each longer than the last. The leaves unfurled their green splendor until there was barely room to pour water over them.
When we finished the last taste, Mr. Edwards set his spoon down.
“Okay. Which one would you buy?”
“Number four tasted best,” I said.
“Landon?”
He flipped through his own notes.
“Number two.”
“Why?”
“Better operation.”
“Right. They’ve got higher volume, better pricing, they’re investing in new equipment.”
I looked down at my mess of a tasting notebook.
I wondered if I was ever going to get this right.
What was the point and purpose of loving tea if you weren’t sharing the best taste with people?
Tea was love, not money.
I blinked away my frustration before I experienced a containment breach in the tasting room.
“Good tasting, both of you.” Mr. Edwards stood and pushed his chair in. “Can you handle cleanup and then hit the stock room?”
“Sure,” Landon said.
Mr. Edwards squeezed Landon’s shoulder on the way out the door.
I took the gaiwans to the dishwasher.
“Hey.” Landon brought the spoons over. “Sorry about last night.”
“Did I do something wrong?”
“No. It’s just, I felt out of place, and then that guy was such an asshole when he interrupted us.”
“Trent?”
“Yeah. I didn’t like seeing him treat you that way.”
