The plane taxis to the runway. The pilot revs the engines, and we barrel along until we lift off, passing over the sandy beach and above the ocean. The plane banks to the right—north. My hands grip the armrests as we hit a few bumps.
I wouldn’t be here now if I hadn’t met Sean. A year ago, on a whim really, I’d gone to the tea expo at the Long Beach Convention Center. On the first day, I attended a seminar on using the unique flavors of different teas to make artisanal cocktails. “It’s the coming trend!” It was the expo’s most popular event, and I came out of the meeting room more than a little tipsy from sampling Earl Grey–infused whiskey, vodka with hibiscus tea ice cubes, and drinks with names like Tea-tini (with vodka, lavender, rosemary, and chamomile), Sen-cha Flip (with gin, Japanese green tea, and frothed egg whites), and Liber-tea (made with Wild Turkey, honey, tea, and basil). “If I weren’t going to Stanford,” I’d commented to one of the other attendees, “I could open a bar and serve all kinds of drinks using tea, dry ice, spherification, foams, and infusions. Chemistry another way!” The woman didn’t even crack a smile. Those tea people take themselves very seriously.
Next I’d gone to a panel on the science of tea. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t a rundown of studies going on around the world looking at the purported health benefits of something I’m interested in for personal reasons but don’t drink myself, except for boba milk tea that I buy in the San Gabriel Valley, which is all about the tapioca balls anyway . . . and now, maybe cocktails. Or that even in a seminar like that one, they were going to serve tea. These scientists from Tufts University, the Tea Research Institute, and a place called the Antioxidants Research Laboratory (whatever that is) started in with all this data about a particular kind of tea called Pu’er that reportedly can help with diabetes, lower blood pressure, prolong longevity, and produce palliative outcomes for everything from altitude sickness to gout to symptoms of HIV/AIDS. Talk about a buzzkill! I thought, Some people will believe anything. I hate people who prey on the weak or sick, giving them false hope when they should be relying on medicine and science. So I was doing a whole pat-myself-on-the-back thing—I’m going to Stanford for real science—when they start showing slides like I’m in a chemistry or biology class.
Randomized Double-blind, Placebo-controlled Clinical Trials (RCT) Effects of Tea on Body Weight, Energy Metabolism, and Recovery from Stress
Beverage formulated with green tea catechins, caffeine, and calcium: increased 24-hour resting energy expenditure (REE) by 106 kcal (4.6%) in 31 young, lean individuals.
In 12-week RCT, with green tea extract (GTE, 750 mg) containing 141 mg catechins to 60 sedentary and overweight (BMI:27.7) individuals: increase in REE and decrease in body weight, despite no change in food intake.
In 6-week RCT with black tea, 76 males divided into two groups. Half receive caffeinated beverage made from tea; half receive caffeinated placebo. Both groups presented with challenging tasks, with cortisol, blood pressure, blood platelet, and self-rated stress levels measured pre-and post-. 50 minutes after completion of tasks, cortisol levels drop 47% in tea group compared to 27% given placebo.
Suddenly, I felt on much firmer ground. They showed slides with chemical percentages, dosages, and study methodology for different age-groups, sexes, and countries in studies that covered glucose tolerance, cardiovascular disease, bone density, cognitive function, neurodegenerative disease, and, of course, various types of cancer. Outcomes ranged from “compelling” to “equivocal at best.” Not exactly ringing endorsements, but I was intrigued and I sure couldn’t blame it on the second sample of Sen-cha Flip I’d drunk earlier. At the end of the presentation, I asked for cards from all the participants, one of whom was Dr. Barry, who later agreed to let me work on her study.
Feeling a bit giddy, I walked down the aisles of the show and it was much like any expo, with a whole range of vendors—from the English tea-cozy ladies to Kenyan tea-plantation promoters, from Japanese women in kimonos doing a formal tea ceremony to Portland hipsters with flower-based products. I stopped for a moment to watch a man—Chinese, handsome, and five or so years older than I am—pouring tea for a group of people, letting the liquid slosh over the rims of the cups. It was truly messy and completely unlike the elegance in the Japanese booth. The man caught me observing him and called, “Join us.” When I hesitated, he beckoned me with what had to be a Chinese proverb. “Every passing moment is the passing of life; every moment of life is life itself.” Who says that to a random stranger? It certainly wasn’t a line I’d heard before, so I entered the booth and sat down. He introduced himself as Sean Wong.
“Here,” he said, pouring tea from a glass pitcher into a white porcelain cup, “I want you to sample my Pu’er.” The first sip of liquid blossomed in my mouth—bitterness bubbled away by sweetness. He watched my reaction, smiled more to himself than to me, and then proceeded to brew several more vintages of Pu’er, each one better than the last. One tea had such strong huigan—what he described as the overwhelming effect that this tea has on breath and opening the chest—that for a moment the world went dizzy. “That’s because you’re drinking history,” he explained.
His laugh made my heart race. And honestly, I could barely take my eyes off him. His cheekbones were sharp, his eyes seemed wary, his hair shone like lacquer. He was friendly and obviously some type of tea connoisseur. The careless way he poured the valuable teas, letting them overflow their little cups to show abundance, was oddly entrancing. Why he’d set up a stall at the expo wasn’t and still isn’t clear, but I’d gone to high school with plenty of girls like him and now I was surrounded by his ilk—guys and girls—at Stanford, who are part of the People’s Republic of China’s wealthy and international jet-setting elite.
I don’t know what made me do it, but I mentioned my tea cake. Bragging, I guess. Or wanting to prolong my time with him. He was immediately intrigued.
“They say that the most valuable tea will be found right here in Southern California,” he said. “It would have come with a sojourner a hundred years ago, been given as a gift, or received as payment for something.”
“How valuable?” I asked.
“Last year a cake of Pu’er, weighing three hundred and ninety grams—a little under a pound—sold at auction for one point two million Hong Kong dollars. That’s about one hundred and fifty thousand U.S.”
“My tea cake can’t be worth anything like that,” I said.
“How do you know?”
The next day, I brought my tea cake to see if he or someone else could tell me about it. People offered exorbitant sums to buy it, but Sean had the most tempting offer: “Just as a person is searching for tea, the tea is searching for the person. Come with me to China for a week. We’ll make a pilgrimage to your tea cake’s place of origin. Put yourself in my hands. I’ll take care of everything.”