I am usually rather wary of flowery reviews that tell me a tea has hints of banana or underripe tomato. The truth is these descriptions hugely depend on the reviewer’s frame of gustatory reference. And because they are so subjective and hardly ever give me an indication on whether I would actually like to drink that tea.

I remember once reading a wine tasting report which defined a particular wine as tasting of wilted flowers and soaked prunes. Well, I haven’t got a clue what wilted flowers taste of–let alone whether I’d like to find traces of it in my glass. Sometimes, these descriptors trigger mental pictures that can be outright offputting. I remember once an olive oil tasting where the producer was terribly keen to tell us that his oil had apricot notes. Suddenly I had this vision of drizzling apricot juice all over my salad and the thought was hardly appealing.

But then one such flowery description happened on me. I was drinking a cup of Sencha when it hit me. Its scent evoked strong childhood memories of a sun-drenched hillside covered with wild irises. Now I can’t manage to shake it off. No matter how else I try to define it, Sencha for me tastes of wild irises in summer. So I now have a lot more understanding for flowery reviewers.