My friend Leslie, who likes tea and occasionally reads this blog, asked me how I make tea. Now, I am primarily a black tea drinker and I tend to brew it the British way. This means that I pre-warm a ceramics teapot, put the leaves in, pour water on top as soon as it starts boiling (95C) and let them steep for a few minutes. The first time I try a new tea, I usually follow the vendorâ??s instructions on amount of leaves to use and steeping times, and then adjust them to my taste for the future. When there are none, or, more likely, when I misplace them, I go for the classic British formulaâ??a teaspoon for every cupâ??and almost always end up with something drinkable.

Green tea, however, is a very different kettle of pisces. I find that general formulae donâ??t work at all so I am forced to rely a lot more on vendorsâ?? recommendations, as well as my previous knowledge and a generous amount of trial and error. Which is why I was gutted when I discovered that I had no instructions to brew the tea from Laos I had scheduled for today. I had bought it a few weeks ago from Soana, in Milan, together with an Assam Mokalbari, a Vietnam Shan Tran and a Turkish tea. The old shopkeeper told me how to brew each of them as he placed the leaves in shiny red bags. I should have written it all down pronto, but decided to trust my usually reliable memory instead. It was a show of supreme hubris for which the gods promptly punished me. Because, much as I racked my feeble neurons this morning, I couldnâ??t remember anything. The old manâ??s instructions had vanished in the same black hole that sucked my scarce notions of law and all poems learned by heart at school. A blessed vacuum, whence there is no return.

I opened up the bag in search of inspiration, saw the odd stalk and what looked like coarse leaves, and hazarded a recipe. I steeped 4g of leaves per 7oz in a pot of heavily steaming water for two minutes. The resulting cup was deep golden with a delicate scent blending toasted nuts and some undergrowth with a vegetaley essence. It was very sweet in the mouth with a persistent endnote, which I thought of as barley coffee and which reminded me of Japanese kukicha. It was good, no question about it. A comforting winter tea, like a Corot landscape. Only, I am not sure this is what it was supposed to taste like.

So Leslie, my dear, here is my one tip for you: When you are get a new tea, write the brewing instructions down and keep them safe.