I nearly forgot my second Pu-erh. I was rearranging my tea cabinet this morning when an elegant dark green bag with a golden ribbon cropped up from its deepest recesses. It was the loose leaf Pu-erh I had bought a couple of weeks ago from Fortnum & Mason with a view to drinking it during the tea tour.

How it ended up so far back into the cabinet I donâ??t know, but being out of sight put it very much out of mind, so I forgot to try it when I had the mini Tuocha a few days ago. Anyway, this surprise find gave me as good an excuse as any to try it today. And it tied perfectly well with my newly-found determination to improve my gongfu skills.

I rinsed gaiwan, pitcher and cup, then placed 6 grams of Pu-erh leaves in the gaiwan. Pouring the water made the usual lake around the kitchen, but I smartened up my act and used a towel this time round to avoid major disasters. After rinsing the leaves twice, I steeped them for five breaths. The resulting cup was deep brown with a gorgeous red at the meniscus that would have made a Bordeaux envious. The scent was distinctly earthy, like a slightly musty old cellar full of treasures. For a Pu-erh, it was surprisingly light in the mouth with a balanced earthiness throughout. It was very restrained, and as elegant as its packaging.

I steeped the leaves for seven breaths at second infusion to see whether I could throw that balance out of kilter. I failed. The earthiness came out more vigorously but it was still perfectly poised, perfectly balanced. Graceful and intimate like a Vermeer. And like the Dutch artistâ??s work, I am so very glad I rediscovered it after a period of oblivion.

Iâ??ll admit it outright. I know very little about Pu-erh. I have hardly ever come across it and, until recently, it was hardly common in the UK. Now it has become a tad more widespread, although it fails to match the levels of popularity that it seems to enjoy in the US.

Much of what I know about Pu-erh I owe to tea books such as the Tealover’s Companion, and to an excellent online resource, www.pu-erh.net , run by a real connoisseur named Mike Petro.

Taking time to delve through his site is the best way to find out about this tea, which is often shrouded in myth. For those in a hurry, a one-sentence summary is that Pu-erh is aged tea, which matures over time to acquire an earthy character. Originally made in Yunnan out of the large leaves of the local tea bushes, it has more than a thousand years of history. According to traditional Chinese medicine, it also has several health benefits, which partly derive from the microbes that become active in the tea as it matures.

Pu-erhs can either be blackâ??made out of oxidized tea leavesâ??or green, made out of leaves that have been heated to stop the oxidation process before being dried. Both then undergo a lengthy aging period.

Like Bordeaux and unlike humans, green Pu-erh mellows with age. Black Pu-erh, by contrast, is mellowed by oxidation so it is easy to drink even at young ages. Connoisseurs like Petro say that naturally aged green Pu-erhs have by far the most intriguing flavor. As I lack the palette of tastes required to appreciate these teas in full, I thought Iâ??d make my wallet happy and go for a black Pu-erh.

I bought some mini Tuochaâ??small bowls of compressed tea that look like tiny birdâ??s nestsâ??from Special Teas. This morning, I brewed the tea according to instruction, by steeping a mini bowl for a six oz cup for five minutes (after rinsing the leaves). The cup looked fabulous. A rich, voluptuous coffee brown with a strong earthy smell. I said out loud that it smelled like mud, so my husband immediately piped:
“Why would you want to drink that?”

It took me a while to explain that it was a lovely muddy, earthy smell. Even when I thought I had managed to get the message across he remained stubborn in his determination not to try it. Of course he was prejudiced, but, for once, he may have had a point. The tea smelled better than it tasted. It was very robust in the mouth, smooth and initially sweet, with a solidly earthy aftertaste. But it was also simple, in your face. It lacked complexity, which left me slightly unsatisfied. Great execution but no layers, like a reliable painter from the Italian Ottocentoâ??a De Nittis landscape, perhaps.

Maybe this is the reason Petro says that green Pu-erh is better? Or perhaps I need to brew it differently. I have asked him to recommend brewing methods, and I am going to try the Tuocha again tomorrow, Petro-style.