Across the five faces of Jingmai — selected by Amgalan Chin
I first walked the Jingmai ridge during spring harvest, following the ancient cobbled paths between Mangjing, Wengji, Nuogang, Banpo, and Jingmai Dazhai. Each village — separated sometimes by only a few kilometers — produced tea that felt like a distinct dialect of the same language. The elders have known this for generations: different exposition, different soil, different spirit in the cup. This flight is not a competition; it is a quiet study. Over five mornings, I sat in each village’s tea room, tasting maocha straight from the wok, choosing the batches that best preserved the character of their place — the high-floral tone of Mangjing’s old trees, the honeyed density of Wengji, the mineral clarity of Nuogang, the wild apricot of Banpo, and the balanced depth of Jingmai Dazhai. As someone who came to tea from the northern routes, through Mongolia and Siberia, I am drawn to how a single mountain can hold so many voices. My hope is that this set lets you hear them, deliberately, slowly, cup after cup.