Friday, January 11, 2008
Posted by Miss Neddy at 10:40 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink
Categories: Tea Related

In Hong Kong and Southern Chinese teahouses and restaurants, you may frequently find people tapping their fingers, bent at the first joint, on the table when they are served tea. The origin of this habit goes back to the Qing dynasty, when the emperor Qianlong made his frequent journeys incognito to the southern part of China. The region was known as Jiangnan (江南）or literally “South of the River”, referring to areas south of the lower reaches of the Yangtze River, also known as Changjiang (长江) or the Long River.

It is said that the emperor travelled incognito to Jiangnan with only a small group of loyal servants, and in order to retain his disguise, took his turn to serve to the servants when they were in the teahouse. By the laws of the time, anything bestowed by the emperor had to be received by kowtowing in thanks, or the recipient would be beheaded for ingratitude. And yet, should the servants kowtow, the emperor’s disguise would fall apart, and displeasing the emperor also carried the threat of death. What to do?

A particularly quick-thinking servant tapped his fingers, folded slightly, on the table when he was served tea by the emperor, as a sign of thanks. Some say he used three fingers to signify his head and knees; others say two fingers, to signify his knees alone (kneeling was mandatory before the emperor during the Qing dynasty; kowtowing was not). From then on, as a sign of thanks and respect to the person serving tea, many people would silently tap their fingers on the table.

Another tale of Qianlong relates to the famous Hangzhou Longjing. Even prior to the Manchurian invasion and the formation of the Qing Dynasty, Hangzhou’s Longjing was famous throughout China as a top grade tea. Qianlong, like his father Yongzheng, and grandfather Kangxi, was a great lover of tea. When he arrived in Xihu (the West Lake region in Hangzhou), naturally he wanted to try the tea in its native clime.

Qianlong sat down at a table in a teahouse overlooking the West Lake and ordered a cup of Longjing. It was served. He took a sip.

He was not impressed.

Disappointed, Qianlong stood up from his stool and proceeded to walk out of the teahouse. On the third step he took, he paused.

And returned to his table, to finish the cup.

Many teas may seem disappointing on the first sip, as the fragrance may seem faint, and the taste unremarkable. Wulongs may taste bitter, and green teas too raw. But after a few moments, a delicious sweetness may swell up in the mouth, and one gradually discerns the unique scent of the tea one has just imbibed.

Even an emperor may be fooled by first impressions, although he had the wisdom to realise his mistake.

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