About the service
I pick fireweed from the last days of June through August, taking only the upper and middle part of the shoot, before the fluff starts running up the stem. Nothing is cut closer than a kilometre from roads or from fields that get sprayed, and I stay away from ditches and grazing ground. Leaf gathered with dew still on it darkens before it even begins to wilt, so I wait for the morning to dry. At home the leaf goes into a shaded room in a layer four or five centimetres deep and stays there until the blade turns soft and folds in half without snapping: usually eight to eighteen hours, judged by feel and by the weather rather than by the clock.
Then comes rolling. Part of every batch I twist by hand into tight ropes, part goes through a coarse grinder. The granulated leaf brews faster and gives a darker cup; the hand-rolled one stays lighter and more floral. Fermentation runs under damp cloth at 24-27 degrees, and this is the one stage I never walk away from. Above thirty the cup turns sour, pulled too early it still tastes of grass. I follow the smell as it moves from green to apple and then to honey and stewed fruit, and I stop on that last note. Drying is 50-60 degrees until the stem snaps clean. Scorching undoes everything the work was for: the aromatic oils leave and what remains is coloured paper with no cup behind it.
Blending starts only after the base leaf has rested two or three weeks, because a freshly fermented leaf is still noisy and lies about its own taste. Berries, petals and garden herbs go in at five to fifteen per cent; beyond that the leaf stops being readable and you get fruit compote. Before a batch is packed I brew a sample three ways, at different strengths, and send you the proportions in writing. Please read this plainly: this is a drink, not a medicine. I make no health or preventive claims and give no advice for any illness; if you are pregnant, taking prescribed medication or allergic to pollen, talk to your doctor first. Every pack carries the full composition and the date, and I keep the tea in opaque tins away from light and kitchen smells.
What the order includes:
— harvesting and sorting of the leaf, with the collection place and date recorded;
— wilting, hand rolling or granulation, temperature-controlled fermentation and gentle drying;
— a blend built to your taste with the proportion of berries and flowers agreed with you;
— a tasting sample and written brewing notes before the batch goes into production;
— grinding to leaf, granule or fine cut, packing into opaque tins or kraft pouches with composition and date.
Minimum batch is three kilograms of finished tea. Ten days from the moment the base leaf is ready; if the leaf still has to be harvested, the date depends on the season and I say so honestly before we start.
Then comes rolling. Part of every batch I twist by hand into tight ropes, part goes through a coarse grinder. The granulated leaf brews faster and gives a darker cup; the hand-rolled one stays lighter and more floral. Fermentation runs under damp cloth at 24-27 degrees, and this is the one stage I never walk away from. Above thirty the cup turns sour, pulled too early it still tastes of grass. I follow the smell as it moves from green to apple and then to honey and stewed fruit, and I stop on that last note. Drying is 50-60 degrees until the stem snaps clean. Scorching undoes everything the work was for: the aromatic oils leave and what remains is coloured paper with no cup behind it.
Blending starts only after the base leaf has rested two or three weeks, because a freshly fermented leaf is still noisy and lies about its own taste. Berries, petals and garden herbs go in at five to fifteen per cent; beyond that the leaf stops being readable and you get fruit compote. Before a batch is packed I brew a sample three ways, at different strengths, and send you the proportions in writing. Please read this plainly: this is a drink, not a medicine. I make no health or preventive claims and give no advice for any illness; if you are pregnant, taking prescribed medication or allergic to pollen, talk to your doctor first. Every pack carries the full composition and the date, and I keep the tea in opaque tins away from light and kitchen smells.
What the order includes:
— harvesting and sorting of the leaf, with the collection place and date recorded;
— wilting, hand rolling or granulation, temperature-controlled fermentation and gentle drying;
— a blend built to your taste with the proportion of berries and flowers agreed with you;
— a tasting sample and written brewing notes before the batch goes into production;
— grinding to leaf, granule or fine cut, packing into opaque tins or kraft pouches with composition and date.
Minimum batch is three kilograms of finished tea. Ten days from the moment the base leaf is ready; if the leaf still has to be harvested, the date depends on the season and I say so honestly before we start.
