Dragon Well owes its name to a spring near Hangzhou's West Lake, one said to be watched over by a dragon whose water was believed to carry magical, healing qualities. The tea grown on the slopes of Shi Feng Mountain nearby became famous enough to be praised by name during a Qing Dynasty visit from Emperor Qianlong, and it's been treated as a high point of Chinese tea culture ever since, referenced as far back as the Tang Dynasty.
The leaves are picked by hand in early spring, just the top two leaves and a bud, while they still carry the most flavor. They're pan-fired in hot woks almost immediately after picking, a step that halts oxidation and gives the leaves their flat, slender shape and bright green color. Farmers control the heat and drying carefully so the finished leaves come out even and consistent, which is part of why the tea has such a settled, smooth character rather than any raw or grassy edge.
In the cup, Dragon Well leans nutty and chestnut-like, with a buttery softness under a base note of fresh grass, and a drying finish that lingers a bit like coffee. The liquor runs pale jade, and the taste holds together even though there's a fair amount going on in it.
Caffeine sits in a moderate range, gentler than coffee but still enough for a real lift, and green tea tends to release it slowly, so the alertness comes on steady rather than sharp. Dragon Well has long been drunk not just for its flavor but for a general sense of wellbeing, though that's tradition talking more than anything proven.
To brew it, use water heated to about 80°C rather than a full boil, since boiling water scorches the delicate leaves and turns the cup bitter. A rough guide is 5 grams of leaf per 150ml of water, steeped for around two minutes, adjusted shorter for a milder cup or longer for something stronger. The leaves hold up to more than one steep, with the flavor shifting a little each time, and keeping them in an airtight container away from light and heat helps preserve that character.
