Sugimoto Reserve Gyokuro Shizuku

I am partial to Uji gyokuro. It is the standard I return to almost by reflex—the depth, the shading, the unmistakable authority of the cup. So when I approached this Dento Hon Gyokuro from Yame, I expected excellence within that familiar frame. What I did not expect was how quickly it would establish a different bearing, and how completely it would make its case. This is, first of all, a serious tea in the traditional sense. The depth is there from the outset: a full, brothy umami on the first infusion, substantial without heaviness, and carried on a texture that is at once silky and weighty. That paradox is not unusual in the best gyokuros, but here it is handled with particular composure. Nothing protrudes. Nothing is exaggerated. The elements do not present themselves one by one so much as arrive already in balance. The aroma begins where one might expect—clean, garden-like, a suggestion of sweetness folded into green leaf—but it settles into something quieter and more integrated as the cup develops. There is a floral aspect, though not a high or perfumed one. It feels less like a note to be singled out than part of the tea’s overall refinement, a softening and rounding within the structure rather than an adornment laid over it. What distinguishes this tea most clearly, however, is not any single quality but the way those qualities hold together. It does not announce itself. It does not press its depth or its umami forward in the manner of some lesser or more insistent gyokuros. And yet it cannot be treated casually. One notices it—not because it demands attention, but because it is so fully present. The cup feels complete from the first sip, not in the sense of being static, but in the sense that nothing seems provisional or out of place. It arrives as a whole. That completeness reveals itself over time rather than through contrast. Across successive infusions, the tea opens without strain: the broth broadens, the sweetness becomes more apparent, the texture shifts slightly while retaining its core integrity. It is a tea one can stay with, turning it over on the palate, following its movement without ever feeling that it has resolved into something simple or spent. The intricacy is there, but it is not displayed; it is discovered through attention. In relation to Uji gyokuro, the difference is not one of quality but of expression. Where the finest Uji teas can feel almost canonical—deep, unmistakable, fully declared—this Yame gyokuro speaks in a quieter register. It is no less grounded in the shaded tradition, but it carries itself with a certain ease, a gentler authority. The depth is real, the structure intact, yet the overall impression is less of weight than of composure. It is also, somewhat unusually for a tea of this class, versatile in its mood. There is enough substance here to suit a gray afternoon, enough clarity and lift to sit comfortably in brighter hours. It does not depend on setting to complete it. It brings its own. In many ways I remain partial to Uji, but this gyokuro, first encountered at the San Francisco Tea Festival some years ago, remains the first to make that preference feel less like a boundary than a habit. It did not weaken my sense of what the best gyokuro can be; it enlarged it.

have not tasted a better tea

Fantastic tea.

This tea has some excellent flavor. Truly a high-quality offering of a rich and delicious Gyokuro. This is a joy to drink.

A superlative tea!