Longjing—often spelled Lung Ching in older European texts—is the single green tea most likely to appear on a Chinese grandmother’s kitchen shelf, a Michelin-starred restaurant’s menu, and the gift list of every visiting head of state. Yet beyond its fame lies a quiet story of geology, dynastic politics, and hand-craft that turns one spring morning’s bud into the jade-colored liquor foreigners sometimes call “liquid jade.”
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Historical echoes
The first verifiable mention of “Longjing” as a place appears in the Ming dynasty gazetteer of Hangzhou prefecture (1461), but legend pushes the clock back to 250 CE, when a Taoist monk is said to have dug a well on Lion Peak and summoned a dragon that brought rain to drought-stricken farmers. By the Song dynasty the same spring watered small tea gardens patronized by Buddhist temples; when the Qianlong Emperor toured the south in 1751 he planted eighteen bushes himself in front of Hugong Temple, an act that elevated the tea to tribute status. British plant-hunter Robert Fortune stole cuttings in 1848, yet failed to replicate the taste in the Nilgiris—an early hint that Longjing is inseparable from Hangzhou’s terroir. -
Micro-terroirs within West Lake
Chinese connoisseurs speak of “five peaks and one village.” Shi Feng (Lion Peak) gives the sweetest, most chestnut-forward leaf because its quartz-rich soil cools quickly at night. Mei Jia Wu, the flat valley south of the lake, yields a grassier, fuller body favored by restaurants. Weng Jia Shan offers a mineral snap reminiscent of wet stone, while Longjing Village itself—now ringed by boutique hotels—still produces the benchmark balance of floral top notes and bean-like sweetness. Beyond the protected 168 km² core zone, counties such as Xinchang and Songyang make “Zhejiang Longjing”; serviceable yet lacking the lingering, almost lactonic aftertaste that core-zone leaves deliver. -
Cultivar alphabet
The original Old-tree Qunti (heirloom) population—seed-grown, genetically diverse—survives only on inaccessible cliff plots and is prized for its low yield and high aromatics. In the 1980s the clonal Longjing #43 was released: earlier sprouting, uniform bushes, brighter green liquor, but thinner texture. More recent is the Zhongcha 102 series, bred for frost resistance, whose leaves carry a faint magnolia note. Purists insist on Qunti for pre-Qingming lots, while commercial brands blend #43 for consistency. -
The 10-hand 10-second wok dance
Authentic Longjing is pan-fired, not steamed like Japanese sencha. After dusk picking (to avoid sun-wilting), leaves are spread 2 cm thick in bamboo trays for 6-8 h withering—just enough to lose the grassy edge. Master craftsmen use two woks: the first at 280 °C, “killing green” in exactly 100 seconds while hands flick, press, and roll the leaves against the iron surface; the second wot at 80 °C shapes the famous “sparrow’s tongue” flat—10 minutes of repeated 10-second cycles. One kilo of finished tea demands 30 000 buds, each touched at least 200 times. The work is so strenuous that Hangzhou municipality certifies only about 300 “Longjing fryers,” many of whom now train AI-assisted robotic arms to mimic wrist angles within 0.5°. -
Reading the leaf
A perfect Longjing leaf is 2.5 cm long, olive green with a yellowish tinge at the tip, perfectly flat yet unbroken. When dropped into a tall glass of 80 °C water it should stand briefly—“bamboo leaf floating”—then sink horizontally. White down on the bud is minimal compared with Bi Luo Chun, a sign of thorough firing. -
Brewing for strangers
Western teapot method: 3 g per 250 ml, 80 °C, 2 min first infusion, +30 s for two rebrews. Chinese glass-gongfu hybrid: 4 g in a 300 ml tall glass; fill to one-third, swirl for 10 s to awaken, then top up; drink when two-thirds remain, refill repeatedly until sweetness fades. Avoid lid—Longjing aromatics are volatile and need space. -
Tasting lexicon
First sniff: toasted soybean (edamame skin), then a hint of fresh cream. Sip: front-palate sweetness reminiscent of steamed Japanese kabocha, mid-palate snap pea, finish of wet slate and faint orchid. The aftertaste should last 15 minutes; if it vanishes quickly the leaf is either from outside core zone or stored improperly. -
Storage pitfalls
Longjing loses 30 % of its volatile aromatics every 30 days at room temperature. Ideal is 0–5 °C, 50 % RH, double-sealed: foil bag inside unglazed clay jar. Never freeze; ice crystals rupture cell walls and mute texture. -
Culinary pairings
Hangzhou chefs infuse warm Longjing butter over river shrimps, the nutty notes echoing the crustacean sweetness. In Paris, Pierre Hermé macerates the leaf in white ganache for a limited “Jardin de West Lake” macaron. Sommeliers find that a 75 °C infusion cuts through oily fish like mackerel without the astringency of Sauvignon Blanc. -
Sustainability frontline
Climate change has shifted the pre-Qingming harvest from April 5 to March 20 in the last two decades, forcing farmers to install shade nets that reduce photosynthetic bitterness. Eco-certification schemes now pay premiums for biodiversity strips of osmanthus and sweet-scented osmanthus, whose October bloom distracts pests. -
Buying without tears
Look for the rectangular 20-digit traceability sticker issued by Hangzhou Agricultural Bureau; scan the QR code and you should see the exact 30 m² plot, picker’s name, and frying master. Price benchmark (2024 spring): core-zone pre-Qingming, hand-fried, USD 1 200–1 800 per 500 g; anything below USD 300 is either blended or from outside the zone. -
A quiet cup, a loud legacy
From imperial tribute to diplomatic gift, from Fortune’s smuggled seedlings to today’s blockchain-tracked micro-lots, Longjing remains a green mirror reflecting China’s negotiation between heritage and hyper-modernity. Brew it slowly, and you may hear the dragon still stirring beneath the calm surface of West Lake.