Tea has become an indispensable part of our lives, and Turkish tea holds a privileged place within global tea culture. We had an enjoyable conversation about tea with one of the world’s leading tea experts, Dan Bolton. On the TeaBiz platform he directs, Bolton covers many topics—from developments in the tea industry and customs tariffs to crop reports, cultural events, and logistics crises—through blog posts and the “Tea Biz Podcast.”

How did your interest in tea begin? How did tea become more than just an ordinary beverage for you?

My childhood was spent in Kansas in the American Midwest. In that region, especially during the summer months, the beverage most preferred by young people was usually tea. My introduction to tea began with cold tea—the beverage we call “iced tea.” In the southern states of America, tea is brewed hot first and poured over ice, with plenty of sugar added to suppress its bitterness. In the northern regions where we lived, tea is consumed without sugar and therefore has a milder taste. Even so, we used to brew it twice as strong so that its aroma wouldn’t dilute when it met the ice. I was the eldest of seven children; when I came home from school, I would sit at the table, fill a tall glass to the brim with ice, and pour this tea over it.

My mother would ask me to fill a large glass jar with water. We would place the jar on a screened‑in veranda attached to the house that kept insects out but let sunlight in. On that front veranda, the jar would sit on a bench all day and the sun would brew the tea. In hot brewing, the cell structure breaks and the tea’s components quickly pass into the water, whereas in “sun tea” brewed at ambient temperature or in sunlight, the process is slower. The sun raises the water temperature to 50–60 °C but does not bring it to boiling; the tea brews slowly from eight in the morning until three in the afternoon. The tea attains a rich color but a low tannin level, because tannins dissolve more readily in hot water. What we drank then is what we now call “cold brew,” a tea with little caffeine, limited aroma, and low astringency.

In the southern states of America, tea is brewed hot first and poured over ice, with plenty of sugar added to suppress its bitterness. In the northern regions where we lived, tea is consumed without sugar and therefore has a milder taste. Even so, we used to brew it twice as strong so that its aroma wouldn’t dilute when it met the ice. I was the eldest of seven children; when I came home from school, I would sit at the table, fill a tall glass to the brim with ice, and pour this tea over it.

As I grew older, I discovered classic breakfast teas, black teas, then oolongs, and various green teas. Even so, I still drink the cold tea I usually brew at room temperature in summer.

I live in Canada, and in winter the temperature drops to –20 °C and snow doesn’t melt for days. From October onward, when the weather turns cold, I leave cold tea behind and switch to what I call “seasonal” teas. Late‑harvest Wuyi Mountain oolongs that reach the market around September–October become my transition teas into winter. From November to January, I turn toward pu‑erh, fu tea, and brick tea—full‑bodied, robust teas; I also enjoy gyokuro, which is high in umami, during this period. In spring I return to fresh Chinese green teas such as anji bai cha and biluochun. I never forget my favorite Keemun along the way. In a year I try 25–30 different teas; freshness and seasonality are decisive. I like Darjeelings, but rather than the first flush I prefer the muscatel‑aroma Darjeelings of autumn or the second flush. Among Chinese black teas I almost only drink Keemun; the rest of the time I focus on green tea, oolong, and rock teas.

In short, my journey with tea began with tannin‑free Midwestern “sun tea” brewed in sunlight; today I continue to discover new flavors in the rich world of tea according to the cycle of the year.

How do cultures in different regions show respect for tea?

One way to measure respect for tea culture is to look at how much people pay for tea. In Japan they pay 47 U.S. dollars for a small portion of tea. In China they pay 35 U.S. dollars for a 500‑gram portion of quality tea. In places where tea is revered, the price also rises. For example, while the tea market in China is 110 billion U.S. dollars, in the United States it is about 10 billion dollars—the Chinese market is therefore ten times larger. This shows how tea is culturally exalted in countries like Japan.

In Japan, matcha tea is highly respected; although it is consumed worldwide, matcha sold for less than 30 000 yen (about 190 U.S. dollars) in Japan is probably of low quality, because everyone who sells high‑quality matcha sets a price of 30 000 yen or more, and this is a concrete indicator of the value the culture places on tea.

In Turkey, on the other hand, the quantity of high‑quality, organic, highly valued tea is limited; teas that sell for hundreds of dollars per kilogram are rarely found. Turks are passionate about drinking tea every day—ten glasses a day in winter, six glasses a day in summer—yet the market is not segmented as in Japan. If you go to a Turkish café and say “I want to pay ten U.S. dollars for a cup of tea,” they will answer, “No, our tea is much cheaper,” and they will offer a teapot of tea for two dollars. Because there is no demand, they do not stock very expensive teas.

However, if you go into a tea shop in Japan and say “I want matcha grown in shade that meets the chadō (tea way) standard, not low‑grade matcha or the West’s ‘ceremonial grade,’” criteria such as the tea’s taste, its bright emerald color, and a powder fineness of one‑tenth of ten microns come into play. For a matcha that meets this threshold, no one sets a price below 30 000 yen; you pay 50 000–60 000 yen (about 320–380 U.S. dollars). This is how the price expresses the respect that culture shows for a particular tea.

What factors influence the flavor profiles of black tea?

Definitely the most important factor is cultivar selection. On high mountain ranges facing the coast you grow Camellia sinensis sinensis with small, thick, dense leaves. In warmer regions the larger, thinner‑leaf assamica type is planted—this is not common in Turkey because it is not very hot, but when you move away from the coast you need it; the small‑leaf mountain tea does not develop without water and altitude, which is why it grows well by the sea.

After choosing your cultivar you should think, “How will climate change affect my farming in the long term?” For this reason, I advocate starting to plant drought‑tolerant cultivars such as the AB series. Recent years have seen dry periods, and the pandemic disrupted the system of leaf picking with much external labor, so production has fallen. To return to former levels, you will need to plant cultivars in some places that are suitable for mechanical harvesting—difficult in the mountains, but there are regions in Turkey where mechanical harvesting works perfectly.

You should think about which cultivar in the sinensis family, but not traditional China Bush, you can plant; for example, the Darjeeling region switched to the AV1 cultivar and obtained good results—diversity decreased, but yield increased. Drought‑tolerant cultivars are a sensible investment.

You should also pay attention to leaf size and flavor: the components inside the leaf need micronutrients and organic matter; soils are being depleted. That is why we adopt the concept of “regenerative agriculture/soil management”—improving the soil a little more each year instead of simply extracting minerals and watching it become barren. In soils that have been farmed for a long time in Turkey, heavy nitrogen fertilization greens the plant quickly but does not renew the soil or increase biodiversity.

By its nature, monoculture harms soil; whether corn, wheat, or tea, loading a single crop excessively consumes extraordinary amounts of rare elements and minerals in the soil. Flora and fauna must go hand in hand; the monoculture approach is problematic. The remedy is to plant legumes between tea rows as intercropping, return organic matter to the soil, and invest in biochar and mix it into the field. All of these will affect the tea’s aroma profile—indeed in a positive way, making the tea even tastier.

What do you think about Turkish tea and its culture?

Let’s speak of two kinds of tea: blended and unblended. Take the Turkish market as an example; I own a Turkish samovar and brew tea in it like Turks do. The power of the samovar is that you can brew a concentrated tea in the upper pot and, by adding hot water from the spout, decide how much to dilute it. You can make a very strong tea lighter. I do not do this; I prefer to drink Turkish tea concentrated. I appreciate its deep color and Orthodox processing. The profile I see in Turkish tea is bold and slightly tannic; I do not add milk, but I definitely add sugar.

Adding sugar to Turkish tea is common because of the tannins. Strongly flavored foods such as dried fruits or syrup‑soaked pastries are eaten alongside.

I like the idea of tea with terroir. Tea produced by Turkey—unlike teas from Georgia, Armenia, or Azerbaijan in the Caucasus—has a more refined character. Quality tea comes out of Turkey, but much Turkish tea is produced to be consumed with food, crafted to be a strong, full‑bodied companion.

Many teas in Japan and China are also consumed with food; however, highly aromatic blends such as jasmine or osmanthus are generally designed to be consumed with light snacks, highlighting the tea experience. My Turkish tea experience is a full flavor; I want to eat dessert with it and stir sugar into it.

There are two basic aspects I personally like about Turkish tea culture. First, from elegant, narrow‑waisted glasses to stacked kettles, tiny silver spoons used for jam, and sugar cubes, the eye‑catching equipment draws attention to the tea itself. For Turks, tea is a way of “breaking the ice”; everyone at the table says something about the tea, the service set, or the pastry beside it, starting the conversation in a friendly, open tone. When you don’t yet know someone, commenting on their clothing may be risky, but saying something nice about tea is never inappropriate; you praise its brewing and presentation, thank the server. Properly brewed, any tea is enjoyable—some prefer green, some oolong.

The second point I like is that Turkish tea culture is extremely public. When you enter a Turkish café, you see people sitting on sidewalks watching passers‑by; this resembles Italian beverage culture. French, Italian, and Turkish people enjoy a cup of tea with one or two pastries in a lively environment where people walk and cars pass. Tea here is a social pretext: unlike in Mongolia, where tea is drunk mainly for calories, or in Japan, where strict rituals apply, Turks celebrate togetherness rather than ritual; tea, by its nature, carries a sense of celebration. In my experience, Turks are talkative, enthusiastic; they chat, gesturing with their hands, and generate collective energy.

What is the Orthodox production method?

When you have a tea leaf in your hand, you have two options. You can grind the leaf and process it in bulk; this is called “cut, tear, curl” (CTC) and is a very common method introduced in the 1960s, used for most teabags. Or you can wither the leaves, let them rest in troughs with their own sap, then roll and process them. This is the difference between the orthodox (traditional) method and CTC.

Orthodox tea is produced by hand, in smaller batches; it can also be done by machine, but the aim is first to allow the tea’s aroma to develop, then to dry and roll it, completing the process. In CTC the leaf is first turned into small granules and then allowed to ferment and oxidize in that form.

If the leaf remains whole and is processed in that state, it is “orthodox”; if the leaf is broken or cut in some way, it is “cut, tear, curl.” The term “cut” means the leaf has been cut, broken, or otherwise reduced in size.

What do you think about tea farming in the Eastern Black Sea region?

Most teas grown there are processed into black tea, and these types of tea must be tolerant of temperature extremes. For example, you cannot grow many tropical cultivars from South India or South China in Turkey’s low‑altitude, cold regions. Therefore, more hardy teas that can survive the winter are grown; when the weather turns cold, the leaves fall and the plant is clearly seasonal. In many parts of the world, tea remains evergreen—the leaves don’t fall; it merely rests part of the year—yet here the leaves truly fall in winter.

Your climate is moderated by the Black Sea and wetlands; the slopes are near water and about 1000 meters (3200 ft) in altitude. These conditions produce a tea profile very different from teas grown at 1800 meters in the Himalayas or high Chinese mountains. The resulting tea is closer to the Assam type—Camellia assamica—than to the Chinese bush form. Production is quite traditional; modern drought‑resistant cultivars such as the AV series are rarely used, although these new varieties were developed to protect farmers against climate change.

Turks do not drink black tea with milk. How does milk affect black tea’s flavor?

Milk contains emulsified fat—cream, milk fat—and this fat binds with the tannin molecules released by the tea leaf, coating them; thus your tongue does not perceive bitterness because the tannins are enveloped in a layer of fat. This process alters the taste of tannins, giving a more buttery and pleasant flavor, leaving no astringent or bitter finish. The older and longer the tea is brewed—five, seven minutes—the more tannins, polyphenols, and flavonoids pass into the water.

If, as in London, you use hard, mineral‑rich water, one way to improve the experience is to add a little milk; some background flavors are masked, the drink becomes smoother and less astringent. This also harmonizes with food: someone who drinks tea with milk and sugar usually eats a biscuit, small pastry, or sandwich alongside; tea, pastry, and milk combine to create a sweet, easily digested harmony in the mouth. In Asia, tea is still mostly drunk without milk, yet the British Empire popularized the trio of tea‑milk‑sugar with its sugar plantations, abundant milk, and imports of first green then black tea. In the 1600s‑1700s, families spent more on tea and sugar than on meat or bread. Tea was loved for providing alertness while calming and creating a general sense of well‑being; boiling water—which reduced waterborne diseases—combined with sugar and milk offered universal benefit.

What is the best method for brewing tea?

If you have a large quantity of tea, it is better to brew with little water for a very short time. Thus aromatic compounds are immediately extracted and you take in the tea’s fragrance wonderfully. Pour this brew into a small pitcher. When you brew the same leaves a second time you can steep one or two minutes, after brewing 40–50 seconds the first time; this time you draw both aroma and heavier molecules such as amino acids. Pour this second brew into the same pitcher; thus you have collected the intense, balanced essence of what we might call the tea’s “middle part.”

Finally, act carefully and keep the hot water in contact for only a very short time—30–40 seconds. In the third brew, a high amount of flavonoids, tannins, and catechins comes; these enrich the flavor but, if too many, create bitterness. When you mix the three brews in the pitcher and drink, you obtain the best cup of tea by selectively taking those components you like most.

The worst cup is when you pour boiling water over the same amount of tea and forget it, brewing for 12–15 minutes. In so long a time, the tea releases all the unwanted harsh components; if you have brewed even six–eight minutes too long, the flavor cannot be corrected even by adding milk. The aim of gongfu techniques in China is precisely this: to take in your preferred tea components in your preferred amounts and discard the rest—because too much is unpleasant.

What is third‑wave tea culture?

I do not define third‑wave tea by “young‑old,” because people of all ages can enjoy teas that stand out in the third wave. But there is a critical differentiator: if you sit with a group of people and ask, “Where does your tea come from? What kind of tea are you drinking? How did you prepare the tea?” some do not know or care, because for them tea is just tea; they are used to a certain brand and drink that brand. This is the second‑wave tea drinker.

If you ask the same questions of another group of four, you get an answer like, “This tea is from the northern slopes of Taiwan; I chose a green oolong because it goes well with pistachios and pistachio desserts.” Here one speaks of the tea’s terroir, local origin; the fact that tea is more complicated and requires craftsmanship than just buying a packet tea is emphasized, and pairing tea as a food product comes to the fore. The third‑wave tea drinker is conscious of a tea’s origin, brewing technique, and food pairings, and likes to talk about these. They photograph their tea, want to see the brewed leaves to observe leaf structure, and ask the waiter, “Did you brew this for two or three minutes?” In this way they collect plenty of useful information and share it, both to enjoy the experience more and to decide what to eat alongside.

What is your view of black‑tea consumption’s future?

There are two striking points. First, demand for black tea is quite high; consumption continues to increase. News such as “Brits no longer drink black tea” or “the importance of black tea is declining” does not reflect reality. Second, black tea is increasingly produced by orthodox methods. Before the 1950s all production was orthodox because CTC machines had not yet been invented; tea was mostly processed on hand rollers or small rollers. From the 1960s to the 1990s much tea turned to CTC. Now again, a more artisanal production approach that pays attention to aroma is coming to the fore; young people especially prefer teas with strong and pleasant aromas.

In the next decade, the blending trend will rise: we will see Turkish black teas more frequently blended with herbs, fruits, and flowers. Consumers concerned with health and “wellness” will look for teas blended with plants that help regulate sleep, calm the nerves, or aid in weight control. Another group will be after “higher‑quality hydration,” because minerals and amino acids in tea offer more than just water. Therefore, athletes will also be drawn to certain teas.

On the gastronomy front, tea‑food pairings will come to the fore. In the West, restaurant customers are inclined to reduce the alcohol they drink with meals. When a customer who does not want wine needs a satisfying alternative in terms of both sales and flavor, the waiter must be able to say, “We have a tea that goes wonderfully with our creamy dishes,” or “We recommend a tea that pairs very well with vegetable plates.” When the customer chooses the right tea and likes the flavor of the meal, they remain loyal to tea. For example, the French prefer oolong tea with creamy and fatty dishes; it both enriches the flavor and aids digestion and is less expensive than costly wines. Thus the quality of a gourmet dining experience does not drop, while an equivalent pleasure is offered to those who do not wish to consume alcohol.