Sparkling Teas

Copenhagen and London. Single-origin leaves and Nordic cuvées, made with a sommelier's hand and finished dry.

Copenhagen Sparkling Tea — BLÅ

Copenhagen, in blue.

We pour BLÅ — blue, in Danish — as the celebration. Jasmine-led and softly floral, each leaf brewed alone and carbonated to the exact pressure of Champagne — the cuvée the house reaches for when a guest arrives certain that tea cannot do this. Lifted, silken, closing on the gentlest grip.

The pour that converts a skeptic. It opens the Tea Reading for a reason.

We do not score. We read. The Reading is how the house locates this bottle — four axes, written on the four petals of the mark.

One to four petals, quiet to pronounced. A Reading is a location, not a grade.

Read in — the Stem Zero Masterglass. The bowl gathers the aroma and lifts it to the nose before the first sip.

Serve — cold, from the refrigerator. The toast, poured first.

The Reading, in Full

• Nose — Lifted. Jasmine rises to meet you — floral, bright, unmistakably itself.
• Arc — Rising. It climbs gently across the palate, the florals opening as it warms in the glass.
• Weight — Silk. Soft-bodied over a fine bead — the texture that makes the first-time guest look at the bottle.
• Stay — Gentle grip. The softest hold at the close — enough structure to prove the point, never enough to argue it.
• The Table — The welcome. The toast. The beginning of the evening — and the bottle to open for someone who says tea can’t do this.

Copenhagen Sparkling Tea — LYSEGRØN

Copenhagen, in light green.

We keep LYSEGRØN — light green, in Danish — as the dry one: made deliberately for oysters and appetite. Twelve organic teas, primarily green — Sencha, Earl Green Sencha, Darjeeling green, West Lake Longjing — each brewed by hand at its own temperature, composed with grape juice and a touch of organic lemon, then rested in the bottle for two to three months. Citrus and minerality at the lift, lemongrass through the middle, a quiet umami beneath, a long green-apple close.

Where the meal begins.

We do not score. We read. The Reading is how the house locates this bottle — four axes, written on the four petals of the mark.

One to four petals, a quiet to pronounced. A Reading is a location, not a grade.

Read in — the Stem Zero Masterglass. The bowl gathers the aroma and lifts it to the nose before the first sip.

Serve — 41–45°F, cold from the refrigerator. The aperitif before the raw bar.

The Reading, in Full

• Nose — Citrus. Aromatic and mineral at the lift, fresh lemongrass just behind.
• Arc — Tightening. It draws the palate in as it travels — dry, focused, sharpening the appetite rather than settling it.
• Weight — Mineral. Light and precise, the green tea’s quiet umami holding the floor.
• Stay — Dry, long. Darjeeling green and green apple, clean and persistent — the finish that asks for the next oyster.
• The Table — The raw bar — oysters, caviar, ceviche, crudo. White fish, anything green and clean. At brunch, the bottle on the table.

Copenhagen Sparkling Tea — LYSERØD

Copenhagen, in pale rose.

We keep LYSERØD — pale rose, in Danish — as the rosé of the wall, and we read it the way we read a serious rosé: not by its color, but by its spine. A quiet nose, a building arc over a mineral core, each leaf brewed alone and carbonated to the exact pressure of Champagne. The blush is the invitation; the structure is the reason.

A stay that outlasts its color.

We do not score. We read. The Reading is how the house locates this bottle — four axes, written on the four petals of the mark.

One to four petals, quiet to pronounced. A Reading is a location, not a grade.

Read in — the Stem Zero Masterglass. The bowl gathers the aroma and lifts it to the nose before the first sip.

Serve — cold, from the refrigerator. The rosé for the table that takes rosé seriously.

The Reading, in Full

• Nose — Quiet. It opens reserved — a suggestion of red fruit and leaf, nothing announced.
• Arc — Building. What begins quietly gathers as it travels — the cuvée that rewards the second sip more than the first.
• Weight — Mineral. A firm, stony spine beneath the blush — the structure that separates rosé from pink.
• Stay — Lasting. It holds past the color’s promise — long, dry, composed.
• The Table — The long lunch. Charcuterie, salmon, summer vegetables — and the golden hour, on its own.

Saicho — Jasmine

Fujian, in spring.

Jasmine is the florals of the wall. Fuding Big White Leaf from the tea fields of Fujian, hand-picked in spring when the new buds carry their most delicate flavour, then layered with fresh jasmine blossoms over several nights — the leaf absorbing the perfume slowly, naturally, until neither overwhelms the other. Cold-brewed a full day in English spring water and finished with a fine carbonation. Bright jasmine, soft honey, lychee and fresh pear beneath — a clean green undertone keeping the floral from ever turning sweet.

Jasmine is the tea most people think they know — the oversweetened bottles shaped the expectation. This one resets it.

We do not score. We read. The Reading is how the house locates this bottle — four axes, written on the four petals of the mark.

One to four petals, quiet to pronounced. A Reading is a location, not a grade.

Read in — the Stem Zero Masterglass. The bowl gathers the aroma and lifts it to the nose before the first sip.

Serve — cold, straight from the refrigerator. The aperitif of the wall.

The Reading, in Full

• Nose — Floral. Jasmine rises first, bright and unmistakable — soft honey behind it, a clean green thread underneath.
• Arc — Soft. It opens rather than travels — the perfume settling gently across the palate, never pressing.
• Weight — Delicate. The lightest touch of the four — lychee and fresh pear over a fine, quiet bead.
• Stay — Softest tannin. The gentlest dry close on the wall — enough grip to end clean, never enough to interrupt.
• The Table — Raw bar. Dim sum. Steamed fish and soft greens — anything that asks for perfume rather than weight. Or alone, in the late afternoon.

Saicho — Hojicha

Shizuoka, at any season.

Hojicha is the roast of the wall. Second-flush Sencha from Shizuoka, Japan’s historic tea heartland, slow-roasted until the leaf deepens into amber — then cold-brewed a full day and finished with a fine carbonation. Toasted grain, the warmth of caramel, a nuance of roasted nuts, held up by a soft, persistent bead. Smoke without bitterness; quiet, deep, unmistakably Japanese in its restraint.

The most contemplative of the four — autumnal at any season. The pour that converts the whiskey drinker.

We do not score. We read. The Reading is how the house locates this bottle — four axes, written on the four petals of the mark.

One to four petals, quiet to pronounced. A Reading is a location, not a grade.

Read in — the Stem Zero Masterglass. The bowl gathers the aroma and lifts it to the nose before the first sip.

Serve — cool, not cold. A touch warmer than the Osmanthus, to bring the roast forward.

The Reading, in Full

• Nose — Warm. Toasted grain and caramel rise first, a nuance of roasted nuts beneath.
• Arc — Deepening. It settles as it travels — the roast unfolding rather than announcing itself.
• Weight — Rounded. Amber-deep and smooth, carried on a soft, persistent bead.
• Stay — Calm, long. Smoke without bitterness, resting quietly — the finish of a tea at ease with itself.
• The Table — Duck. Mushroom. Aged cheese, roasted roots, anything caramelized. Or poured alone after dinner — the rare bottle that holds the room by itself.

Saicho — Darjeeling

Darjeeling, in first flush.

Darjeeling is the structure of the wall. A single estate in the foothills of the Indian Himalayas, harvested in the brief spring window when the leaf is at its most tender — first flush, the vintage the year is judged by. Cold-brewed a full day in English spring water and finished with a fine carbonation, it holds the muscatel that earned Darjeeling its old nickname, the champagne of teas — stone fruit, grape and white flowers moving over a woody tannin to a clean, persistent close.

Darjeeling has always been the tea drinker’s wine — single-origin, vintage-driven, sensitive to season and slope. The wall’s most wine-like leaf, and the bottle for occasion.

We do not score. We read. The Reading is how the house locates this bottle — four axes, written on the four petals of the mark.

One to four petals, quiet to pronounced. A Reading is a location, not a grade.

Read in — the Stem Zero Masterglass. The bowl gathers the aroma and lifts it to the nose before the first sip.

Serve — well chilled. The pour for the moment that deserves a stem.

The Reading, in Full

• Nose — Muscatel. Stone fruit and grape rise first, white flowers behind them — the aromatics that named it the champagne of teas.
• Arc — Climbing. It builds as it travels, gathering rather than settling — the most deliberate ascent on the wall.
• Weight — Tannic. A woody, structured grip over the fruit; the leaf was tender, the cup is not.
• Stay — Dry, long. Clean and persistent — the finish of a true first flush, holding its line well past the sip.
• The Table — The toast. The celebration. The first pour of the evening — and the leaf that stands up to the meal that follows.