What the Monsoon Does to a Second Flush

When the monsoon arrives over the Dhauladhar, the garden changes temperament. The leaf grows fast and fat on rainwater, and the withering lofts fill with a humidity that no machine fully tames. This is the season that separates makers from managers. A monsoon second flush must be withered long and rolled gently. Rush it, and the liquor turns stewy; coax it, and you get the deep, molasses-dark cup that our smoked reserve is built on. We lengthen every wither by nearly a third once the rains set in. The reward is body. Where the first flush is all high notes — florals, muscatel, brightness — the monsoon leaf carries bass. It is the difference between a soprano and a cello, and the cellar of a tea drinker should hold both.