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The second steep is poured from the "fairness pot," a secondary vessel that ensures no one's tea steeps even a second longer than another's. We are invited to drink, slurping to aerate our palates.
"Now the tea is talking to you."
The drink is robust, notes of peach cut by a bitterness that touches lightly on every part of the tongue, with a floral undertone as complex as any wine. "Nowadays, people measure success by how fast they amass a fortune," says Fong, preparing a third brew. "But there is much more to life."
This second cup has fewer floral notes but is smoother, almost buttery. The finish is not as sharp, but lasts longer.
"When you brew tea you are bringing it back to life. There is a dialogue between you and the tea," explains Fong as we swirl and slurp our third cup. "You are learning about it, from it. This helps you enjoy the people with whom you are sharing tea. Sometimes the success of a tea ceremony can be measured by how little you talk -- if you can achieve a oneness with your guest and begin to understand each other without words."
As our third cup settles, our conversation relaxes, turning to the Fongs' new enterprise at the Ferry Building and his daughter's boyfriend. Shotguns are mentioned, laughter is shared, and I begin to feel as if I've known Fong for a lifetime.
