Water & Tea
A Silent Partnership in the Cup
When we think of tea, our minds drift to the leaf: its origin, its fragrance, its curled form before it unfurls in hot water. Yet the truth is quietly humbling. A cup of tea is almost entirely water. Roughly 98-99% of every infusion is liquid, not leaf. The leaves may supply the poetry, but it is water that carries the verse.The Character of Water
Water is not neutral. It can be soft or hard, mineral-rich or stripped, lively or dull. Ask anyone who has brewed the same tea in Stockholm and again in London, and they will tell you that the same leaves can taste like different teas altogether. Potable does not always mean palatable. A municipal supply that is safe for drinking may still flatten the soul of a fine Darjeeling or mute the grassy sweetness of a Sencha
pH and the Language of Balance
At the heart of water’s character lies pH - the measure of acidity and alkalinity. On its scale of zero to fourteen, seven is neutral; lower drifts toward acidic, higher toward alkaline. Tea is exquisitely sensitive to this balance. A gently acidic water, around 6.5, can coax out the floral brightness of a green tea. Push higher, and the same tea may turn dull, even bitter. Black teas, sturdier by nature, tend to welcome neutral water, where their malt and spice come through clearly. Oolongs, with their layered perfumes, often shine brightest in waters that sit a shade toward the acidic.
Minerals: The Body of Water
Then there are the minerals, those unseen companions dissolved in every glass. Calcium, magnesium, trace iron - all play a role. Too much, and tea grows cloudy, heavy, occasionally harsh. Too little, as in distilled water, and the infusion tastes oddly hollow, lacking texture. The most graceful teas often emerge when water is softly mineralised, with just enough body to carry flavour but never so much that it drowns it.
A Matter of Place
Every country, indeed every city, pours its own kind of water. Stockholm’s is famously soft; London’s, stubbornly hard. In Japan, tea masters insist that the finest Sencha is best brewed with the gentle, slightly acidic waters of Uji and Shizuoka - waters that seem made for green tea. One could argue that water is terroir in liquid form: it binds tea to place, even across continents.
Pairings Worth Noting
Green tea | Prefers neutral to gently acidic water (pH 6,0–7,0). Think Sencha, Gyokuro, or a delicate Chinese Longjing. |
Black tea | Best in neutral water (around pH 7). Assam, Ceylon, and Darjeeling develop their full depth here. |
Oolong tea | Thrives with slightly acidic balance (pH 6 - 6,5), which brightens floral notes. |
White tea | Gentle waters near neutral (around pH 7) highlight its sweet, silky character. |
| Pu-erh (Sheng &(Shou) | Water just above neutral (around pH 7,0–7,2), ideally spring or filtered, enhances its earthy complexity and mellows fermentation character. |
For the curious: a lightly filtered spring water, free of chlorine, with moderate softness and a pH around seven, is often the safest all-round choice. Avoid distilled water, which leaves tea flavourless, and heavily mineralised water, which overwhelms it.
Final Reflection
If leaf is the soul of tea, water is its voice. One without the other is incomplete. To master tea is not only to understand leaves but to listen to the water - its balance, its minerals, its hidden character. When the two meet in harmony, the result is not merely a beverage, but a moment of clarity in the cup.
