Korean Fruit Teas

Written and photographed by Karly Pierre

 

I ride bus 35 until the end of the line: Mudeungsan Mountain National Park. It’s a clear, sunny day, and as I step off the bus, two old men walk past me wearing bright green hiking jackets. The base of the mountain is covered in a fresh layer of snow, probably the last this winter will bring. I walk past a row of buses in the parking lot to the main street packed with stores selling hiking gear and restaurants. It’s late afternoon on a weekday, so the area is pretty sleepy, except for a smattering of hikers coming down from the mountains. After a quick stroll along a snow-covered stream, its waters glinting in the sunlight, I loosen the scarf around my neck and unzip my coat. The weather is warmer than I had expected. I head back in the direction of the bus stop and climb the stairs to my favorite teahouse.

The teahouse is a blend of new and traditional aesthetics. The chairs and tables are made of a heavy, dark wood, and celadon pottery sits on antique cabinets. Above, the lights are covered in paper lanterns, and the sun streams in from the large windows overlooking the balcony. A waterwheel fountain in the corner of the teahouse spins as babbling water pours over it. When I walk through the door, the owner greets me in a casual hanbok with a shaggy pink shawl draped over her shoulders.

“Coffee is over there,” the owner says, pointing to the Angel-in-us cafe adjacent the teahouse.

Admittedly, I haven’t been to the teahouse in a while, so I’m not surprised that the owner doesn’t recognize me. When I explain that I would like traditional tea, I recognize a familiar flash of panic in her eyes, and I know what she is thinking: Will I have to explain something to this woman in English?

I order adeptly, and she smiles, appearing relieved that everything went smoothly.

For the record, I dislike coffee. When I first arrived in Korea, I’d anticipated living in a tea lover’s paradise. But, to my disappointment, I quickly came to realize that this was one of the most coffee-loving countries I’d ever been to. So when a student of mine introduced me to this café a few years ago, I was pleasantly surprised and began to earnestly learn more about traditional Korean tea culture.

There are four types of traditional Korean teas: medicinal, fruit, grain, and tea leaf (primarily green tea). The tea plant, camellia sinensis, came to Korea from China during the Three Kingdoms Period (57 BC to 668 AD) and spread throughout the peninsula along with Buddhism. When Confucianism became the dominant religion, tea consumption was suppressed by the ruling class, and its popularity declined. Fruit, medicinal, and grain teas replaced the tea leaf as popular drinks during the Joseon Dynasty.

I’ve become particularly interested in traditional fruit-based teas. They are healthy, simple to make, and versatile. The most common Korean fruit teas are daechu-cha (대추차, jujube tea), yuja-cha (유자차, citron tea), omija-cha (오미자차, Schizandra tea), mogwa-cha (모과차, Chinese quince tea), seongnyu-cha (석류차, pomegranate tea), maesil-cha (매실차, plum tea), and byeonggyul (병귤, citrus platymamma). The primary method of preparation for most of these teas involves drying the fruit skins or thinly slicing them, then sweating the fruit in honey or sugar until a syrup forms.

My two favorite fruit teas are yuja-cha and mogwa-cha. There is nothing as soothing as smelling fresh yuja (citrons). It’s a joy for me to head out to the market and buy a bag of them when they are in season. Available in late fall and early winter, they give off a delicately aromatic citrus fragrance. Beloved by King Sejong, yuja-cha is believed to soothe colds and aid digestion. Mogwa, commonly known in the West as quince, is also available in late fall and early winter. This fruit is tart and tastes like a blend of apple and pear. Koreans often drink mogwa-cha to soothe sore throats. Both of these teas are made using the sweating method. The syrup produced in making the tea can also be used to glaze meats or be added to baked goods.

The owner of the teahouse first serves me a complimentary pot of gamip-cha (감잎자, persimmon leaf tea) and yeot-gangjeong (엿강정, sweet puffed rice squares) in charming traditional ceramic dishes. Then my order of maeshil-cha and roasted karae-ddeok (가래떡, rice cake sticks) arrives. As I sip tea, I relax into my chair listening to “Una furtiva lagrima” being played through the speakers above on a haegeum (traditional Korean string instrument), its lazy whine filling the teahouse. A clump of snow on the roof drips onto the window. Another season has passed.

Yuja-cha 유자차 (Citron Tea)

I love making Korean fruit teas because I can add personal touches to them. Sometimes I add a few thin slices of fresh ginger or pear to the yuja-cha mixture to give the tea a subtle complexity. While some Koreans use white sugar to preserve the purity of the color and taste of the yuja, I use brown sugar and honey to give the tea a warmer flavor.

Ingredients
600 grams of thinly sliced yuja (citron)
500 grams of sugar (brown or white) or honey
baking soda (optional)

Equipment
vegetable slicer
1 glass jar with lid
1 bowl

Method
Scrub the yuja (citrons) clean with a vegetable brush or baking soda. Pat dry. Use a vegetable slicer to thinly cut the yuja. Removing the seeds is optional. Place the sliced yuja in a bowl and mix with sugar or honey. The yuja slices will begin to sweat. Wash the glass jar clean, then sterilize it in a pot of boiling water. Allow the glass jar to cool, then place the yuja sugar mixture in the jar. Store the jar in your refrigerator. If you notice mold forming, that means you didn’t include enough sugar.

Fill a kettle with water and then heat. Place a spoonful of the yuja mixture in a mug and pour hot water over the mixture. Stir and enjoy a warm cup of yuja-cha!

The Author
Karly Pierre has an MA in mass communication and has worked as an editor and writer for several publications. She is currently an assistant professor in the ESL department at Chosun University.