Rugiada di Gelsomino

The Art of Tea Scenting

Jasmine does not open in daylight. At dusk, the buds remain closed. Night calls them.

The fragrance begins to rise - quiet, suspended - like morning mist, like the coolness of moonlight.

The flowers are picked at this precise moment. Before blooming, at the threshold of scent.

Dew still resting on the fingertips, the gesture simple, repeated, essential. The tea is already waiting.

The scenting begins. Flowers and leaves are brought together, then separated. Again and again.

For hours, the material transforms without revealing itself.

Thousands of blossoms. None remain.

The fragrance enters the tea, without trace, without excess. Only a presence.

It is a matter of balance. Too much flower, and the scent becomes heavy. Too much tea, and everything fades.

So one watches. Adjusts. Lets time do its work.

The infusion reveals this invisible process. A clear liquor. A fragrance that remains light, never overwhelming.

On the palate: freshness, softness, clarity. Then a calm sensation that settles in. Like a restrained breath of spring.

Rosée de Jasmin. A tea where the flower no longer appears, yet remains.