Since I have a fairly extensive collection of teas, I decided the best way to choose which order to review them in — without bias — would be to take an idea from this fine chap and let fate (or more specifically, random numbers) decide. So with a poorly-drawn-up list and the help of random.org, I came up with the number 14, and… oh no. Oh please god no. The one single box in my cupboard which I actually disliked quite a lot, the only one of the many times I experimented with something new and came up with a result I found displeasing. Number 14… is the nettle tea.

Karma strikes again, it seems. But what is the meaning of fate, if I’m unwilling to be bound by its cruel whims?

I’d like to pause for a moment here and say that I’ve had generally good experience with tea from Clipper in the past, so this dislike is purely a personal bias against nettle tea, one that I didn’t even know I had until I tried it. I may be a Twinings fag, but Clipper and Jacksons also rate pretty high on my personal scoreboard. With that disclaimer aside, let’s get on with it.

First of all, the smell of the bags is distinct, to say the least. It’s earthy, leafy, and carries a strong scent of something unfamiliar yet thoroughly abhorrent to me, something that makes me scrunch my nose up and back away from the box. I’m assuming this scent is from the nettles, a plant which I’ve had generally bad experience with in the past (I got stung many times as a kid), and my opinion of the plant is certainly no closer to changing now.

The addition of the magic substance known as boiled water does little to help the situation; the concoction is a clear, murky brown with a twinge of green, and the smell — while losing its earthy edge compared to the bags — still retains every bit of its acrid odour. While the smell could hardly be described as lingering, almost the opposite — one of life’s small favours — I still can’t help but lean away from the steaming brew, unwilling to spend much time in its presence. I seem to recall my first experience with nettle tea, at this point being overwhelmed with the sensation of “oh god why am I doing this”, that kind of dread-regret that one only experiences when they realize they’ve simply gone too far to turn back, and nothing but pain lies ahead.

And that’s exactly what does lie ahead.

The flavour is somewhat dampened from the miasma that surrounds the mug, closer to black tea than anything, but with a slightly bitter, unwelcome edge and a faint, lingering aftertaste of what I can only assume is the oft-mentioned nettle. The more I drink, the more noticeable it becomes; certainly not the horror I’d expect, but still a distinctly unwelcome, slightly cloying taste. And, unfortunately — perhaps even disappointingly — that’s all there is to it; an experience much like black tea blended with privet leaves, a lingering negativity, and a distinct mephitis around the mug.