Back to the familiar safety of random numbers again, this time die Maschine came up with 14 a second time, making me question the supposedly random nature of the numbers. The joke’s on the RNG, though, since I delete each choice as I go along and shuffle the list up to fill the gap, this time making 14 the rather pleasing choice of Twinings Ceylon. Shut up, I have a lot of Twinings.

On the upside, I was hoping for a black tea sometime soon, so I could review something a little more traditional and commonplace, something your average Joe is slightly more likely to recognize. While not my absolute favourite of black teas, Ceylon is fairly easygoing and pleasant from what I recall, so I’ve got no qualms with today’s choice.

For those who don’t know, your average “builder’s brown” kind of tea tends to consist of a blend of different tea leaves grown in different places around the world, combined to produce a specific flavour. While there are somewhat more upmarket variants of this idea — such as the yet-to-be-reviewed English Breakfast and Traditional Afternoon (also from Twinings), it’s all the same principle; blend a combination of leaves in such a way as to produce a final, intended flavour.

For purists — or simply for people like me, who are cursed with insatiable curiosity — it’s also possible to find ‘pure’ types, which are all from leaves grown in one specific place. Assam, one of my favourite types of black tea, is one of these types, as is Ceylon, grown in Sri Lanka.

We’ll start, as I usually do, with the bags: The familiar, earthy scent of black tea is somewhat milder than one would expect, but otherwise unremarkable. After all, despite not being a ‘blend’, this is still merely black tea, with no fancy tricks up its sleeve. The finished product, however — hot water and all — is where the scent truly shines, a surprisingly light smell almost reminiscent of green tea, while still maintaining the heavy feel of black. Regardless of what I’m about to say, I think Ceylon is probably the most pleasant-smelling of the ‘standard’ black teas, while not counting the more fancy versions like Chai or Earl Grey.

As far as flavour goes, I’m afraid my uncultured palette suffers greatest here, as it’s difficult for me to distinguish Ceylon from the more commonplace blends, though it’s got a somewhat more light and clean flavour, albeit with an ever-so-slightly bitter edge. It’s a flavour that doesn’t linger at all, instead seeming to vanish almost as soon as it arrives, which I think would make it a good accompaniment for a meal. It’s certainly more refreshing and uplifting than most black teas, though a terrible choice for something to relax with — I disagree entirely with Twinings’ claim that it has “calming undertones”, instead suggesting that it’s more bright and invigorating than subdued and calming.

Discrepancies aside, Ceylon is an overall pleasant — if unremarkable — experience, and worth trying for anyone who enjoys black tea.

This one’s the ultimate chill-out drink for me; while it’s yet to be tested in moments of stress, it performs fabulously when I’m already feeling chill, reducing me to a bubbling pile of protozoic matter. Much like Mr. T’s mother, there is no other, and I can’t say enough good things about this sublime combination. For the curious, the “spiced” element refers to cinnamon, and I think that addition complements the flavour wonderfully.

Let’s start with the bags, which are usually where I judge my initial impressions: Slightly musky, but generally an overall pleasant and aromatic smell, a reversal of roles as we’ll see soon, as the apple is fairly subdued and the cinnamon definitely takes the forefront, with the camomile staying firmly in the middle.

Add the hot water, and the magic happens: The result is a very pretty amber brew with a distinct aroma of apples. The flavour is almost a reverse of the untainted bags, with apple being the dominant flavour and the cinnamon hanging in the background, barely noticeable but distinctly improving the flavour in its own subtle way. The end result is a very gentle, soothing mixture with a surprisingly pleasant aftertaste, its only real crime being perhaps too subtle at times, though in a way I think due to the nature of the drink — intended to be soothing and calming — it suits this pigeonhole perfectly.

This certainly isn’t the best way to start your mornings, and is perhaps best left for the later hours when relaxing and unwinding at the end of a long day. It’s hard for me to not be in a great mood with a mug of this stuff in one hand, and add that to a generally relaxed end-of-the-day atmosphere and some Chopin, and you’ve got probably the most chilled-out Gravecat you ever did see. Five stars — no, six fucking stars. Seven. Twelve. I can’t praise this one highly enough, and my hat is off to Twinings for such a marvellous creation.

Which is to say, tea leaves.

This is actually one of my personal favourites of the bunch and something I used to plough through like there’s no tomorrow; while I’m generally more of a fan of green tea overall than — say — black, white, or the other varieties, this particular blend just tops the charts in my book. The clean, light taste of green teas tends to make them ideal for mornings or early-day activities, perhaps less suited for middle-of-the-night drinking, though that never stopped an uncultured drudge like me.

The bags themselves are fairly unremarkable, and simply smell like most green tea bags are wont to do — dry and grassy. The inclusion of the magic ingredient (hot water) is truly the key here, however, which unlocks a remarkably simple yet pleasing aroma of distinct citrus, mixed with the usual grassiness of the green tea. While I’d say it leans slightly towards the grapefruit side, it’s largely indistinct and a fairly good balance of the two, without overpowering the tea itself.

The flavour is, unsurprisingly, exactly what one would expect from the smell — an indistinct yet entirely pleasing and surprisingly gentle blend of citrus, which compliments but doesn’t smother the delicate flavour of the green tea. It’s certainly the kind of experience that could only be appreciated by someone who already enjoys the flavour of plain green tea, but the additions are more than welcome in my book. Overall, it’s quite a subdued and gentle combination, while remaining fairly light and fresh, which is why I think it wins even more points towards being an ideal candidate for morning tea, when you’re still stumbling about in a bleary-eyed, groggy haze.

If you like green tea, it’s a fantastic choice in the Twinings range and I can almost guarantee you’d enjoy it; it’s even worth trying for those of you who may not have experienced green tea at all, and are curious to try something fairly mild and easygoing. For those who staunchly prefer black tea, though, I doubt this will be enough to change your opinion on green, though you’re certainly welcome to prove me wrong.

Before I begin, I’m going to make a number of concessions; I’ll say this now, so if anyone suggests any of the above later, I can point here and say, “Well, at least I was honest.”

1. It has been suggested that I’m gay for Twinings. I’ll of course deny any such accusations, but it’s true that they do make up a large portion of my tea collection.
2. My taste in teas — and in food in general — is much like my taste in movies; base, simple, unsophisticated. Don’t expect something akin to wine-tasting bullshit here, this is written by the common people, for the common people.
3. I know that fruit teas (or “infusions”, or whatever) don’t actually contain tea leaves, so probably aren’t technically tea. I know this. I don’t care. See point #2.

With that said, I’m going to make an attempt to review something I just grabbed out of the cupboard on a whim: Twinings Cranberry & Sanguinello Orange, from their “fresh & fruity” range. I’ve already got a number of other offerings from this range, which span the line all the way from disappointing to fantastic, so while I’d consider this range somewhat hit-and-miss, it’s generally worth checking out for the sake of the hidden gems.

I had pretty high hopes for this particular one — while I may not be the biggest fan of cranberries (I don’t dislike them, but they’re firmly planted in the ‘neutral’ territory of neither like nor dislike in my mind), oranges are one of those things that I’d be honestly surprised if anyone disliked. Oranges are fucking great. So with that in mind, surely anything that contains oranges would be equally superb? Well, not quite.

I’m going to first comment on the smell, while avoiding tedious tropes drawled out by wine-tasting sorts. The bags themselves smell musty and unappealing, like a dusty old attic that’s been undisturbed for decades (and yet may once upon a time have contained fruit), while the finished product is… similarly disappointing, the vague scent of oranges overpowered by something unfamiliar and while not outright unpleasant, certainly not terribly appealing.

The taste, while a great deal improved and largely unlike the smell in most regards, is best described as painfully average; the sharp, clear bite of the orange shines through as one would expect, but it feels somehow stifled by the myriad of other flavours, certainly not as “refreshing” as the box would have you believe. I honestly couldn’t begin to muddle through the other mix of uncertain flavours, but the fact remains that this feels like too much in too small a package, and rather than just letting the primary flavour shine through, it’s bogged down by too much excess.

Overall, it’s not necessarily a bad experience, but it’s one that I find purely average and unremarkable in almost every respect, not nearly as exciting as the vibrant box photography implies. It’s okay, but that in itself is the main problem — it’s only okay, not something so much better that it could have been.