A Chinese associate recently invited me to high tea … in Suzhou, a lovely second-tier city near Shanghai. We drove to Jingji Lake, near the Suzhou Performing Arts Center, and parked by one of the many construction sites demarcating the city. The area is called Moon Bay, and is supposed to approximate a small European village – or what Chinese property developers believe will pass as a small European village to Chinese consumers: all low rises with peaked roofs and earthen exteriors loosely assembled around a vacant “town” square.
I have actually walked through the Potemkin village many times. It is usually empty, except for the photographers clicking portraits of young women in frou-frou dresses accompanied by their bored fiancées (who don’t understand they are actually in training on how to behave for the rest of the domesticated lives). The only viable businesses I’d ever seen operating in the square was an Indian restaurant – hugely successful with expats – and a resort-sized Chinese restaurant famous for its Suzhou cuisine, always packed with locals.
So imagine my surprise when my companion, an amiable Chinese sales director for a European logistics firm, opened the door to a Whittards of Chelsea tea shop and insisted I follow her down the brightly lit corridor. I had peered into the shop before, as an avid fan of tea in all its splendor, but had never seen anyone buying teas from the gaily lit shelves in the foyer.
The decor was straight out of an edition of House and Garden, with an emphasis on Garden. The drapes and upholstery were the sort of floral designs associated with the affluent in Anglophile countries, all framed with dark-stained wood. The place was packed with animated customers.
Tea has been a part of Chinese culture as long as there have been Chinese. Last year, according to the China Tea Marketing Association, China produced over 400 million tons of tea. Two-thirds of the production of the tiny leaf went on to become black tea. Most of the production of black tea, though, goes to the domestic market. Only about five-percent went on for export. “Stiff competition from other tea growing nations in terms of pricing and stringent quality controls imposed by importing nations have made life difficult for many Chinese tea growers,” according to the China Daily.
With the popular concern domestic consumers have about the integrity of foodstuffs grown and sold in China – including tea – international sellers have a window of opportunity to make inroads into the country with quality tea products. Once local vendors clean up their act, though, they’ll be doing their best to replicate the English tea experience.
Whittards of Chelsea is a famous English tea house and shop that for 125 years has been selling select teas, coffees and porcelain (china) to discriminating customers. According to the website of its Shanghai shop, “It offers more than 30 kinds of house teas, over 80 types of specialty teas, and around 40 varieties of fruit and herbal caffeine-free blends.” Increasingly affluent Chinese love that sort of product.
The greatest growth in individual income has spread beyond first-tier mega-cities like Beijing and Shanghai. Cities like Suzhou and Hangzhou are still seeing growth in income levels; however, not as much in third- through fifth-tier cities, like Chengdu, Yantai and Fuzhou.
The main tea area at Whittards-Suzhou had about ten tables, each of which could seat three to four individuals. Toward the back was a larger table that could seat upwards of ten customers in a semi-private area. “They have a club you can join,” my associate explained to me as we settled at our table. “It’s further back.” I asked her if she was a member. She said she was not.
The waitress passed us heavy menus. The young woman was dressed in a simple frock of floral design and wore a small cap that reminded of engravings of the bar maids of yore. I perused the generously illustrated menu. It was stocked full of teas from around the world. There were even some Chinese teas.
My companion asked me to order; she was already keenly aware of my enthusiasm for infusions. I ordered a pot of Earl Gray with oil extracted from the rind of the bergamot oranges grown in India. I looked around at the customers buzzing with light caffeine highs.
Every table was full in the place. 95-percent of the customers were women in their 30s. They dressed well, though not splendidly; at least, they were not the Gucci crowd. They clearly had disposable incomes and time to spare – likely husbands who worked at good jobs, not necessarily executive level.
My associate told me the place was popular with young people who were open to new experiences. And the price was right: for just over 100 rmb the polite and attentive waitress delivered us a strong pot of Earl Gray (no re-fills) and a three-tiered platter of finger sandwiches, tarts and biscuits, all freshly made.
After nearly two hours of conversation, nibbles and imbibing a fine brew, we still had left-overs of tart and cookies – an excellent value. Clearly, importing interpretations of tea into China at a price-point that made it accessible to the new middle class was a winning formula.
As we walked down the long corridor of the establishment to the exit a group of six university students piled into a dining room just off the hallway. They were dressed in jeans and inexpensive down coats and chattered excitedly with one another. Truly, this was a world their parents could never have known of at that young age.
An ancient brew continued to be the ambassador to the world for an entirely new generation of tea drinkers.
A Chinese associate recently invited me to high tea … in Suzhou, a lovely second-tier city near Shanghai. We drove to Jingji Lake, near the Suzhou Performing Arts Center, and parked by one of the many construction sites demarcating the city. The area is called Moon Bay, and is supposed to approximate a small European village – or what Chinese property developers will pass as a small European village: all low rises with peaked roofs and earthen exteriors loosely assembled around a vacant “town” square. I have actually walked through the Potemkin village many times. It is usually empty, except for the photographers clicking portraits of young women in frou-frou dresses accompanied by their bored fiancées (who don’t understand they are actually in training on how to behave for the rest of the domesticated lives). The only viable businesses I’d ever seen operating in the square was an Indian restaurant – hugely successful with expats – and a resort-sized Chinese restaurant famous for its Suzhou cuisine, always packed with locals.
So imagine my surprise when my companion, an amiable Chinese sales director for a European logistics firm, opened the door to a Whittards of Chelsea tea shop and insisted I follow her down the brightly lit corridor. I had peered into the shop before, as an avid fan of tea in all its splendor, but had never seen anyone buying teas from the gaily lit shelves in the entryway. The decor was straight out of an edition of House and Garden, with an emphasis on Garden. The drapes and upholstery were the sort of floral designs associated with the affluent in Anglophile countries, all framed with heavy oak. The place was packed with animated customers.
Tea has been a part of Chinese culture as long as there have been Chinese. Last year, according to the China Tea Marketing Association, China produced over 400 million tons of tea. Two-thirds of the production of the tiny leaf went on to become black tea. Most of the production of black tea, though, goes to the domestic market. Only about five-percent went on for export. “Stiff competition from other tea growing nations in terms of pricing and stringent quality controls imposed by importing nations have made life difficult for many Chinese tea growers,” according to the China Daily. With the popular concern domestic consumers have about any foodstuffs grown and sold in China – including tea – international sellers have a great opportunity to make inroads into the country with quality tea products before local vendors clean up their act.
Whittards of Chelsea is a famous English tea house and shop that for 125 years has been selling select teas, coffees and porcelain (china) to discriminating customers. According to the website of its Shanghai shop, “It offers more than 30 kinds of house teas, over 80 types of specialty teas, and around 40 varieties of fruit and herbal caffeine-free blends.” Increasingly affluent Chinese love that sort of product. The greatest growth in individual income has spread beyond first-tier mega-cities like Beijing and Shanghai. Cities like Suzhou and Hangzhou are still seeing growth in income levels; however, not as much in third- through fifth-tier cities, like Yantai, Taiyuan and Chengdu.
The main tea area had about ten tables, each of which could seat three to four individuals. Toward the back was a larger table that could seat upwards of ten customers in a semi-private area. “They have a club you can join,” my associate explained to me as we settled at our table. “It’s further back.” I asked her if she was a member. She said she was not. The waitress passed us heavy menus. The young woman was dressed in a simple frock of floral design and wore a small cap that reminded of engravings of the bar maids of yore. I perused the generously illustrated menu. It was stocked full of teas from around the world. There were even some Chinese teas. My companion asked me to order; she was already keenly aware of my enthusiasm for infusions. I ordered a pot of Earl Gray with oil extracted from the rind of the bergamot oranges grown in India. I looked around at the customers buzzing with light caffeine highs.
Every table was full in the place. 95-percent of the customers were women in their 30s. They dressed well, though not splendidly; at least, they were not the Gucci crowd. They clearly had disposable incomes and time to spare – likely husbands who worked at good jobs, not necessarily executive level. My associate told me the place was popular with young people who were open to new experiences. And the price was right: for just over 100 rmb the polite and attentive waitress delivered us a strong pot of Earl Gray (no re-fills) and a three-tiered platter of finger sandwiches, tarts and biscuits, all freshly made. After nearly two hours of conversation, nibbles and imbibing a fine brew, we still had left-overs of tart and cookies – an excellent value. Clearly, importing interpretations of tea into China at a price-point that made it accessible to the new middle class was a winning formula.
As we walked down the long corridor of the establishment to the exit a group of six university-aged kids piled into a dining room just off the hallway. They were dressed in jeans and inexpensive down coats and chattered excitedly with one another. Truly, this was a world their parents could never have known of at that young age. An ancient brew continued to be the ambassador to the world for an entirely new generation.
Technorati Tags: chinese middle class, globalization
