原文
茶之味
茶香何来
从他者的角度来观看自我，往往大有收获。我居然是在京都第一次意识到：中国茶的根本，就是茶香，这也是他者——日本人眼中的“中国茶观察”，对方是一个做茶具二十多年历史的京都陶瓷匠人，还记得在那间黯淡的茶室里，他眯着眼睛对我说，你们的茶，是香，我们的，是甜
那是京都的老品牌“河滨清器”（Kawabata Seiki），专门做陶瓷茶具，不在狭窄拥挤的京都老城而在宇治（Uji），所以拥有自己的相对宽敞的工作室。从宇治站下来，慢悠悠顺着《源氏物语》（The Tale of Genji）里写过的宇治川（Ujigawa）走过去，经过了朴素的平安神庙，就到了“河滨清器”。院落不大，落叶堆满了庭院，满地黄叶中一棵青枫，我们就在对着庭院的茶室喝茶。
到宇治，当然喝的是当地的日本绿茶。宇治茶在日本赫赫有名，有名到就连一般的茶饮料都要标榜原材料使用的是宇治绿茶。老店主用自己的银釉宝瓶泡绿茶，水温低到让我震惊，大约45 摄氏度，触感就是一般的温水。浅浅的宝瓶倒进去不烫的水，然后晃晃悠悠再倒入碧清的小瓷盏中，这是他习惯的并且大家都推崇的宇治茶的低温冲泡方法，喝了一口，甚至有股海藻的气息，非常古怪。但滋味的熟悉，也是需要暗示的。他看着不说话的我问， 好喝吗？我说，水温有点太低，有点茶没泡开的感觉。他说， 你们中国茶，强调的是茶香，我们的茶，重要的是泡出甜味，你觉得甜吗？被这么一说，突然感觉似乎是甜的，带点鲜美的甜，有点像吃了口鲜美的生鱼片，也像海带汤，说不出的感觉。
参考译文
The Flavor of Tea
The Origin of Tea Fragrance
Viewing oneself from the perspective of others often yields great insights. It was in Kyoto that I first realized: the essence of Chinese tea lies in its aroma, which is the “Chinese Tea Observation” from the eyes of others—the Japanese. The person I was speaking with was a Kyoto pottery craftsman with over twenty years of experience in making tea utensils. I still remember in that dimly lit tea room, he squinted at me and said, Your tea smells fragrant, ours tastes sweet.
It was the old brand Kawabata Seiki in Kyoto, specializing in ceramic tea utensils. Not located in the narrow and crowded old town of Kyoto, but in Uji, it has its own relatively spacious workshop. Walking leisurely from Uji Station along the Ujigawa mentioned in The Tale of Genji, passing by the simple Heian Shrine, you arrive at Kawabata Seiki. The courtyard is not large, with fallen leaves covering the yard, and amidst the yellow leaves stands a green maple. We were drinking tea in the tea room facing the courtyard.
When in Uji, of course you drink the local Japanese green tea. Uji tea is so famous in Japan that even ordinary tea beverages boast that they use Uji green tea as their raw material. The old shop owner brewed green tea with his own silver-glazed treasure pot, and the water temperature was so low it shocked me, around 45 degrees Celsius, which feels like ordinary warm water. He poured the tepid water into a shallow flask, and then, with a slight sway, transferred it into a clear, small porcelain cup. This is his customary and widely praised method of brewing Uji tea at low temperatures. After taking a sip, there was even a hint of seaweed, which was very peculiar. But the familiarity of the taste also requires a cue. He looked at me, who was silent, and asked, Is it good to drink? I said, “The water temperature seems a bit too low, and it feels like the tea hasn’t fully steeped.” He replied, “Your Chinese tea emphasizes aroma, while our tea focuses on extracting sweetness with lower temperatures. Do you find it sweet?” After hearing that, I suddenly noticed a hint of sweetness, with a kind of delicious sweetness, a bit like eating a mouthful of fresh sashimi, also like kelp soup, an indescribable feeling.