'DAVE, DO you know what 'second flush' means? And I'm not talking in an 'at home' sense?" the Castro Peet's counter guy asked an erstwhile colleague who had stopped by for an innocent visit. "It's been a while since I've had the tea training," Dave said sheepishly, and slunk away. I was inquiring about the Darjeeling Extra Fancy Kalimpong, which Peet's describes as its "finest second flush Darjeeling." After some general bafflement, a helpful employee materialized with the "Peet's Tea Descriptions and Recommendations" booklet and a cup of the Darjeeling in question, on the house. No sooner had I settled in at a little table to read about the bounty of the Camellia sinensis (the bush whose leaves are, via a variety of treatments, all three types of tea – black, green, and oolong), then I got sandwiched between two conversations that begged eavesdropping.

The lone dapper and bespectacled round man sitting at the table beside me was presently subject to the intense but passing gaze of a redheaded man of similar proportion on his way to the coffee counter. I looked up and caught this as I was reciting to myself the stages of production of black tea: plucking, withering (a daylong process during which the green leaves are spread out to dry), rolling (usually through machines – this breaks down the leaves enough that they start releasing their juices), oxidation (known misleadingly as "fermentation," this resting period during which the rolled leaf is exposed to air is when the enzyme action takes place, leading the leaves to darken and begin to take on the flavor we associate with black tea), drying (also known as "firing," in which the leaves are subjected to heat to stop the oxidation and further enhance the flavor), and finally, grading for size (whole leaf, broken leaf, and fannings).

It turned out the redheaded man hadn't just been idly checking out my neighbor, Mr. Spectacles. I think I realized they were on a blind date, when, immediately after introductions, Redhead blurted, "How was your weekend?" which struck me, and, more important, his date, as an odd question for a Thursday evening. "Uh, it was pretty good, I think," came the reply. I winced in nervous sympathy but pressed my brain to focus on green tea, which, unlike black tea (and my redhead neighbor), does not undergo withering (or if it does, then very briefly), but, upon picking, is subjected to a short bout of dry or steam heat. Chinese green tea is pan-fired, imparting a roasted flavor. Japanese green tea is steamed, which tends to give it a grassy aroma and preserve the green color. Rolling follows. Often done by hand for the finer teas, the manipulation contributes to the particularity of flavor and results in the unusual shapes of some green teas – an acquaintance recently brought back a tea "flower" from Australia, which "blooms," sea anemone-style, as it brews, revealing an actual dried flower in the center.

Moving on to oolong, and sipping at the second pour of my second-flush Darjeeling (the term refers to the "high quality growing period of late May through June," Peet's booklet says, while "first flush" is the early spring season when the tea bush sends out its first leaves), I was relieved that the date seemed to be chugging smoothly along predictable tracks (Mr. Spectacles, I learned, runs a phone bank). But oolong – which is produced by a kind of amalgamation of the black and green tea processes, including all the stages of black tea production but in shorter, lighter forms – was not to hold my attention for long, as a woman with flaming orange hair, a purple cap, a brocade coat, and a large-floral-print skirt sat down to the other side of me, and across from her, a weathered-looking dyke all in black with a basset hound tattooed on her bicep. "We seem to be handling this time well," the two kept mystifyingly agreeing to each other, and Purple Cap went off to order herbal tea. They soon launched into a discussion of the Tibetan ritual the dyke in black plans to hold for her dog when it dies ("Is bardo like purgatory?" asked Purple Cap), pausing to praise the peppermint tea and bemoan a shared caffeine sensitivity.

My poor Darjeeling, which, distracted, I'd clearly oversteeped, had certainly leeched all the caffeine it could, resulting in a taste I'd not call "Extra Fancy." Instead of buying it, I opted for what's all the rage these days, a tin of China white tea, and wended homeward. Tune in next time for tales of tea salad, and the saga of the samovar and the well-steeped snow leopard.

E-mail Masha Gutkin at lydialeapfrog@yahoo.com.