This tea gave me some peculiar impressions before ever pouring a drop down my throat. The dry-bag smell brought back vague yet unwelcome childhood memories of illness, and it took me a minute to figure out why. The dry aroma reminded me much of the 1970s formulation of Kaopectate diarrhea medicine—then a dense, slightly minty, chalky, muddy gray-white, occasionally curdled liquid resembling watery plaster, and best avoided unless forced by a parent to slug it down. [Mercifully, that hideous formulation since has changed.] Then, as the tea steeped, it turned a weird, dark olive-green color unlike any I've seen in a chamomile tea before. Perhaps the mint contributed to that. Continued steeping rendered a dark, caramel-brown color, yet still translucent, like cola.

Fortunately, I'm a compartmental sort, and can set aside a bad first impression when immersing deeper into an experience. Neither the wet-bag aroma (much more purely chamomile-like, with a hint o'mint) nor the flavor were anything like that decidedly undesirable dry smell. Instead, the taste is a delightful balance of chamomile, light mint, and fruit, heavier on the fruity element with later sips and in the aftertaste. That makes sense when perusing its ingredients list, which absent chamomile and mint, is remarkably similar to Celestial Seasonings' "Zinger" line of fruity herbal teas. This easily could be called Chamomile Mint Zinger if they made it. But they don't. Tazo does. And Tazo performs reasonably with this blend, as long as one skips the dry-bag sniffing.

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