Gegend: Inside the Chinese tearoom of mindfulness and slowing down

Written as the Master's final project in June 2025

I love to fill every second, and a May bank holiday’s Sunday is not an exception. I plan to spend one hour interviewing the owners of Gegend, a Chinese tearoom in Shoreditch, and go to Paddington afterwards. I finish my breakfast as I walk to Gegend – perfect, every second is well-spent.

Opened last November, Gegend serves traditional Chinese tea like ‘Silver Needle’ and ‘Long Jing’. Although they sound unfamiliar to most British people, they are not new to the British food and beverage industry. There were already a few Chinese tea shops in London like Postcard Tea in the early 2000s, but Gegend is the first immersive Chinese tearoom.

As I grew up in Hong Kong, Chinese tea was always part of my life. A Sunday dim sum lunch would be incomplete without ‘Pu-erh’ and ‘Shui Xian’ tea. I can distinguish different varieties, but I had never been to a tearoom. 

When I enter Gegend, the hustle and bustle of Shoreditch’s Old Street immediately vanish. There is everything you can expect from the idea of Zen, loosely defined as inner peace in the West. It is a spacious room with a minimalist design illuminated by natural light. My racing heartbeat, stimulated by caffeine, is calm.

“Hi,” a tall lady in a black dress says without unnecessary rote greeting. She is Chen, the founder of Gegend. “Feel free to pick any seat you like.”

With just four seating areas, this space is obviously not designed to boost table turnover. I sit on the long table opposite Sam, the co-founder.

On the menu, there are the main types of Chinese tea – black tea, yellow tea, green tea, white tea, oolong and flower tea. My favourite is white tea, which looks the palest because of the shortest oxidation time. I picked ‘Shou-mei’ out of the four varieties because it tastes the strongest in white teas.

Next, Chen brews my tea in the open pantry. She warms the pottery teaware with hot water, discards the water, fills the teaware with tea leaves and hot water again, and tilts it slowly for infusion. After the tea sits for a while, she pours it into a jar. This is the first brew. Three brews are provided for each order, costing from £14 to £18. It is just tea, without sugar, milk or boba.

I sip my tea. Floral with a subtle honeyed aftertaste, it is undoubtedly a quality Shou-mei.

I know I am not here to enjoy tea, but to interview Chen and Sam. Chen shares why they founded Gegend: “I like tea, and I find brewing tea so meditative. I want to share this power of tranquillity.”

Their passion and professionalism for tea speak for themselves. Chen excitedly explains why Chinese and Japanese tea taste different and Chinese philosophy of tea: “Chinese tea is about purity, the purity of tea and your mind; respect, respecting the tea without unnecessary thoughts; harmony, feeling joy from the bitter tea; and truth, seeking the real, perfect tea.”

Then, Sam asks if I want to have the second brew.

Purity, respect, harmony and truth – I realise I did not feel any of these. Just thinking about the interview, I only enjoy the first sip and bolt down the rest. I even feel a bit full, probably because I drink too fast.  

I ask for the second brew. I must slow down this time.

At this time, all seats have been taken up by customers speaking different languages. Some chat with friends, while others work with laptops. We share the same space, but enjoy our time individually.

With a darker colour, the second brew tastes leafier. I look at the window and space out. The square window frame softens the sunlight and filters the flurry of the city outside.

When I ask for the last brew, Sam says with surprise: “Most people are too full up to have the last.”

I feel full too, but I really want to know how the last brew will make me feel. I also order a rose tea cake to accompany the tea.

As expected, the last brew is the most bitter. From the floral sweetness, leafy freshness to the grounded woody taste, the three brews feature the whole living cycle of the leaf. Perhaps it shows the truth and respect for tea leaves as a plant, which is impossible if you dip a tea bag in hot water, pour milk and add sugar.

When I finish my tea and cake, I check my phone for the first time since I arrived. It is 2:30pm. I have been drinking for two and a half hours, way longer than I planned. Nobody in this space is in a hurry. Everyone has been here for at least two hours.

At last, I pay £21.50 for tea and a little cake. Is it worth it? Firstly, Chinese teas are a luxury by global standards. Secondly, I buy the experience of Chinese tea art. Having tea here is not just about drinking flavoured water, but learning the art of slowing down.

After I leave Gegend, I see the bus on my way to the bus stop. I run, but I cannot catch it. Anxious, I tell myself to slow down – Chinese food and beverage is not just about quick service, big portions and a huge selection. It can be artistic, philosophical and spiritual.