How I Managed To Overbrew an Entire Jar of Sun Tea After 30 Years Working With Herbs

This would be hilarious if it were not painfully true, but I literally just did this. First beautiful sunny day of the year, and I thought, “I’m going to make the perfect sun-brewed orange spice tea.” Instead, I managed to humble myself with an entire gallon of over-brewed bitterness. Thirty years of working with herbs, and apparently, the tea still felt the need to teach me a lesson.

There are certain mistakes you expect beginners to make.  Putting flowers in boiling water for forty minutes? Beginner mistake.

Using enough peppermint to accidentally clear your entire sinus cavity into another dimension? Beginner mistake.

Forgetting to strain loose herbs before taking a giant sip and chewing your beverage like a lawnmower? Also a beginner mistake.

But ruining an entire gallon of orange spice sun tea after working with herbs for over three decades?

That takes commitment.  That takes confidence.  That takes the kind of arrogance only experience can provide.  And unfortunately, I had all three.

It started innocently enough. One of those warm summer mornings where the sunlight hits the kitchen just right and suddenly you decide you are going to become the kind of person who gracefully brews sun tea on the porch instead of stress-drinking coffee while answering emails.

I pulled out my favorite giant glass jar (with the spout), with the confidence of someone who has spent 30 years around herbs and apparently learned absolutely nothing about restraint.

Into the jar went orange spice tea. Then more orange spice tea. Then cinnamon. Then orange peel.

Then, because apparently my judgment had already left the building, I added “just a couple more tea bags for extra flavor.”

That phrase should concern everyone.

“Extra flavor” is usually how people accidentally create either greatness or tragedy. There is almost no middle ground.

I carried the jar outside and placed it carefully in the sunlight. The light hit the glass beautifully. Birds were chirping. The breeze was perfect.

I actually stood there admiring it for a moment thinking:

“People would probably pay money for this lifestyle.”

That should have been another warning sign.

The plan was simple:
Let the tea brew for a few hours.  Bring it inside.  Pour it over ice.  Feel deeply accomplished for no reasonable reason.     Instead, I forgot it existed.   Not for a little while either.  I forgot it long enough for the tea to enter another phase of existence entirely.

At some point during the afternoon, the orange spice tea stopped being a refreshing summer drink and became a full personality disorder.

Hours later, I wandered back outside and saw the jar sitting there in the blazing heat looking unnaturally dark. Not “rich amber tea” dark.

(Yes, we do have a Steeping Calculator, did I use it? That would be a no)

More like:

“Victorian furniture polish with emotional trauma” dark.

But did I panic?    No.

Because after 30 years around herbs, apparently I now possess the dangerous confidence of a person who thinks:   “I can fix this.”

The smell was incredible. Orange. Cinnamon. Spice. It smelled like autumn moved into a bakery and started paying rent.    I poured a giant glass over ice and took a proud sip.   The tea attacked me immediately.  Not physically, obviously.   Though emotionally? Absolutely.

The bitterness hit first, followed closely by what I can only describe as angry citrus bark.

The cinnamon tasted less like warm spice and more like I had licked an old holiday decoration.

The black tea had become so over extracted that my tongue briefly stopped trusting me as a person.

And there I stood in my kitchen, holding an entire gallon of beautifully ruined tea while asking myself the kind of question only middle-aged adults ask in moments of crisis:

“How am I still learning lessons like this?”      Because this is the truly humbling thing about herbs.  You can work with them for 30 years and still get cocky enough to think:  “A few more hours won’t matter.” Time for me to go back to basics, and use our brewing instruction page.

Meanwhile the tea is outside becoming progressively more bitter like an elderly man yelling at birds from his porch.   Naturally, I tried to save it.   First came extra ice.  Then honey.  Then more water.  Then lemon.

At one point I stared at the jar in silence like maybe emotional support alone would improve the flavor.

Nothing worked.  The tea had crossed over into a realm no sweetener could rescue.  And the worst part?
I knew exactly what had happened.  

Black tea over extracts in heat.
Citrus peel gets sharp and harsh.
Spices become muddy.
Tannins take over.
The balance disappears.

I know this.    I have known this for decades.

And yet there I was ruining tea like someone who had just discovered herbs five minutes ago on Pinterest.

That may actually be the funniest part about working with plants for years. Experience does not eliminate mistakes. Sometimes it just makes the mistakes more creative.

The entire disaster reminded me how often people blame the herb itself when the real issue is preparation.

A beautiful tea can become bitter from over-brewing.
Delicate flowers can taste harsh if overheated.
Roots become muddy when simmered too aggressively.
Fresh herbs lose their brightness when treated as if they are indestructible.

Preparation matters.   Timing matters.

And occasionally, even people who have spent most of their adult life around herbs still create a gallon of what tastes like burnt orange regret in a mason jar.

The good news is I learned something.

The bad news is I learned it one extremely bitter sip at a time.

Now when I make sun tea, I check it regularly like an overprotective parent.

I taste it along the way.   I stop pretending stronger always means better.
And I no longer add “a couple extra tea bags” with the reckless confidence of someone entering their villain era.

Though every time I see orange spice tea now, I will remember that gallon jar sitting in the sun like a slow-moving disaster I personally created.

Thirty years with herbs.
And defeated by tea on a porch.

Nature remains humble.
The rest of us are apparently still learning.

Get Real Herbs. Feel the Difference.

Last Updated: May 22, 2026

Author: Sarah Johnson, Herbal Educator at 1st Chinese Herbs