Clad in a pale green kimono, tea ceremony instructor Keiko Kaneko carefully scoops a small amount of matcha into a porcelain bowl. She pours hot water from a simmering pot and whisks the powdered tea into a vibrant green froth using a bamboo whisk. Each gesture, deliberate and fluid, is part of sado – the Japanese way of tea – a practice rooted in Zen philosophy and centuries-old tradition.
This serene ritual contrasts sharply with the booming popularity of matcha beyond the tea house. Once reserved for meditative ceremonies, matcha now flavours everything from lattes and frappuccinos to cakes and chocolate bars.
“No one knows who started the global matcha boom,” says Kaneko, “but it’s everywhere now.” For practitioners like her, the sudden commercialisation of this ceremonial tea is both fascinating and unsettling.
A booming market
Matcha is not just another type of green tea. It is cultivated in shade, steamed, dried and ground into an ultra-fine powder, often by stone mills – a process requiring time and skill. Unlike standard sencha leaves, converting crops to matcha production involves considerable investment, and many farmers hesitate to commit in case the trend fades.
To support the shift, Japan’s agricultural ministry is offering farmers specialised machinery, soil assistance, financial aid and guidance. “We don’t want this to end as a fad. Our goal is to make matcha a standard flavour and a strong Japanese global brand,” says Tomoyuki Kawai from the ministry’s tea division.
Production of tencha – the base leaf for matcha – nearly tripled between 2008 and 2023, rising from 1,452 to 4,176 tonnes. Tea exports have also more than doubled in a decade, with the United States accounting for about one-third of overseas sales. Yet labour shortages and an ageing farming population threaten supply stability.
Adding to the challenge, other countries such as China and regions in Southeast Asia are entering the matcha market, prompting Japan to protect its cultural and quality associations with the tea.
Despite the boom, tea ceremony masters are not angry. Instead, they view the craze with quiet scepticism. “Perhaps some will become curious about sado,” says Kaneko, though she doubts many will embrace the discipline of the practice.
Steeped in concepts like wabi-sabi – the beauty of imperfection and simplicity – the tea ceremony invites participants to slow down, appreciate the present moment and treat every encounter as unique. Historically, guests would enter a tea house through a small doorway, forcing even samurai to remove their swords and symbolically promoting equality.
This world of stillness stands in stark contrast to the bustling cafés serving sugary matcha frappes in giant cups. Traditionally, matcha is consumed in small, mindful portions – not gulped like a fruit smoothie.
Minoru Handa, who runs Tokyo Handa-en, a tea business established in 1815, believes the craze is here to stay. “Matcha’s appeal is its versatility,” he says, noting its popularity in recipes and its health halo. To prevent hoarding during shortages, he limits sales to one can per customer.
But Anna Poian of the Global Japanese Tea Association warns that premium matcha should not be wasted in lattes and desserts. “It’s a delicate, complex tea meant to be savoured with water,” she says. Lower-grade powders, she adds, are better suited for culinary use.
Whether matcha remains a passing trend or evolves into a global staple, one thing is clear: its journey from meditative ritual to mainstream flavour has changed the cultural narrative around Japan’s most iconic tea.