Ceremonial Grade Experience

You hold the tin.

Someone at Matsudacha decided which fields would go into it. Someone at Kato Seisakusho rolled and closed it. What you are about to prepare passed through many quiet hands before it reached yours.

Two Regions

The tea was blended from two of Japan's southern regions — Kagoshima and Miyazaki.

Kagoshima, at the southern tip of Kyushu, has volcanic soils and long, warm springs. Its tea has body — a deep, saturated green. Miyazaki, across the ridge to the east, faces a colder sea. Its tea is thinner, more transparent, more air than earth.

Neither region on its own makes what is inside the tin. The balance between them — the deep and the light — was decided over a season by the maker at Matsudacha.

Both are first-flush leaves, grown under cover for about three weeks before picking. Shading is what turns a green tea into matcha: block the light and the leaf holds back its bitterness and builds the amino acids that read as umami. Twenty-one days is a long cover. It is most of what you taste.

Matsudacha

An artisan producer in Yuki-gun, Ibaraki, working continuously since 1898. Organic certification held under JAS No. 1617, issued by OMIC.

They do not grow this tea. Tencha — the shaded, steamed leaf that becomes matcha — comes from growers in Kagoshima and Miyazaki, and is sorted, blended and milled at Matsudacha. We say so plainly because the alternative is to let you assume otherwise.

Each production run is measured in kilograms, not tonnes. The current head, Matsuda Koichi, handles final blending himself.

"This year, we shaped the blend around colour, aroma, umami, and aftertaste. Each region does something different. We combined them so each is drawn out, not hidden."

— Matsuda Koichi, Matsudacha

The Tin

Kato Seisakusho workshop, Asakusabashi, Tokyo

Made by Kato Seisakusho, in Asakusabashi, Tokyo, since 1895. Three years older than Matsudacha. A district of small workshops and wholesalers, not the tourist quarter of Asakusa a few stops to the north.

A single sheet of tinplate, rolled into a cylinder and soldered. The lid formed on a press. Then sprayed and screen-printed by hand, one colour at a time.

Thin enough to hold a small volume close. Thick enough to keep light out. The lid lifts with one finger, never on its own.

Held next to a machine-formed tin, the difference is small. It is only the difference between something someone tried at, and something someone did not.

The workshop's elderly tinsmith has retired. Kato Shunji, the current president, now works on the tins alongside the others there. The inner lid — the seal that keeps air and moisture from reaching your matcha — is the hardest part. Only two workshops in Japan still produce them in tinplate. Kato Seisakusho is one of them.

The tin will outlast its first fill. It was not made to be thrown away.

Preparing

Sift one level teaspoon (about 2 g) into a chawan.

Pour 60 ml of water, at 80 °C, over the powder. Hotter than that will burn the tea. Cooler will leave it flat.

Whisk in an M-shape, from the wrist, not the elbow. When a fine foam covers the surface and the surface stops moving, stop.

For the fuller guide — the tools, koicha, the alternatives — read our preparation guide.

After

The tin holds 30 g. At one bowl a day, it will last about two weeks.

When it is empty, wipe it gently with a soft, dry cloth, then refill it. We sell the refill in two 30 g pouches, on the schedule you choose. It exists for those who intend to keep the tin.

The tin was made to endure. The tea inside is what changes.

Draw your Kekkai.