What the world gets wrong about matcha

The first time I drank matcha I liked wasn’t in some glossy café or wellness retreat. It was in Dubai, at a small Japanese tea school quietly endorsed by the local Japanese embassy. There were no influencers, no latte art hearts, no almond milk. Just a quiet room and a teacher who cared deeply about what she was teaching. She wasn’t Japanese, but her respect for the culture was visible in the way she handled every bowl.

As she whisked the tea, she spoke about how matcha has been distorted by the West, how centuries of practice and discipline had been flattened into something sugary and photogenic. You could feel her sadness with every word. It wasn’t anger. It was grief. The kind that comes from watching something sacred turn into content.

The first sip startled me. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t creamy. It wasn’t even what I’d call pleasant in the familiar sense. It was vegetal, almost oceanic. But it lingered. There was depth, clarity, balance. It felt alive.

That day I learned that what most of the world calls matcha barely resembles the real thing.

What matcha actually is

Matcha is a finely ground powder made from shade-grown Japanese green tea leaves. A few weeks before harvest, the plants are covered to block direct sunlight. This slows down photosynthesis and increases chlorophyll, giving the leaves their deep green color and distinctive umami taste.

After harvest, farmers select the youngest leaves. These are steamed to stop oxidation, dried, and stripped of veins and stems. What remains is tencha. When tencha is slowly stone-ground into a fine powder, that powder becomes matcha.

Because you consume the entire leaf instead of steeping and discarding it, matcha provides higher levels of antioxidants, caffeine, and L-theanine than other teas. The combination of caffeine and L-theanine creates a calm, focused alertness that lasts longer than coffee. That’s part of its appeal and one reason monks originally used it for meditation.

Where matcha comes from

The story of matcha begins in China during the Song dynasty, when powdered tea and whisking were common. The method traveled to Japan in the 12th century through Buddhist monks. Over time, the Japanese refined it into something uniquely their own.

By the 16th century, tea master Sen no Rikyū had shaped it into chanoyu, the Japanese tea ceremony. This wasn’t about display or performance. It was a quiet ritual that valued harmony, respect, purity, and tranquility. Every movement, from heating the water to turning the bowl, had meaning.

Matcha in Japan isn’t a daily beverage. It’s a symbol of attention and respect. The preparation is called temae. The thick version, koicha, is used in formal ceremonies, while the lighter usucha is served in casual gatherings. Both demand care and precision that come only with practice.

How the West misunderstood matcha

When matcha reached Western cafés, it arrived stripped of its cultural context. It was marketed as a superfood, then as a lifestyle accessory (it still is being marketed that way). Photos of neon-green lattes flooded social media. Soon it was added to pastries, ice cream, and skincare products. What began as a ritual of discipline became a shorthand for health and trendiness.

There’s nothing wrong with enjoying new interpretations. But what happened with matcha wasn’t innovation. It was dilution. The powdered tea used in most cafés is often culinary grade at best, made from mature leaves, processed quickly, and sold cheaply. Its dull yellow-green color and bitterness are a giveaway. True ceremonial matcha is vibrant, smooth, and slightly sweet. It’s also rare and expensive because it takes time and skill to make.

When you add milk, sugar, and flavoring, you can no longer taste the character of the leaf itself. You’re drinking green sugar water with caffeine. The tragedy is that people think they’ve experienced matcha when they’ve only had a shadow of it.

Why authenticity matters for matcha culture

Watching matcha prepared in the traditional way changes how you think about time. The bamboo whisk, or chasen, moves fast but gently. The motion creates a fine foam that carries the aroma upward. The sound of the whisk against the bowl feels like breathing.

Every part of the process, from scooping the powder with a chashaku to cleaning the bowl afterward, teaches patience and awareness. Nothing is rushed. Nothing is wasted.

The ceremony doesn’t exist to impress guests. It exists to connect people. Between host and guest. Between human and nature. Between past and present. When the ritual is treated as a performance or a marketing device, that connection breaks.

Learning to taste matcha again

The class I attended in Dubai ended quietly. No applause. No selfies. Just a few of us sitting together, finishing what remained in our bowls. The teacher smiled and said, “This is how matcha should feel. Simple, grounded, alive.”

That stayed with me. Matcha, at its best, teaches humility. It asks you to taste carefully, to slow down, to notice. It’s not about chasing energy or aesthetics. It’s about being present.

If you’ve only had matcha in a latte or a dessert, that’s all right. But one day, try it as it was meant to be. Whisk it yourself. Drink it from a bowl. Sit for a moment before you move on.

You might discover something that can’t be filtered or branded, a stillness that tastes like truth.

FAQs

What is real matcha?

Real matcha is stone-ground powder made from shade-grown Japanese green tea leaves called tencha. It’s vibrant green, smooth, and slightly sweet.

What’s the difference between ceremonial and culinary matcha?

Ceremonial matcha comes from young leaves and is used for drinking. Culinary matcha is made from older leaves and used for cooking. The color, taste, and quality are noticeably different.

Can I make authentic matcha at home?

Yes. Use high-quality ceremonial matcha, a bamboo whisk (chasen), and a wide bowl. Add a small amount of hot (not boiling) water and whisk in quick zigzag motions until a fine foam forms.

Does matcha have caffeine?

Yes. A serving of matcha has roughly half the caffeine of a cup of coffee but releases it more slowly, creating sustained alertness without jitters.