The Disappearing Matcha of Uji: A Tale of Tourism and Tradition
At precisely 10:00 AM in Uji, Japan, the ritual begins. The quiet town, just a short train ride from Kyoto, wakes up as the doors of its famous tea shops open, and a rush of eager tourists floods in. Uji is revered as the historic heart of matcha — the finely powdered green tea cherished for its deep flavor, beautiful color, and centuries-old heritage. Yet today, that heritage is under pressure, as global demand threatens to overwhelm the small shops that have defined this town for generations.
One such shop is Nakamura Tokichi Honten, once a supplier to the Emperor and now one of the most esteemed matcha purveyors in the world. Arriving just before opening, I was surprised to find myself already behind 35 people, a number that quickly swelled. The shop hadn’t even opened its café, and yet hopeful visitors were already clamoring for a table, grabbing tickets and searching for the best spot to secure their matcha experience.
Inside, the scene was frenzied. The shelves brimmed with matcha confections — ice creams, noodles, chocolates — but it was the powdered matcha itself that drew a mob. As an employee tried to restock a shelf, a throng of visitors surged forward. Tins were snatched from the employee’s hands, some reaching directly into the restocking basket. The staff shouted desperately in Japanese, but their pleas were lost in a sea of foreign ears and eager hands.
Amid the chaos, I managed to grab a tin, though I wasn’t sure which grade I had picked, or how much it cost. The scene felt more like a flash sale than a serene tea shop. At the register, I watched as a man in the front of the line walked away with over 30 tins, smiling as he announced, in a German accent, that he had just spent €250 on tea.
Elsewhere in Uji, the story was the same. Tsujirihei Honten, another prestigious matcha brand with a heritage dating back to 1860, now only offered three or four varieties out of the 20 it once proudly featured. Even with limits in place, many shops had completely sold out within moments of opening.
For locals, this influx of visitors is a double‑edged sword. The bustling tourism brings prosperity, but it threatens to dilute the heritage that has long defined Uji as the spiritual home of matcha. The traditions here run deep, rooted in generations of craftsmanship and meticulous attention to quality. Yet in an era when global demand often outpaces supply, the heart of this heritage struggles to keep beating.
Today, as I walk the narrow streets lined with teahouses and matcha cafés, I wonder if this delicate balance can be preserved. Will Uji be able to honor its heritage while accommodating a growing wave of matcha enthusiasts? The answer may lie in how well this historic town can adapt — and in how those who visit can respect its legacy.