Que sera, sera — matcha and coffee musings
Yes, I'll admit it: like everyone else I've been on a matcha bender. Maybe it's because matcha comes pre-ground: like cup noodles, it's enough to add hot water and whisk.
The path of pourover coffee, in comparison, is so treacherous — with infinite potential for incorrect extraction. So many variables to consider, and hell to pay if you skip over any one. Temperature. Time. The choice of hand grinder and, subsequently, grind size. Pouring rate and distance from coffee bed. Coffee bed shape. The brand of filter paper — and even whether or not you're using said paper the "normal" way or if you've inverted it (yes, that affects extraction).
For a half-hearted perfectionist like me, all these different variables are cause for concern. Whereas, again: matcha — just add hot water. Whisk 'til your wrist aches and the foam breaks apart and down like the sea at the edge of land. However it tastes: que sera, sera. No one can yet drum their fingers on the side of a chawan, roll their eyes, and tell you you've screwed it all up.
The other reason I've been enjoying matcha so much, I think, is because it offers such a clear look into a different life. History has always been one of my favourite subjects; my most well-loved books were those that transported me to some other century and country. It's fun to read about how the national appreciation for matcha developed and to trace the unbroken lines of Sen family tea masters. The deeper one treads into the world of specialty coffee, the more assessments and value statements and subjectivity and assigned grades await.
But maybe I'm getting ahead of myself. If I return to the table and think, aren't tea and coffee masters both proven by their ability to serve and delight guests, free of pomp and fluff? That sought-after experience, one where both "guest" and "host" are united by shared humility, the welcoming ambience of the room, and a pleasant mien that, if properly mirrored, multiplies, isn't unique to tea.
Whatever your beverage of choice, are you prepared to come to the table and receive?
A few things written by Sen Soshitsu XV come to mind always:
“Tranquility" ... comes with the constant practice of the first three principles of harmony, respect, and purity in our everyday lives. Sitting alone, away from the world, at one with the rhythms of nature, liberated from attachments to the material world and bodily comforts, purified and sensitive to the sacred essence of all that is around, a person making and drinking ... in contemplation approaches a sublime state of tranquility.
This tranquility will deepen even further when another person enters the microcosm of the "room" and joins the host in contemplation... That we can find a lasting tranquility within our own selves in the company of others is the paradox.
“This man did not invite me with the idea of showing off his skill. He simply wanted to serve me tea with his whole heart. He devoted himself completely to making a bowl of tea for me, not worrying about errors. I was struck by that sincerity.”
Certainly if the host spends money and puts much thought and labor into entertaining his guest, there are some who will return home pleased, with their sense of taste “satisfied.” However, this alone is no more than an amusement, a way of enjoying oneself in the company of others. But chado is something that teaches, through serving and receiving a bowl of tea, a way of life. Hence, material sufficiency is inadequate. But what then is missing? There is a room to sit in, utensils to serve with, and enough water and tea. What is missing is the sincere heart of the host.