In the depths of Yamanaka, an artisan town 2.5 hours west of Tokyo by shinkansen, my ankles were mounting a mutiny against the tyranny of being folded, tucked and squashed between my calves and a tatami mat.
My eyes remained oblivious to their protests, mesmerised by the movements of the tea master across the room. They traced the way his hand curved gently around the chawan (tea bowl); the way the steam rose from the teapot; the smooth way he scooped a pin-sized amount of matcha from the auburn-coloured lacquer tea caddy and deposited it into the chawan with a quiet tap.
The cadence of a traditional Japanese tea ceremony was far removed from the chaos of the coffee rush I’d grown accustomed to at 10am on St Georges Terrace. Unlike the violent wrist-jerk that I’d witnessed many baristas use to make matcha, here the distinctive swish of the chasen under the tea master’s practiced hand gently corralled the green pool into a light, frothy cloud of matcha. It sung in harmony with the birds chittering in the forest behind the sliding paper doors of the tea house.
The tea master’s every movement was weighted with precision. He slid the doors two-thirds of the way open and closed the remaining third with the other hand. He floated across the floors in his white tabi: five strides to the scroll hanging on the far wall; three strides to the tea pot; two to return to where he started. A bow to begin. A bow to serve. When the chawan of tea was placed in front of me I turned it three quarters clockwise to admire the delicate flower painted on its side; then turned it again, so as not to stain the flower with my lips as I drank my serve of matcha. Three sips. Bowl down. Then I turned the bowl again. Precise. A full circle.
At this point, it would be easy to say that the surprising parallels of tea etiquette and courtroom etiquette popped into my mind. Both are driven by procedure (yes, the red book still haunts me). Both thrive on unwritten conventions, where rules and respect are conveyed through titles and bows. And despite their rigidity, both invite creativity in a way: from the scroll and flower arrangement chosen for each tea ceremony, to counsel deftly weaving a legal argument in his or her submissions.
Honestly, I wasn’t thinking of the court or what to put in this edition of Beyond Billables. My legs had gone numb from being in seiza for an hour. I craved the bitterness of the matcha. Simply put, I was caught up in the ceremony of it all: the swaying of the trees and the chorus of the cicadas — the quintessential sounds of Summer in the Japanese countryside.
This experience was part of the author’s participation in the ‘What is a Recipe For? Food Writing Retreat’ in Yamanaka, Ishikawa prefecture, Japan. Interested in matcha in Perth? Get your matcha from Little Matcha Girl, or grab a matcha latte at Teassential in the State Buildings. If you prefer your matcha in dessert form, Maison Maizen and Cuccini Gelato are collaborating to bring you a proper matcha gelato — limited time only.
