At some point in your journey as a matcha maniac, you’ve probably asked yourself the question, “why on earth do all of the fancy matcha have really long names and why do they all end in ‘mukashi’ or ‘shiro’?”

Okay, maybe you haven’t asked this, but you should! Like all things tea, the answer is long, confusing, inconsistent, and steeped in a few centuries of history and culture, but altogether quite interesting. 

Diving into this question opens up the wider topic of matcha names in general: where do they come from and what do they mean? Today, matcha is sold under a wide variety of names with seemingly little rhyme or reason to them, so today I’d like to get to the root of tea names and hopefully unmuddy the waters and allow you to shop for matcha with a bit more confidence.

In a blog post I published a few years back, I attempted to make some sense of these names by sorting them into three distinct categories:

1. Descriptive Names usually list the location, cultivar, producer, or other information about the tea. For example, our Uji Asahi lists the origin (Uji) and the cultivar (Asahi). Similarly, our Kyōtanabe Gokou Matcha lists both the location (Kyōtanabe) and cultivar (Gokou).

2. Generic names are what I’m calling things like ‘Premium Matcha’, ‘Everyday Matcha’, ‘Superior Matcha’, ‘Culinary Matcha’, 'Ceremonial Matcha' etc. As I’ve written about at length, ceremonial grade is a confusing and ultimately meaningless term.

3. Poetic Names are Japanese words or phrases that evoke feelings or imagery the producer feels compliments the tea. These can be single words such as Eiryoku, or longer phrases, often in the form ___-no-___, such as our Uta-no-Mori . Traditionally, you’ll find many blends with names like this that end in -shiro or -Mukashi. For example, our Seichō-no-Mukashi and Ungetsu-no-Shiro. Some of these names are unique to certain teas (such as these), whereas others are common across multiple brands and producers, such as Hatsu-mukashi. These ‘common names’ have the most interesting backstory. 
   

As you’ll see, the lines between these categories get blurred as we go back through the centuries, and perhaps any attempt at categorising them is foolish… 

Tea Names in Use

As the primary target audience of matcha from c.1600–1980 was tea ceremony practitioners, matcha has been sold under names that are useful and appealing for this crowd. So let’s see how these names are used in the traditional tearoom setting.

As I mentioned in my video and post introducing chanoyu, it’s customary for the head guest to inquire about the tea after the service of koicha, or thick tea. As this tea is typically of the highest quality it demands more respect and attention. The two questions asked are typically: 

1. Ochamei ha? (お茶銘は): What is the name of the tea?

2. Otsume ha? (お詰めは): Who packed it? 

For example, if the tea was Chiyō-Mukashi from Arita Sansuien the response might be:

1. Chiyō-Mukashi de gozaimasu.
2. Arita Sansuien de gozaimasu.

The packing in otsume refers to the packing of the chatsubo, something I'll explore in more detail below. In a well-crafted tea gathering, the tea name could potentially be tied into the gathering’s theme, which is something that the host stitches together subtly through choices in utensils, food, sweets, and decorations. 

Usucha, traditionally served using lower quality tea than koicha, is typically not given as much attention and so the guests typically don’t ask about it….in theory, but in practice, especially in informal gatherings, it’s not uncommon.

With this basic understanding in mind, climb into your time machine of choice, and follow me back to classical Japan to trace the history of tea names.

History

Before Names

As I’ll explore in my ever-promised future series about the History of Tea in Japan (one day...I promise!), the beverage took a long time to become popular and widespread. From its introduction to Japan in the 700s all the way to the 1100s, the consumption of tea in Japan was quite limited—predominantly enjoyed by the Buddhist clerics who tended the tea gardens at the temples, and occasionally by nobles, courtiers, and aristocrats. As tea was neither bought nor sold, but rather gifted, there was no need to attach a name or brand to the tea. At best, a tea might be referred to by the temple where it was grown, such as Tōdai-ji and Kōfuku-ji in Kyoto, or Anraku-ji in northern Kyūshu. Such provenance-based references would fall under the first of my naming categories: descriptive. 

Regional Brands

Through the 13th–15th centuries, tea enjoyed a rapid increase in popularity, and with it a shift towards commercialisation. One of the most important sources for early Japanese tea history, the Kanazawa documents, are a collection of a few thousand letters and papers written by Hōjō Sadaaki (北条貞顕, 1278–1333), who, judging from his letters, seems to have been an avid consumer of the ever more popular beverage, especially of tea from Toganoō, which he mentions twelve times. Kōzan-ji and its tea gardens in Toganoō just north of Kyoto, are situated under a dense canopy of trees, whose natural shade made this early matcha sweeter and less bitter: one step towards artificial shading. References to tea from Toganoō dominate early tea texts, to the point that only tea from Toganoō was considered ‘real tea’ (本茶 - Honcha), becoming Japan’s first tea brand. In 1300s, in the popular party game of tōcha, players had to taste multiple teas and guess where they came from, with the only options being ‘real tea’ or ‘fake tea’, i.e. tea from Toganoō or from somewhere else.

A text listing the best tea brands from the mid-1300s shed some light on where else was making good tea: Daigo-ji, Ninna-ji, Uji, Hamuro, and more. These became lesser ‘brand names’ throughout the 1300–1400s; lower than Toganōo, but still held in high regard. In 1383, Uji was considered equal to Toganoō and by the mid-1400s, it had overtaken it as the preferred brand, no doubt thanks to their development of artificial shading, and of course to the patronage of the shōgun, Ashikaga Yoshimasa. Tea seller prices from the 1400–1500s seem to suggest that while a bowl of local or cheap tea might cost 2–6 copper coins, a bowl of Uji tea would cost 500. 

In these centuries, apart from the location of the tea fields, the other information that is recorded in letters and documents is the picking of the tea, with words like shincha (新茶 - new tea), ichibancha (一番茶 - first picking), and nibancha  (二番茶 - second picking), making appearances.

The First Tea Names

One of the earliest tea names in the records appears in 1491: Mujō (無上 - Unsurpassed). This name is applied to a tea from Uji in an attempt to brand it as the best, better than all other tea and most importantly better than tea from Toganoō. It is theorised that this name roughly coincides with the proliferation of shaded tea cultivation, which is partially responsible for tea’s explosion in popularity during this period.

Almost half a century later, we encounter the first record that contains something approaching a tea naming system, with some new names. In a tea ceremony record from 1548, we have this entry from Tennōjiya Sōtatsu describing the tea he used for a tea gathering:

Excerpt from December 6th:

Koicha: Betsugi, Mori. Usucha: Betsugi Sosori, the same.

Excerpt from December 8th

Koicha: Mujō. Usucha: Tsumecha

Here we see tea from an Uji producer named Mori-en (森園). The Mori were one of the historical tea growing families in Uji, along with the Hori, both later superseded by the Kanbayashi as we shall see, who are still around today. At this point, however, Mori-en’s teas were considered the best around.

In the diary record, Mori-en’s tea is sorted into at least four grades, with different grades being used for usucha and koicha. From this entry and others around the same time, we can reconstruct the grading system of the time, starting from the top:

• Betsugi (別儀 - Separate Special Grade)

• Mujō (無上 - Unsurpassed Grade)

• Betsugi Sosori (別儀揃 - Separate Special Select Grade)

• Sosori (揃 - Select Grade)

• Tsumecha (詰め茶 - packing tea)

Many of these names are still around, and are treated as poetic names, but as you can clearly see, these names are not poetic at all, but merely generic quality labels, not all that different from a modern ‘Superior Matcha’ or ‘Pinnacle Matcha’. 

The exception here is tsumecha, which is less of a name and more a descriptor, and it is also an insight into how tea was sold and consumed at this time. The named teas would have been sold as tencha (碾茶 - unground matcha) in paper bags that were tied and sealed, with the name written on the outside of the bag. These bags would then be collected and placed in a chatsubo (茶壺 - tea jar) and the space around them filled with lower-quality tencha, protecting the higher-quality tea, and providing a buffer between the walls of the jar and the nice tencha. This is the tsumecha that is referenced in the diary entries.

Fig 4. Chatsubo Packing Diagram

As the diary entries attest, the lower quality teas were used for usucha and the higher-quality for koicha. While the chatsubo tradition has mostly faded, it is still practiced today in chanoyu. The general practice is to use the bagged teas for koicha, and the tsumecha or packing tea for usucha.

Mori-en’s naming system was relatively stable for a few decades, but as time went on and tea quality and cultivation techniques improved, a new grade was added in the 1580s: Gokujō (極上 - Supreme). Over time, Mujō began to disappear and Gokujō reigned supreme. 

Clearly, Uji was continuing to develop new styles and techniques to improve the quality of their tea. Although I will admit these names are really silly, like you start with Mujō and keep stacking more and more superlatives above it. ”Special, Extra Special, Supremely Special”….it’s a bit silly.

However, this naming did seem to work, as tea from other regions began copying the Uji brand names, in either imitation or an attempt at counterfeit. This became so much of a problem, that ruling warlord Toyotomi Hideyoshi passed an edict in January 1584 prohibiting the sale of tea from other regions as Ujicha or in packaging imitating Uji tea. Hideyoshi and Sen-no-Rikyū particularly favoured the Kambayashi family, employing their Gokujō for the Grand Tea Ceremony at Kitano, a landmark historical event that deserves its own video.

The Kanbayashi continued as the favoured tea producer under the following Tokugawa Shogunate who appointed Furuta Oribe as its first Ocha Ginmiyaku (御茶吟味役 - Tea Inspector), tasked with sampling, tasting, and purchasing teas for the Shogun, as well as overseeing tea production. One of the important tasks of the Tea Inspector was naming tea blends. While we don’t have much information about Oribe’s time as Tea Inspector, his successor, Kobori Enshū left quite the legacy. He is thought to be the first person to use the names ‘Hatsu-mukashi’ and ‘Ato-Mukashi’. It is also said that Enshū preferred matcha that was white or ‘shiro’ in contrast to Oribe who preferred aocha (青茶 - green or blue tea).

At last we finally encounter the words mukashi (昔 - the old times, antiquity) and shiro (白 - white). So what do these words have to do with matcha‽  Unfortunately, no one is quite sure, but there are a few theories, so let’s dive in.

Theory #1: Koicha vs Usucha

Fig 5. Koicha

Many modern companies use these endings to denote distinctions in quality. Take these two teas from Ozawa Seifuuen for example. Ungetsu-no-Shiro is blended for usucha, and Seichō-no-Mukashi is sold as koicha, and Ozawa-san is pretty consistent with that through his lineup and so are a few other producers. But then here’s Arita Sansuien’s Ato-mukashi and Hatsu-mukashi which are both usucha…and he’s not alone here. Many producers use the name hatsu-mukashi for a low-level or intermediate usucha, such as Ippodo, but others use it for their top grade koicha. So clearly this theory has some holes in it. 

While it is true that many if not most producers that use this style of name stick by this rule of ‘shiro’ for usucha and ‘mukashi’ for koicha, it is a relatively recent convention and the inconsistency in the handling of the older names, such as hatsu-mukashi belies some deeper meaning.

 Theory #2: Picking Time

One common theory that has been around for a while is that the word mukashi isn’t used for its meaning but rather for the construction of the kanji character 昔. It’s said that it is a combination of the kanji for 20 (廿), or 21 (廿一) and the kanji for day (日) and this is a reference to the 21 days either side of peak harvest in which tea was picked. Traditionally this is said to be the 88th night of spring: hachijū-hachiya, around May 2. Coincidentally hachijū-hachiya is a common name for sencha.

Following this theory, tea that is picked during the 21 days before the 88th night is called ‘hatsu-mukashi’ (初昔 - first ‘mukashi’). And tea picked after the 88th is called ‘ato-mukashi’ (後昔 - after ‘mukashi’). This theory explains the mukashis, but what about the shiro?

Theory #3: Boiling

As far as we know, for the entirety of Japanese tea’s history up until this point, tea was always steamed after picking to deactivate the enzymes and keep it green. However, as I mentioned above, Oribe preferred something called ‘aocha’, which appears to refer to a now-forgotten production method known as the ao-seihō (青製法 - blue production method). From scant historical evidence it appears that this method was invented in the early 1600s by an Uji tea master named Nagai Teishin (長井貞信) and involved boiling freshly picked tea leaves in a solution of lye. The lye reacts with the anthocyanins present in tea and turn the leaf a deep, dark blue-green. 

Anthocyanins are the compounds responsible for the colour of blueberries, black beans, red cabbage, hydrangeas, pansies, ube, and butterfly pea flowers. Famously, in many of those cases, they are known to react to pH, turning red in acidic solutions and blue in alkaline ones. So by boiling tea in an alkaline solution, such as lye, the anthocyanins in the leaves turn blue(ish). ‘So what does this have to do with names?’, you might ask. There are a few possible interpretations: 

One theory is that in contrast to Oribe’s newly developed, lye-boiled ‘blue tea’, Enshū preferred the old steaming method—the method of old times, of antiquity, of ‘mukashi’—and so he used the word ‘mukashi’ when naming his steamed teas in order to distinguish it from the newer boiling method.

Option two is that the old steaming method was known as the shiro-seihō (白製法 - the white production method) in contrast to the ao-seihō (青製法 - blue production method). Thus, tea names ending in ‘shiro’ meant that the teas were steamed instead of boiled. 

A third interpretation is that ‘hatsu-mukashi’ meant the first (hatsu) way of making tea, the old (mukashi) way, the steamed way. That means ato-mukashi referred to the method that came after (ato) the old (mukashi) way. In other words, the blue boiling method.

Poetic Names

No one is quite sure what the original meanings were, but one thing is very clear, both hatsu and ato mukahsi were originally exclusively applied to the highest grade koicha. The Kanbayashi Family Records say that,

Hatsu-mukashi and Ato-mukashi are the names given to the finest koicha favored by the Shōgunate, and every tea producer considered them to be the best, while from the third tea onwards, each producer gives their own preferred name to the tea

Some examples of those early ‘preferred names’ are Ichi-no-Shiro (一の白), I-no-Taka (いノ鷹), Aya-no-Mori (綾の森),  and Umoji-Mukashi (宇文字むかし). The fact that the ‘mukashi’ in ‘Umoji Mukashi’ is written out in hiragana as むかし rather than as the kanji 昔 is perhaps evidence against the idea that the kanji is a reference to the 21 days either side of the 88th night of spring.

While at first, only the Tea Inspector and the producers named the teas, eventually tea ceremony practitioners such as the Sen family as well as tea-practising samurai also began naming them. This cultural interplay between tea farmers and some of the most powerful people in society gave farmers and their tea a huge amount of cultural prestige, especially when these names are inspired by poetry and classical literature. Here, finally, we get to the real poetic names. There is quite the difference in branding and prestige between ‘Tokujō’ supreme, and ‘Ungetsu-no-Shiro’ ‘White of the Cloud-covered Moon’, a name given to this tea by Zabōsai the 16th Generation Grandmaster of the Urasenke school of tea. The practice of prominent tea practitioners naming teas is clearly still around and is part of the ‘konomi’ system.

Konomi System

Konomi (好み - liked, preferred) is basically an endorsement of a tea by a famous tea practitioner, often the grandmaster of a school or the head abbot of a temple. Usually a tea producer will work together with a practitioner to work out a blend that they like and then the practitioner will give it a name and endorsement. They get a sustainable supply of their preferred tea, and the producer can now say that their tea is ‘preferred’ by a famous tea master. So in addition to Ungetsu, one of Zabōsai’s konomi usucha, we have Seichō-no-Mukashi which was a preferred koicha of his father Hōunsai.

In review, names like betsugi, sosori, mujō, and tokujō are early medieval quality labels; hatsu-mukashi and ato-mukashi were originally reserved for the Shōgun’s favourite koicha, and everything else was named either by the producers or by famous and influential tea consumers.

At Tezumi, we’ve had the opportunity to name a handful of matcha, such as Miyama (奥山 - Deep in the Mountains), Umezuki (梅月 - Plum Blossoms on a Moonlit Night), and Hika (緋火 - Scarlet Fire).

Single Origin Matcha 

Fig 5. Honzu-shaded Fields of Yoshida Meichaen

For over five centuries, since the late 1400s to the late 1990s, almost all matcha has been sold under some sort of name, poetic or otherwise. This only began to change with the trend of single origin tea. Bypassing the blending stage that had been heretofore central to Japanese tea, single origin teas strive to showcase the tea as a direct expression of its unique properties, such as genetic makeup or cultivar, its soil climate and terroir, as well the farmers practice and intent. As such these teas aren’t usually given poetic names, but are simply labelled by these properties. For example, our Kyōtanabe Gokou is made from tea plants of the Gokou cultivar grown in Kyōtanabe. Pretty straightforward. 

Both styles of matcha, the traditional blends and the modern single origin, are perfectly valid and both can be made to the highest of qualities, neither being inherently better than the other. One benefit of the single origin system is that it is more transparent. If you know that gokou is a good cultivar for matcha and know that Kyōtanabe is a good growing region for tencha, then you might know that this is a good matcha. However, if you don’t know that, then the name might as well be as transparent as Uta-no-Mori (詩の杜 - the Forest of Poems).

So that’s a brief insight into the history of matcha names and a little look at how we here at Tezumi name our teas. Some are poetically named by the producer, some by us, and some are just named…what they are. I hope that makes things less confusing next time you’re shopping for matcha.

 

Sources:

天王寺屋会記
橋本素子: 中世の喫茶文化: 儀礼の茶から「茶の湯」へ
神津朝夫: 茶の湯の歴史
https://www.magouemon.com/column/page/4/
William Wayne Farris: A Bowl for a Coin: A Commodity History of Japanese Tea