At George’s Dock, on the North Wall of Dublin’s Docklands, a small cafe called Matcha Matsukawa has opened this month with a clear proposition: to prepare and serve powdered green tea in the form it has been cultivated and consumed for centuries in Japan, rather than as the vaguely flavoured additive into which it is so often diluted in Western markets. The space itself is modest and up-to-par with its ownership and sourcing as the first Japanese-run matcha establishment in Ireland. It maintains direct ties to Uji, Wazuka, Kizawa, and Nara, where their teas are grown, according to their social media.
The cafe exterior is unassuming, tucked into its own unit, but upon stepping inside, the careful attention to detail is immediately apparent. There is little of the generic décor that tends to reduce Japanese references into surface-level aesthetics. Instead, their space feels deliberate in its restraint: clean lines, muted colors, and an uncluttered layout focus attention on the counter where your drink is being prepared. In this way, authenticity is not performed through ornamental design or theatricality, but through the insistence that what is served in Dublin corresponds as closely as possible to what is produced in Uji.
According to Naoki Matcha’s guide on Japanese production methods, matcha differs from ordinary green tea at every stage of its production. Unlike ordinary green tea, which is steeped as loose leaves, matcha is shade-grown for several weeks prior to harvest, which alters the plant’s chemical composition by increasing amino acids like L-theanine and intensifying the concentration of chlorophyll. After harvesting, only the youngest leaves are selected, which are then steamed, dried, and deveined into what is known as aracha. Through a process of further refinement, aracha becomes tencha. Traditional granite mills grind the tencha into extremely fine powder—each one only producing up to 40 grams an hour.
When I asked the barista whether she preferred matcha or hōjicha, she paused before answering. Matcha, she said, carries prestige, and is obviously the drink most customers come in for, but she personally leans towards hōjicha. She explained the difference: whereas matcha is made from shaded young leaves that are steamed and stone-grounded, hōjicha is roasted at high heat until leaves turn reddish-brown. The roasting lowers the caffeine content and softens the sharp vegetal edge, creating something more mellow.
Hōjicha does not strike the palate with the same grassy intensity that defines matcha. Instead, it has a muted, more toasted quality, but is still recognisably green tea. If matcha can sometimes seem austere or even severe in its vegetal concentration, hōjicha feels less so, easier to drink; although I do recommend adding flavouring or sweetener. As for their traditional green matcha itself, it is whisked to a dense green forth and can be adjusted to your liking. The cafe really leans into the adaptability of the ingredient: tiramisu where the cocoa is replaced with fine green dusting, crepes filled and folded with a matcha cream, even eclairs and soft-serve that take the intensity of the tea and disperse it through layers of sugar.
What makes these confections possible is the availability of high-grade matcha, but that availability is no longer guaranteed. Reuters reports that, across Japan, growers claim that output has been shrinking as demand for matcha abroad accelerates. Heatwaves and unseasonal rains have reduced harvests in Kyoto and Nishio, two of the most important producing regions, while labour shortages in rural Japan make the meticulous process of it all increasingly difficult to sustain. That scarcity has also opened the door to dubious substitutes. As AP News claims, in September 2025, a growing share of “matcha” sold globally originates not from Uji or Nishio but from mass plantations in China, where production can be scaled quickly while quality often falls short. For consumers, the difference is not always obvious, but the more compromised the word “matcha” becomes, the harder it is to defend the labour, geography, and craftsmanship that justify its value.
For consumers in Dublin, this pressure will likely appear first in the form of higher prices and in clearer distinctions between so-called “ceremonial” and “culinary” grade powders, terms that are often misused but increasingly function as shorthand for quality. According to The Guardian, many cafes abroad already rely on these industrial blends from China. Japanese-run establishments such as Matcha Matsukawa, by contrast, have little interest in such compromises. They will have to defend the high expense of importing authentic Uji products, and in doing so risk pricing themselves out of a market accustomed to cheap lattes flavoured green. Yet, this is precisely what makes the cafe so significant. It asserts that the value of matcha lies in the fidelity to its origin and the preservation of a practice that resists simplification.
