This summer, I’ve been holding matcha workshops in New York, each with a different theme. Last week’s focus was the chasen, the traditional bamboo tea whisk—an essential tool for preparing matcha. Many participants have asked how to care for a chasen and where to purchase one. Currently, Japan is facing a serious shortage of chasen, in addition to matcha itself. That’s why I wanted to share how long it takes to make a chasen, how difficult the process is, and the incredible craftsmanship behind it—skills that have been passed down through generations.
Shin Kazuho Chasen Tea Whisk (真数穂白竹) by Tango Tanimura (谷村丹後）
Each chasen is handmade from a single piece of carefully selected Japanese bamboo. Surprisingly, there are over 100 types of chasen when categorized technically. This one, the light colored chasen, is the most common. After being simmered and then sun-dried in the cold winter air for about a month, the bamboo fades from green to white. It is then aged indoors for one to two years.
From a single stalk, only three or four whisks can be made. The bamboo is first split into 16 sections, then carved down to just 1mm thick, and further divided into 160 delicate teeth—all shaped entirely by hand, guided by touch. The result is a whisk that’s flexible, resilient, and beautifully balanced. I believe that if people knew how much care goes into each one, they would treasure it even more.
The tea whisk–making process, as shown in the Tango Tanimura brochure
At the workshop, I use high-quality, handcrafted chasen made by Tango Tanimura, whose family has been making tea whisks for 20 generations.
Some say they’re too luxurious for beginners—and to be honest, I sometimes feel the same. But I want people to experience the real thing. Even though the workshops aren’t held in traditional tea rooms but in Western spaces, I believe that when people encounter something truly authentic, they naturally treat it with care. And in that genuine experience, something meaningful emerges.
After the matcha has been shared, the chasen rest, washed, reshaped, and dried.
After each workshop, I carefully wash, gently reshape, and dry every whisk with quiet thanks before placing them back in their boxes. I hope they will last as long as possible—and continue to create fine foams of delicious matcha. To truly treasure something, you have to know it well. The same goes for people.
Pergola in New Preston, CT, where antiques and nature come together.
Last Saturday, I held a workshop at Pergola, a charming Asian antique and garden shop in New Preston, Connecticut. It was our first summer session—normally, we gather in spring and fall. We always hope to host the workshop in Pergola’s backyard, by the waterfall, and under the cherry blossoms, but the weather or the sound of the water always brings us indoors. Still, enjoying matcha with a view of nature is always something special.
Each gathering brings unexpected and heartwarming connections. During the workshop, I always share a story about our school’s grand tea master and Henry Kissinger. They were the same age and had known each other for many years. This time, a guest casually mentioned, “I used to be Kissinger’s massage therapist”—he once lived in Kent, the next town over from New Preston. Another guest, a former president of a major New York museum, spoke warmly about her visit to Urasenke New York and her connection to our tea school. I was so moved by these chance encounters. At our public workshop, we don’t drink matcha from the same bowl, but sharing something in spirit makes us one, just for that moment.
The peaceful backyard of Pergola in New Preston, CT—where we hoped to enjoy matcha near the cascade.
In the rush of daily life, these small, quiet moments of connection—through Japanese arts and crafts, matcha, and the conversations they inspire—remind me why I do what I do. I want to keep creating space for them and sharing them with the people I care about. I’m looking forward to seeing you at the next workshop.