Since publishing the first post of this ongoing look into the matcha shortage, it’s become increasingly clear just how expansive this story really is. In the past week alone, I’ve been contacted by no fewer than four media outlets seeking insight. Customers are reaching out with questions. Producers are checking in, looking for a sense of what 2025 might hold.
All of this has impressed upon me that this isn’t a tidy two-part, or even five-part series. This is something unfolding in real time—and the decisions being made right now will shape the future of a beverage that means a great deal to a great many people: matcha.
After giving it some thought, I’ve realized that what this moment really calls for is a deeper dive—a series of focused posts exploring the many nuanced subtopics that underpin the shortage. The story is rich: a confluence of history, regional identity, agricultural complexity, an unshakable dedication to craft, and the death and rebirth of an industry. There’s real drama here.
While I am not totally sure where to begin, I think it would be helpful to begin by breaking down one of the most important foundational elements: how matcha is made and distributed in Japan .
Riding through the winding back roads of Uji a few weeks ago, I asked a matcha producer a question that had been on my mind:
“How does it feel to produce one of Japan’s most sought-after exports? Did you ever imagine that something you’ve dedicated your life to—something so personal—would resonate so widely in the West?”
His response was both expected and surprising.
“I’m grateful, of course,” he said. “But none of this changes anything. I’ll continue making tea the same way I always have—with a focus on being better each year. I can’t control the demand, whether it rises or fades. All I can do is make the best tea I know how. If it sells out, it sells out. If I have stock left because people lose interest, at least I’ll know I made something I’m proud of.”
If there’s one theme I’ve encountered consistently in my years working with Japan’s most skilled tea makers, it’s this: they are, sometimes frustratingly, single-minded. Their entire being is poured into the craft. This relentless, often quiet dedication—improvement not for praise but out of obligation to the customer—is what so many of us admire about Japanese craftsmanship.
They lose sleep over the tiniest detail, thinking, “It could have been better.” And this mindset makes sense when you’re producing small quantities of extraordinary tea. But what happens when demand grows? When the world wants more?
Is there any flexibility in the system—or has the scale already been set in stone?
Can matcha production grow without sacrificing the spirit behind it?
Do the producers even want it to grow?
Will matcha someday resemble the world of wine, with allocations of the finest teas reserved for a select few through tightly controlled distribution?
I don’t know the answers. Maybe no one does. But over the coming weeks, I want to explore these questions—gathering thoughts from the tea makers themselves and sharing a few of my own instincts, in real time.
To truly understand the current challenges around matcha—and why it’s becoming increasingly scarce—we need to start at the source. Understanding how matcha is grown, processed, and distributed in Japan is essential to making sense of the situation.
Who Makes Matcha?
The emerging trend in matcha production—one that we’ve helped champion at Kettl—is rooted in the idea of singular authorship: a grower with a deep, personal philosophy tends a single plot, harvests unblended cultivars, processes the tea themselves, mills it into matcha, and sells it directly to the customer.
This does happen—and some of our most trusted partners in Japan work exactly this way. But here’s the reality: that model represents only a tiny fraction of the matcha produced each year in Japan.
There’s no doubt that when one (or a few) dedicated hands manage every step of production—from sapling to sealed tin—the result is often unmatched in quality. And yet, because so little tea is made this way, and because the demand for this level of quality is growing rapidly in the West, we arrive at one of the most glaring issues behind matcha’s scarcity: there simply isn’t enough of this kind of tea to go around.
But that’s only part of the story.
Historically, the farmer-to-customer model was rare. Producing, packaging, and selling tea directly requires capital, infrastructure, and market savvy—resources most farmers don’t have. For generations, tea growers in Japan focused on what they did best: growing. They relied on Tonyasan , specialized wholesalers, to handle the rest. These Tonyasan continue to produce and distribute the majority of matcha available in the marketplace today.
So while the romantic vision of the solitary grower crafting a perfect matcha resonates deeply with us—and results in extraordinary tea—it’s critical to recognize that most of Japan’s matcha comes from a much broader, more complex ecosystem. Understanding that helps us better appreciate both the scarcity of the truly artisanal and the continued role of traditional infrastructure in getting tea into our cups.
A farmer farms. A buyer buys.
Most matcha—whether high-grade or ingredient-grade for food production—is produced through a well-established business cycle that begins in the fields and ends in the mill. It typically starts with a farmer, often stewarding a small plot of land, growing tea from one or more cultivars. What they choose to grow is often guided by feedback from a trusted wholesaler—not just based on current demand, but also on the availability and promise of new cultivars.
This relationship between farmer and wholesaler is critical. In addition to purchasing tea, the wholesaler provides essential support: insights into soil science, weather trends, new farming technologies, and even guidance on the optimal day to begin harvesting. It’s a deeply collaborative, symbiotic relationship—one that enables farmers to do their best work while grounding them in a broader agricultural ecosystem.
Armed with this information, the farmer takes on the demanding work of cultivation: fertilizing, pruning, shading, and ultimately harvesting. But once the tea is picked, it typically leaves the farmer’s hands. The fresh leaves are delivered to a processing facility—either shared or privately owned by the wholesaler—where they are weighed, logged, and officially transferred into the buyer’s care.
From there, the wholesaler oversees the entire production process: steaming, drying, sorting, and storing the leaves as aracha , or crude tea. After a period of resting, the aracha will be refined, blended, and finally milled into matcha.
This system is how the vast majority of matcha in Japan is produced—efficient, time-tested, and built on trust between grower and buyer.
Some farmers take a different route. Rather than selling their tea directly to a wholesaler, they may choose to process their leaves themselves—often using a shared local factory—and sell their product at the tea market , a centuries-old institution that remains central to Japan’s tea economy.
The tea market serves multiple purposes. For wholesalers, it’s where they secure the volume of tea needed to build stock for the year. For farmers, it offers a potential opportunity: a chance to receive a higher price than they might have gotten through a direct contract.
Working directly with a wholesaler offers security—consistent support and a guaranteed buyer—but not always the highest return. At market, more eyes are on the tea, more bidders are in the room, and occasionally that leads to a bidding war. Just as often, it doesn’t. The price can go higher—or lower—than what a wholesaler would have offered. It’s a gamble, but for some, it’s worth it.
Who is the Tonyasan?
Tonyasan is the Japanese title of tea wholesaler and it’s a word you’ll hear farmers repeat often. These wholesalers are the power players of the Japanese tea industry. Their influence is enormous, and their roles vary widely.
Some are master buyers and expert evaluators, known for refining and blending some of the most esteemed teas in the world. Others operate retail arms, supplying premium teas to high-end department stores across Japan. Still others work purely in volume, supplying industrial-grade matcha and sencha to global giants like Starbucks and Häagen-Dazs.
They’re not all created equal—but they’re all critical to the functioning of Japan’s tea economy. And understanding their role is key to understanding how tea moves from field to cup.
The hidden bottleneck: packing
One of the most critical—and often overlooked—responsibilities of a Tonyasan is the processing and packaging of matcha after it’s been milled . And it’s here, in this final stage, that one of the major pressure points contributing to the current matcha shortage reveals itself.
Powdered matcha is incredibly delicate. Keeping it fresh, vibrant, and free from contamination requires rigorous precision, specialized training, and serious infrastructure: infrared separators, vacuum sealers, x-ray machines, custom storage environments, and automated pack-out systems. The facilities that handle this work represent some of the most sophisticated parts of the tea supply chain in Japan.
And yet—even in state-of-the-art factories— most high-grade matcha is still packed by hand .
Why? Because matcha is typically produced and shipped in small volumes. The time and cost to load, run, and clean automated equipment like autohoppers simply doesn’t make sense when you’re dealing with just a few kilograms at a time. So hand-packing remains the standard.
But with demand climbing, this labor-intensive process is reaching its breaking point. There just aren’t enough trained hands to keep up. Orders pile up. Lead times stretch. And what seems like a packaging issue begins to affect the entire global supply of matcha.
So while it’s easy to focus on farming or production as the source of the shortage, it may be this quiet, final stage— the act of getting matcha into a sealed tin —that’s become the biggest bottleneck of all.
Distribution
While I often draw comparisons between the wine industry and Japanese tea, one of the clearest differences lies in international distribution . French wine, for instance, flows through a well-defined and regulated chain—grower, négociant, exporter, importer, distributor, retailer. It’s complex, yes, but also predictable and professionalized.
Matcha, by contrast, moves through a far looser system. There are no governing bodies, no international laws overseeing its export, and very little infrastructure to guide its journey from farm to foreign shelf. That flexibility can be empowering for small importers or adventurous retailers—but it also creates vulnerabilities.
In this system, access to matcha is often determined by the skill, resources, and philosophy of a single wholesaler or farmer . Some of these partners are incredibly sophisticated and deeply understand international logistics. Others are far less experienced, and their lack of familiarity with global supply chains can create serious friction. When the success of a shipment hinges on the capacity of an individual actor, delays and unpredictability are inevitable.
Domestically in Japan, the process is simple. A tea shop opens an account with a Tonyasan, faxes in an order, and the tea arrives. But as demand grows globally, this system is failing to scale. Many wholesalers in Japan still don’t accept international orders—retail or wholesale—and few have created workable alternatives. The result? Frustrated customers abroad, long wait times, and unmet demand.
In my view, this is one of the clearest areas where change could have an immediate and lasting impact. If international distribution channels were better supported—through logistics training, multilingual systems, or designated export partners—the pressure on the entire ecosystem could ease considerably.
Even from the few points outlined above, it’s clear: this issue is deeply complex . But I feel a renewed sense of motivation in breaking it down—bit by bit—so that we can all better understand it: farmers, producers, and customers alike.
Because with shared understanding comes the possibility for progress. If we can illuminate how this industry really works—its beauty, its bottlenecks, and everything in between—I believe we can help make it stronger. More resilient. More transparent. And ultimately, more sustainable for everyone who loves and depends on matcha.
Stay tuned for the next installment.
