Sencha’s Rebellious Spirit and the Origins of Japan’s Café Culture
Baisaō’s Defiance Against Matcha Elitism and the Birth of Japan’s First Café
Today, I’d like to shine a spotlight on a uniquely Japanese “counterculture” that emerged around matcha—a type of powdered green tea revered worldwide.
Matcha-based chanoyu (tea ceremony) was passed down through generations by the master Sen no Rikyū (1522–1591). Over time, its etiquette and rituals became increasingly systematized.
Historically, merchants in the city of Sakai—who handled the manufacture and trade of weaponry—served matcha to their samurai clientele. This backdrop allowed the tea ceremony to flourish as a culture closely tied to the warrior class. As a result, ordinary people had virtually no opportunity to drink matcha; it was reserved for nobles and samurai.
If we trace tea’s history further back, however, we discover a deep connection with Zen long before Rikyū’s era.
The monk Eisai traveled to China, where he witnessed tea being enjoyed at Zen temples. He observed monks freely and robustly debating ideas, an experience that deeply influenced him. Fascinated by this “tea culture” originating in China, Eisai recognized tea’s potential and brought seeds back to Japan.
The famous Kyoto temple Ken’nin-ji, a popular tourist site today, was founded by Eisai. In doing so, he also laid the groundwork for Japan’s own tea culture. With that, an historical context of “tea and Zen” took shape, and Zen monks in Japan began using tea as a catalyst for uninhibited discussion.
A monk named Myōe, who was close to Eisai, received tea seeds from him and went on to cultivate his own tea garden. It is believed that this was when “matcha,” the powdered green tea, was first invented.
Thus, matcha became an indispensable luxury for shoguns and military lords. In particular, once Tokugawa Ieyasu (1542-1616) unified Japan and established the Edo shogunate, matcha gained such importance that it was formally adopted in official ceremonies. It became even further removed from the common folk.
On the other hand, the Edo period (1603–1868) was also a time of vibrant commoner culture. A budding counterculture suddenly appeared, intent on making tea accessible to ordinary people—an antithesis to the aristocratic matcha culture.
That counterculture was sencha (steeped green tea).
After returning from China, Eisai is said to have sown tea seeds in the mountainous regions of Saga Prefecture. About 460 years after his death, Baisaō (1675–1763) was born in Saga.
As a young monk, he entered Ryūshin-ji Temple in Saga, a place steeped in the “tea and Zen” tradition, and spent time wandering from temple to temple. Over the years, he became disillusioned with the corruption he witnessed in certain Buddhist monks, and nurtured a strong spirit of rebellion against the status quo.
By age 57, he became convinced that traditional Buddhism offered no genuine insight into truth. Overflowing with a spirit of defiance, he followed his heart and decided to embark on a journey. He strapped his sencha-serving utensils to his back and traveled alone to Kyoto.
While the roots of chanoyu were in Sakai, it truly flourished in Kyoto, where matcha culture was closed off to the aristocracy and elite. Baisaō confronted that exclusive environment by offering sencha to everyone, regardless of social standing.
At 61, he established a teahouse called Tsūsen-tei along the banks of the Kamo River in Kyoto, creating a liberated space dedicated to sencha, free from rigid ceremony.
There, he expounded his own unique Zen philosophy to the patrons who gathered daily. Captivated by his words, more and more people began to congregate—this would eventually become known as the very first “café” in Japan.
Baisaō even carried his utensils around Kyoto—visiting Kiyomizu-dera, Tōfuku-ji, Shimogamo Shrine, Ninna-ji, and Arashiyama—running a mobile café of sorts.
Having opened Japan’s first café, Baisaō refused to set fixed prices. He put up a provocative sign reading “Pay whatever you like, but you can’t go lower than free,” lampooning the elitist attitudes that prevailed just one street away from the Kamo River. Choosing that riverfront location in particular underscored his defiant spirit.
Bustling with couples and tourists today, the Kamo River has a more unsettling history.
From the Heian period onward, corpses were often discarded in the area. Kūkai (774–835), founder of the esoteric Shingon sect on Mount Kōya, was appalled by the sight of so many bodies strewn about upon his return from China, and advocated cremation in Japan.
Meanwhile, the Hōjōki (1212) describes an era when the Kamo River was littered with countless victims of plagues, famines, and earthquakes in Kyoto, likening it to hell on earth.
Traditionally, the Kamo River was viewed as a boundary between the realms of the living and the dead. Naturally, this was not a place nobles wished to set foot. Instead, it became home to people who later rose to become the samurai class.
Armed with this context, Baisaō opposed aristocratic culture not by mere words, but by demonstrating the “dissolution of social status” through his Zen-inspired actions.
His influence spread from commoners to artists, and even to samurai. In this sencha-fueled café culture, a singularly unique cultural milieu was born. Out of this era emerged brilliant Kyoto-born artists like Itō Jakuchū, who became deeply inspired by Baisaō’s philosophy. Jakuchū developed a close bond with Baisaō and later conveyed his mentor’s ideas through painting.
Thus, one lone “heretic” became the wellspring of a new cultural movement.
Originally, cafés in the West were crucial venues for those shouldering the future of culture—places to gather, debate, and spark creative endeavors. But how does the global café culture fare today?
In Japan, the spirit of Baisaō has largely vanished. Most modern cafés in the country have devolved into simple study halls for students or stand-in offices, devoid of any spark for generating new culture.
Sencha, then, is not just another way of preparing tea. It began as an open rebellion against the socially exclusive culture of matcha. When you drink sencha with this viewpoint in mind, you can sense its original rebellious spirit and potentially experience a profound form of Zen.
In Saga, Baisaō’s birthplace, his legacy lives on through the founding of Tsūsen-tei, where sencha is still served. Tasting sencha here offers a deeply moving experience unlike anything you’d find in Kyoto’s bustling tourist spots.
For those who are interested in Zen, I encourage you to discover the spirit of Baisaō for yourselves. Even now, in Kyoto—a tourist destination flocked with visitors—this rebellious ethos endures.