How Matcha Scoops Are Made | Carving Chashaku with Suikaen

For matcha enthusiasts, the name Suikahen needs no introduction. Headed by 25th generation chasenshi Tanimura Yasaburo, they are one of only a dozen families who continue to make chasen in the village of Takayama in Nara Prefecture, which has been the centre of chasen production for over 500 years. But this time, we didn't visit to learn about whisks, we're here to carve chashakes. It might be surprising to learn that, unlike today, where handcrafted Takayama chasen are much more valued than the humble bamboo scoop, in the realm of Chanyu, it has traditionally been chashaku that have been the most prized. In fact, one chashaku sold at auction earlier this year for almost half a million dollars. So what makes these simple scoops so valued? Though unassuming at first, these utilitarian tools of bent bamboo are an entire world of natural beauty and personal expression. Unlike every aspect of Japanese tea culture, they have their own system of terminology, classification and appreciation. Bamboo scoops for powdered tea are older than matcha itself, with earlier references dating back to 11th century China. But most tea scoops at this time were made of precious metals, horn or ivory. Ivory scoops were the standard for the formal service of tea in Japan through to the 1500s, but with the birth of wabisuki, the rustic style of service that eventually became the tea ceremony that we know today, the simplicity, natural beauty and abundance of bamboo made it the chashaku material of choice for this new and developing style of tea. As bamboo is so readily available in Japan, and much easier to carve than ivory, it's no surprise that tea practitioners began carving their own chashaku rather than buying or commissioning them. This allowed them to shape unique and expressive scoops which fit their individual needs and aesthetics. The earliest of these bamboo chashaku merely replicated the shape of the earlier ivory scoops, long and thin with no nodes or other features. Gradually, the organic features of bamboo, such as its nodes and grooves, became more appreciated. By the late 1500s, the centre node or nakabushi style of chashaku, which proudly features the node as the central highlight of the scoop, became the new standard, a development often attributed to Sen no Rikyu. In today's classification, nakabushi chashaku are often considered sou or informal. Those with the nodes at the end, called tomebushi or motobushi, are called gyō or semi-formal, and those without nodes, called mubushi or fushinashi, are considered shin or formal, although they are still less formal than those made of ivory or other precious materials. Following Rikyu's death, chashaku continued to grow increasingly more expressive as successive generations of chajin sought to find new and individualistic aesthetics in their carving, and today it was our turn to carve our own personal chashaku. I'm here alongside Greg, a fellow Tesumi team member, and our friend Nam. Of course, before we can start carving, the first step is bending the bamboo, which is done by holding it over a flame while applying gentle but firm pressure, being careful not to break the fibres or burn the bamboo. How the scoop is bent can have a pronounced effect on the overall atmosphere of a chashaku. For example, a gently curving marudame gives a soft impression, while a sharply bent and folded oridame is much more striking. Bending the bamboo is the hardest part of the process, so luckily for us, Tanimura offered us some pre-bent and trimmed blanks called aramage for us to choose from. When selecting bamboo to carve into chashaku, there are various features that I'm looking for, such as the presence of a groove or hi down the middle of the scoop, a thick node, or interesting colouration. The unique colourations of shimitake come from bacteria living on the surface of the bamboo, and these are said to occur only in wet environments like swamps, or when the entire bamboo growth reaches its old age. Once we selected our bamboo, the first step was then to shape the handle section below the node, called the otori. After we've marked the desired widths of our scoops, it's time to trim them down to size. Of course, Tanimura-sensei makes this look nice and easy, and despite having done this before, I seem to be struggling. So much so, that I decide to stop being left-handed, and try being right-handed for a bit. Greg, however, is a natural. Next up is trimming the node down to size. Once again, his decades of experience allow Tanimura-sensei to make this look like a piece of cake. Meanwhile, I'm still struggling. Choosing the shimitake with the big thick node was probably not the best idea, but it was cool looking, so I had no choice, but putting this much pressure on the back of the Once again, Greg proved to be a natural. I swear his knife was sharper than mine. Next up is straightening out and thinning down the handle till it lines up with the node. Armed with a fresh bandage and some hope, I try my best at carving through this ridiculously thick node, and thinning down my handle. Eventually, I ask for Tanimura-sensei's help to carve through this really thick node, and while he did a much better job of it than I ever could, even he struggled a little bit. Now we're moving on to the kaesaki. This is the area of the chashaku above the node, and is the part that actually scoops the tea. So on one hand, it has to be functional, but on the other hand, it is probably the area that is the most expressive, allowing different tea masters over the years to create some unique and interesting shapes. Carving the bamboo across the grain like this is quite difficult, and of course Tanimura-sensei makes it look incredibly easy. I'm going for an asymmetrical tip inspired by some of the chashaku that Ueda Souko himself carved. Once we have the basic shape roughed out, it's time to go in and refine the details, slimming sections down and hollowing sections out. At this point, we begin to test the usability of the scoops. One important feature is its ability to rest cleanly on anatsume. Because of the rounded surface of the lid, a straight scoop would only have one point of contact, therefore it would spin or fall over. So the key is to make sure that the scoop touches the lid in at least two places. In my case, one of the reasons I chose an aramage with a thick node is so that I can hollow out the node, creating something called an arigoshi, or an ants wasted chashaku node. As the node is the densest part of the bamboo, it's the trickiest to carve. So after a few more struggles and a little more help from Tanimura sensei, I managed to carve out enough for me to be pleased. It's not a particularly extreme arigoshi, but it gets the job done. Now that the chashaku are more refined, it's time to finish them off with some sanding. Instead of sandpaper, the rough sanding is done using a piece of tokusa. This is a type of Japanese horse tail with a very rough and abrasive exterior. After further refining with the tokusa, it's time to finish it with a slightly higher grit sandpaper. In the early days of bamboo chashaku, the scoops were finished by applying a thin layer of lacquer and wiping it off, creating a dark, shiny finish. But around the time of Sendō Sōtan in the early 1600s, the bamboo began to be left plain, keeping its natural appearance. The final step in carving the chashaku is the kiridome, or the cut end. Many older chashaku didn't have a kiridome, but instead the end was rounded over time with use and with wear. There are a few different styles of kiridome, and here I chose a four-cut style. Now that the scoop is finished, it's time to give it a name. It's not clear when chashaku were first given poetic names. One of the oldest might be Sasanoha, a name given to a chashaku supposedly carved by Ashikaga Yoshimasa, although there is some doubt whether this was actually his. And even if it were made by Yoshimasa, the case and the name were probably given to it many years later. Perhaps the most famous chashaku of all time is Rikyu's Namida. This was the chashaku that Rikyu used to make his last bowl of tea before committing seppuku, and he gave it to his disciple Furuta Oribe, who crafted a black lacquer case for it in the shape of a mortuary tablet. It was Oribe who gave the scoop its name, Namida, meaning tears. It is thought that this chashaku began the practice of giving them poetic names and crafting them beautiful cases. In fact, for many of the historical examples of chashaku that I've shown here today, the cases and names were given to them much later. This is part of the culture of chashaku and why such old pieces of bent bamboo are given such immense value. The value of a chashaku doesn't lie only in its visual beauty, but in the fact that it carries the pure and direct expression of its carver's intent. And so, even after centuries, it's as if the person themselves were in the room. In addition, the provenance, the direct lineage of ownership from the carver themselves through to the generations and generations of chajin who have owned it and passed it down, add layers upon layers of story and value to each scoop. That's why such plain scoops can fetch such a high price at auction and be so treasured in the tea room. As you've just seen, with a little bit of practice and some patience, anyone can carve a chashaku. And with a few decades of experience, you can get really good at it. This is why you might find some people saying it's improper to use a chashaku that you carved when serving tea in a formal tea gathering, as it is tantamount to saying that me and my work are worthy of praise. But there are others that say that the rich history of chajin crafting tea scoops for their own personal use is best honored not by honoring the objects themselves, but by honoring the practice. Here I am carving a chashaku and using it to serve tea so you can guess which camp I belong to. Inspired by the unique coloration of the shumitake, I named my chashaku Koshitayami, meaning the shade under the trees. After a name has been selected, it is written on the tsutsu, which is the cylinder or case that houses the finished chashaku. Typically, these are made of bamboo fitted with a cedar lid. First, a symbol for shime or sealed is written across the join between the lid and the body. Then the poetic name of the scoop is written on the bamboo. And lastly, it is signed with the kao or signature of whoever named it. Learning how to carve chashaku with Tanimura sensei and his family was such an amazing and unique opportunity, as was the ability to serve them tea made using the very same chashaku. The Tanimura family is absolutely dedicated to their craft and their art, and the pieces that they make, be it chasen, chashaku or bamboo vases, are absolutely exquisite. It is our absolute honor to work with such skilled, passionate and dedicated craftspeople. Tanimura sensei's son, Keiichiro, and his wife, Yumi, were absolutely instrumental in making all of this happen. I hope you've gained a new insight and appreciation for the humble chashaku, and perhaps you might be even tempted to make your own. Thank you very much for watching, and I hope you have a lovely bowl of tea.