Let's start with a very large disclaimer: I tend to prefer (green) tea over coffee, and spent years living on relatively low caffeine levels. I do need a bit of extra caffeine to shake me awake nowadays though, and thus initially welcomed the fad that is hand-drip coffee in all its multifarious varieties, as it meant that the availability of pretty decent-tasting coffee was multiplying at a very rapid pace.
But then things took off and let's be honest: virtually every damn place turned into a coffee-connoisseur-type venue (whether or not actually worthy of the label), thereby massively overcomplicating my ordering ('Coffee, please' hasn't cut it for a while now) and eating up a very large chunk of everyone's already lengthy commuting time. I digress. Did I mention I prefer tea?
After all, the only thing you really ought to linger over is a cup of tea – cold coffee is a bit rank anyways. Thus, the recent arrival of a tea-drip specialist in Tokyo sent our hearts racing more than any highly caffeinated pop-up stand could. Tokyo Saryo, a nine-seater south of Sangenjaya, was opened by a pair of designers looking to put the focus back on tea.
According to the duo, many Tokyoites are used to simply drinking green tea from plastic bottles or brewing some with tea bags these days, and less and less people have loose tea that they spend time and care brewing at home. The very minimalist decor of their shop echoes the goal, as it puts all focus back on the tea. No unnecessary information or extra decorations on the walls here: there's literally nothing else to admire but your cup of tea and the brewing installation in front of you.
Unsurprisingly for such an environment, Tokyo Saryo offers exactly one menu item: a tea 'tasting' set including two different types of green tea and sweets to top it off, for ¥1,300. This will get you not only two but five cups of tea in total, so plenty to taste, compare and contemplate.
When our team visited, there were seven types of leaves on offer, the majority of which were single-origin and all from different regions in Japan. To make ordering a tad bit simpler, rather than just giving names, the varieties are all placed on a taste and fragrance spectrum, from sweet to bitter (top to bottom) and fragrant to umami-rich (left to right). If you're looking to compare and contrast, definitely go for two at opposite ends of the spectrum.
The dripping process itself is as meticulously executed as at any hand-drip coffee shop: your chosen tea is first measured on a scale to the precise weight by the barista, and subsequently placed into a filter. They custom-designed their drip contraption, which is made from a loose ceramic outer funnel with a funnel-shaped tea sieve placed inside, perched above a wooden platform with three precise holes in it.
Our first tea was presented at 70 degrees (according to a digitally controlled, very fancy kettle), and was steeped for a far shorter time than we expected; the gentlemen behind the counter drained the liquid from the funnel within a few short minutes to optimise the taste.
Our picks were wildly different, with the Harumoegi (#001) in particular carrying a palate very different from your average cuppa (the only thing we could liken the aftertaste to was a chocolate Easter egg, bizarre as that may sound), whereas the Yoino Shichiyousei (#007) was more smokey, almost wavering into black tea territory.
Then came the second steeping, with 80-degree water being added to our old leaves and subsequently served in a different cup. To say there was a difference is a bit of an understatement – our teas changed both shade and taste, with all of them becoming more traditionally 'tea-y' and flavour differences slowly evening out.
After we'd savoured, traded and spent an inordinate amount of time comparing our respective teas, we were treated to the final act: the genmaicha-ification of our teas. Genmaicha (玄米茶, roasted brown rice tea), is literally green tea with toasted brown rice grains, so to make the change, a very precise spoonful was added to each of our drip funnels. Another quick steep later we received what was probably the mellowest and most accessible version of our teas yet, albeit with more than a tiny note of rice.
It was all topped off with a little sweet at the end – in this case, some dried fruit yokan. The guys at Tokyo Saryo are careful to not make these feel too traditional, and therefore tend to add a sweet touch that can be a little different from the average wagashi you'd receive at a tea ceremony.
If any of the teas catches your fancy and you'd like to be able to brew an entire pot yourself, pick up any of their loose teas in a bag and repeat the process at home (sans the fancy dripper and kettle, perhaps). Although Tokyo Saryo's interior does not lend itself to whiling away the hours with a cuppa and a book, the singular focus on tea is definitely a leisurely experience, and a lot more calming than waiting for your coffee to finally drip through.