Late in the growing season, after the year's spring flush has already gone into sencha, tea gardens in Shizuoka and Kyoto turn to picking the older, larger leaves that become bancha. That later harvest is what gives this tea its character: a smooth, mellow cup with far less bite than the green teas picked earlier in the year. In the cup, expect gentle grass and roasted rice alongside something nutty and faintly sweet, with hints of lemon and honey and an aroma that can call to mind popcorn.
Once picked, the leaves are steamed quickly to stop oxidation and hold onto their green colour, then rolled and dried to lock in that mellow aroma. It's a plain, traditional process, and the tea's history is fairly plain too. Bancha traces back to the Edo period, when using the coarser, older leaves instead of discarding them turned it into an everyday, affordable drink rather than a luxury. Processing improved during the Meiji period, refining the tea without changing what it was for. That history has left bancha as something of a household fixture in Japan, a tea people reach for daily rather than save for special occasions.
Caffeine is present but light, typically 10 to 20 mg a cup, noticeably less than sencha or other spring-picked greens. Bancha also contains theanine, the amino acid tea drinkers have long credited with a calming effect, and its tannins and polyphenols are the kind of compounds traditionally associated with easier digestion. None of that makes it medicine, but it goes some way to explaining bancha's reputation as a gentle tea for any time of day.
To brew it, use about one teaspoon of leaf per cup with water cooled to 80°C rather than a full boil. Steep for two to three minutes, or up to four for a stronger cup, then strain. Keep the leaves in an airtight container somewhere cool and dark, and the mellow, grassy character holds up well over time.
