I’ve sipped my way through numerous matcha lattes in Copenhagen, and far too many have tasted like warm milk with vanilla, sugar, and something green that frankly looks more like food coloring than tea.
As I wander disappointedly from café to café, I can’t help but think that for many, matcha has become more about aesthetics than taste. A cute accessory – pretty in hand, but rarely something you actually finish drinking. And fair enough, if you’re into the sweet and milky stuff.
But what if you actually want to taste the tea?
Because matcha is not just regular green tea with a rebrand. The name comes from Japanese: Matsu means to grind, cha means tea. And that’s exactly what it is. Tea leaves that don’t just steep in water but are ground into a fine powder and whisked into a velvety microfoam. The leaves are grown in the shade in the weeks leading up to harvest, handpicked once a year (typically in May), and slowly ground between granite stones.
It takes over an hour to produce just 30 grams! An 800-year-old tradition and a process that demands patience, often forgotten in the rush.
In recent years, the demand has exploded, both at home and globally, and something has been lost along the way. Small Japanese tea farms struggle to keep up.
Meanwhile, some chains here have ramped up their marketing. But even the pictures reveal it: the color is wrong. Where matcha should have a deep, fresh green color (somewhere between a green apple and lime), it is often dull, yellowish, and cloudy.
And if you look up the list of ingredients, it starts with sugar and coconut oil, while matcha powder – whatever that might cover – appears much further down the list.
I know how it sounds. Like I needed a hobby and decided to get into matcha. Admittedly, maybe it was the color that enchanted me at first. That distinctive green that looks like something good for the body.
With current prices (due to the global matcha shortage), I would never have ordered a matcha latte if I didn’t enjoy the taste. Imagine paying DKK 45 for a cappuccino only to discover that it’s made with Matilde milkshake mix and instant coffee instead of espresso. You recognize the color, but the taste ...
The disappointments around the city led me to take matters into my own hands: I bought an electric kettle with an 80-degree function, a chawan, the bowl traditionally used in Japan, and a chasen, the bamboo whisk that makes the tea foam softly. It became a bit of an obsession but also my way of ensuring the tea tastes as it should (and saving myself from wasting more money in the city).
The matcha latte is essentially a Western reinterpretation. In Japan, the tradition is simple – no milk, just water and tea. So maybe it’s fair that some create their own green dessert drink and call it matcha.
But this is the guide for those still hoping to get a cup that tastes like what you actually ordered.
The meticulous one
Dzidra, Rantzausgade 2, Copenhagen N. DKK 65.
At Dzidra, things are calm. The music is low, voices are hushed, and the barista is greeted like someone you’d like to see again. The counter used to be a ticket office for trams, and behind the window are some of the most beautiful scones in the city. But that’s not why I’m here.
I sit by the bar to follow along. The classic bamboo whisk is ready – a good sign. The matcha is measured by weight, whisked with steady hands, and served in a bowl, not a cup. It tastes like someone put real effort into making it. The barista tells me they use matcha from io, a Japanese tea house located on Blågårdsgade.
The main character
Sonny, Rådhusstræde 5, Copenhagen K. DKK 85.
Burhan G gazes at you from the wall, Jorja Smith’s tunes fill the air, iced matcha is served to friends, and black coffee goes to politicians dealing with tough cases. It’s busy, noisy, and stylish. Blue aprons, Chanel posters, and an aesthetic that screams Instagram. You might think the matcha is just decoration on the menu.
But the wall says: Matcha latte, DKK 85. That’s a commitment. I ask about it. Ceremonial grade from Tyst Te, whisked with a chasen, made with pea milk, and served in a ceramic bowl. Rich, smooth, like a meal in itself. Really good, but also very expensive. It feels like one of those purchases you automatically downplay if someone (like my parents) asks about it.
The competent one
Sing Tehus, Værnedamsvej 4, Copenhagen V. DKK 68 (includes cold tea and half a mochi).
Sing Tehus is the place that delves deep. A small tea laboratory with Japanese chawan bowls, specialized teapots, and tools you don’t just pick up without asking first.
Here, you’ll meet the best kind of nerds—the ones who don’t make a big fuss but share their knowledge simply because they genuinely love tea. There’s no music, just the sound of hot water being poured, the whisk against ceramic, and hushed voices.
You don’t need to ask about matcha type or technique. But if you do, they’ll tell you they use culinary matcha of the highest quality. It’s more intense and robust than ceremonial grade, making it better suited for lattes where the tea needs to shine through the milk.
You leave a bit wiser than when you arrived.
The relaxed one
Darcy’s, Rantzausgade 2A, Copenhagen N. DKK 65.
Darcy’s feels like a place where you automatically unwind. One person is jotting notes, another has set up a whole workstation with a laptop and mouse. Cozy without being lazy. The boulevard hums outside, but inside it’s peaceful.
The matcha here is also from io on Blågårdsgade, sifted and whisked in zigzag motions. It’s served in a chawan with latte art, like you know from your caffelatte. The atmosphere is cozy and youthful. One of the few places where you can order matcha without having to explain yourself. The taste? It has that perfect balance. Enough matcha to taste something, but rounded off smoothly with oat milk.
The fancy one
Lille Petra, Kronprinsessegade 4, Copenhagen K. DKK 65.
At Lille Petra, every detail has been considered. The café also functions as a showroom for the Danish design brand &Tradition, and you can feel it. Everything from the furniture to the cups is curated with an eye for aesthetics. The atmosphere is calm and refined, like stepping into a home décor magazine.
The courtyard is green and tranquil, and you feel like you’ve discovered a gem in the middle of the city. At one table, iced matcha is shared between friends you’ve probably seen in your Instagram feed.
And even though the aesthetics dominate, the tea is not just an accessory. The matcha is ceremonial grade from Piohni, whisked with a chasen. The taste is intense and clear, perhaps because there’s less milk. But I’m not complaining. It tastes exactly as you hope it would. No stress, no music drowning out your thoughts.
