A tea bar.
Sixteen seats.
No rush.
A tea bar.
Sixteen seats.
No rush.
We serve Japanese teas — some deep and oceanic, others roasted and warm. Alongside them, handmade sweets and seasonal drinks. Everything is prepared without fuss, with proper care.
Every cup, every vessel is the work of someone who has trusted us with their craft. The sweets we shape by hand ourselves. We try to share it all properly.
No knowledge required. Just attention and curiosity.
Matcha · Gyokuro · Genmaicha · Hōjicha
Seasonal drinks · Handmade sweets
We source from gardens across Kyoto, Shiga, Nara and Shizuoka —
working with Nakai Organic Tea Garden, Hattori Tea Farm, Ippodo Tea Co. and Horii Shichimeien.
The bar is oak. The walls hold light the way old walls do. There is a tatami, a communal table, light sculptures. The name swaps 店 — shop — for 房 — room. A quieter word for a quieter place.
People tend to speak more quietly here. They stay longer than they planned.
By the time it reaches you, it has passed through many hands. The last pair are the maker's. We choose vessels that carry that weight — Raku, Hagi, contemporary work from Japan and Europe. They are here to be held, not displayed.
One morning a month, before we open, the room stays quiet. A bowl of matcha to wake up, then a tray made to last the morning — the season’s dessert, a wagashi, a pot that re-steeps — and time that’s yours: read, draw, write, or nothing at all.
An hour and a half of quiet, with tea at the end.
The door is held. A bowl of matcha, whisked one by one — the waking-up cup. Phones can rest in a basket by the door; offered, not enforced.
A few led minutes of arriving — sitting down, a breath or two, the street going quiet behind you. That’s as guided as the morning gets.
Made to last the morning: the season’s dessert, a wagashi, and a pot of tea that re-steeps twice more — you pour at your own pace. The time is yours, in a low voice or none — draw, write, read, or nothing at all. Nothing is scheduled, nothing is expected. Now and then a guest brings one piece — a listening hour, a material — and the morning forms around it; when that’s the case, we say so beforehand.
Toward noon, the pot’s last steeping and a small parting thing. The close is ours, every time.
First morning this autumn. The date lands here first — seats are booked on this page when it does. Leave your email and you’ll hear before anyone else.
No experience needed. Nothing to prepare. Bring a notebook if you like — or nothing at all.
A three-course tea the Bai way — Shao Dao Zhao: first bitter, second sweet, third aftertaste; here the sweet becomes five tastes. Kwok Ying von Beuningen of the Berlin Handcrafts Collective pours; Ayami Awazuhara cooks, regional. A fig-leaf kombucha to open, cold somen to close, a scent warmed over charcoal. One Sunday, on the tatami. Hold a seat below.
Ceramics in three series, made to be held, not displayed — and cloth dyed with tea waste, indigo and iron, hung through the room. Both makers are in the room all week; pieces and cloth are for sale, and what you buy has usually just been in your hands. Inside regular service — walk in, no ticket. The exhibition’s own room →
The room is for walking into — most of it always will be. A few things, though, can be held in advance.
Kissabō was opened in Berlin in February 2026. It is a place we needed ourselves — somewhere to slow down, to drink something made properly, to sit without obligation.
We hope you find it the same way.
The teas we pour at the bar, under our own label. Leave your email — we'll write once, when they're ready. After that, occasional letters. No noise.
Occasional letters. No noise. Unsubscribe anytime. ✿