Run your hand through it
Hemp Matcha · London · This autumn

Ten thousand years old. Never once a drink.

Hemp leaf has been prized for as long as anything has been grown. Nobody thought to put it in a glass. We did — twice.

Field Day and Green Hour. Organic, European, and naturally without caffeine — we didn't take it out, it was never there.

Join the queue The two drinks
The drinksField Day · Green Hour
The leafOrganic, European
CaffeineNone, naturally
First runLondon, autumn
The oldest thing on the menu

One of the first plants we ever grew. The last one to reach the glass.

I.

Older than the wheel

Hemp is among the earliest plants humans ever cultivated — ten thousand years of being grown, eaten, spun and traded across three continents. Few things on earth have been valued for longer.

II.

The leaf everyone forgot

All that time, the world used the seed and the stalk. The leaf — green, fragrant, the part that most resembles tea — was never brewed. Nobody had made a drink of it. Not once.

III.

So we made two

One brewed like an iced tea. One stone-ground into a fine powder and whisked, matcha style. Both cold, both in the can, both a thing that has genuinely never existed before.

Cold. Green. Poured.

Keep scrolling. You're pouring.

Three in the afternoon

Field Day

Iced hemp leaf tea · 250ml

Cold, clear and unmistakably green. Cut grass and white peach first, a twist of citrus behind it, then a finish that goes dry and clean instead of sitting sweet on the tongue.

Brewed like a proper tea, chilled hard, canned. Nothing in it you'd have to look up.

You will drink this too fast. Everyone does.
SharpBrightLow sugar
Move your cursor — play with the powder

Fine. Green. Luxurious.

Stone-ground, matcha style — never quite still.

Eight in the evening

Green Hour

Hemp matcha, ready to drink · 250ml

Deep green and faintly thick, the way a good matcha should be. Rounder and sweeter than you expect, a soft creaminess through the middle, and a long grassy finish that stays with you.

Stone-ground leaf, whisked and canned. Named for the hour Paris used to stop work and pour something green.

Shake it. Ice. Sit down. It isn't going anywhere.
DeepCreamyStone-ground
One mouthful, second by second

What actually happens when you drink it.

0s

Cold, then green

The chill lands first. A half-second later the whole thing goes green — cut grass, wet stems, the smell of a garden after rain.

2s

White peach

Something soft and stone-fruity arrives underneath and rounds off the edge. This is the part people don't see coming.

4s

A twist of citrus

It lifts and sharpens across the middle of the tongue, the way good iced tea does when there's lemon nearby.

6s

Dry, and gone

No sugar hanging around, no film left behind. Just a clean grassy echo — and the reason you reach for it again.

Field Day. Green Hour runs slower and stays longer.

How to serve it

It deserves a glass. Give it one.

This is not a drink for the walk between two places. Three ways we'd pour it.

Field Day, over one large cube

A tumbler, a single big piece of ice so it doesn't water down, a strip of lemon peel across the top. The citrus in the leaf comes forward and stays there.

Green Hour, in a coupe

Shake the can hard, pour it cold and unhurried into something with a stem. It holds a fine head for about a minute. That minute is the point.

Either one, at the bar

Both are built to sit on a back bar and be ordered out loud. Ask for them by name in the places pouring them this autumn.

Before you commit

Honestly — is this for you?

If you drink green tea, fine cider or a good dry vermouth, you'll understand this immediately. If you want something that tastes of cola, you won't, and we'd rather say so than take your money.

DelicateGreen & grassy
DrySweet
LightFull & creamy
Drink it fastDrink it slowly
Field Day
Green Hour
Go on, ask

The three questions everyone asks first.

Will it change how I feel?

No. It's the leaf, brewed like tea. Nothing in here alters you — it's a drink, and it's meant to be a very good one.

Where can I drink it?

Anywhere you'd drink a fine tea. A hotel bar, a dinner table, your own kitchen at eleven at night. Nothing to explain to anyone.

What's it actually like?

Green. Properly green. Far closer to iced tea and matcha than to whatever you are currently picturing.

Everything else — the farms, the leaf, how it is made and how it is classified — will be written out plainly before the first run ships.

The queue

The first run is small. There is a queue.

A limited batch, made this autumn, poured in London. It goes to the queue first, then to a short list of bars and rooms we've chosen ourselves. Nowhere else, not yet.

  • First claim on the first run, in the order you joined.
  • An invitation to the London tasting — Field Day and Green Hour, side by side, properly cold.
  • The address of every bar pouring it, the week they get it.

One email when it is ready. Nothing else, ever.

No. —
Your place in the queue

Every friend who joins on your link moves you up four places. The people at the front drink it before London has heard of it.