抹茶デ俺のマチ

Plain matcha seems a rarity in this town, so I was more than surprised when I came across a plain cup of matcha tea for 1.25 at the city's only Gelato place: Whole Lotta Gelata. I didn't expect much; but I received a lot in terms of volume. Not in taste, however. It was expected. Why would anyone expect a Gelato place to know how to make a proper cup of matcha tea? It's not as easy as water and powder. The place gets points though for sophistication. If only my Italian fore-fathers knew how far they had come; alongside some Japanese kid's Japanese fore-fathers, of course.

However, as much as I would have liked to discuss the tea's pleasant taste, it will have to wait for a place with pleasant tea because the matcha here was nothing more than chalky and bitter, not sweet like a true, properly mixed matcha should be. What made this tea blogworthy however, was the way it was presented to me. Regardless of its taste, (which should have been the reason I sent it back, assuming I did send it back) I was enamored by the matcha's rich, rhetorical materialization. It wasn't tea in the generic (yet usually sleek) white coffee cup/tea cup/ some kind of cup we'd all expect, but in a double layered, almost bowl like (very reminiscent of the cups used in Japanese tea ceremony- probably a fluke), windblown glass cup, sans handle. Yes, it could be argued that the double layered, windblown glass was to insulate the tea and prevent scolding the drinker's hands, but I argue that there was more to it than that. Its shape was reminiscent of the East; yet, its design and the materials involved echoed the contemporary cosmopolitan lifestyle that makes tea drinking today such a sophistication, even if it tastes terrible. As long as you drink matcha, you're cool. The thing itself does all the talking for you. You only need to read some Burke quaintly in the corner of whatever café and be.

This brings me to my next question: what happens when something like matcha is prepared incorrectly and tastes aweful, but is still drank by the connoisseur because they hear about its benefits and play their own sophistication off of its connection to the exotic land of the Rising Sun. Bad tasting things can be good for you, but so can good tasting things, and in the case of matcha in my city, this is something I have a problem with. I've likened the flavour of a matcha latté to that of a strange breakfast omelet and plain matcha to that of cigarette ash. At this point, I can't help but wonder if it ever tastes good. What happens when these misappropriations in taste occur? I'll tell you, dear reader. You have a loss of proper taste, and nothing more than rhetorical propaganda. No longer is it about taste, but association with the thing itself. A cup of matcha and saying one drinks matcha comes to signify the drinker's own exalted position in foodie-ism, even if it means it tastes aweful. It becomes a kind of social proving ground, even when it doesn't have to be. Why not refuse to drink terrible, bitter tea? Will you lose face? Only amongst the biggest phonies who think matcha, for example, should taste bitter. Then again, are people like that really worth knowing? They probably read about matcha in a women's magazine. Tell me if I'm going off on a tangent, but sometimes, it seems that kids truly are the only honest connoisseurs. They'll tell you if something tastes bad and if they don't like it due to nothing more than their honest, genuine taste. They don't care what someone else thinks- until, of course, they grow up. But at least in that finite time they have integrity, which is something we should all aim to have when eating. Because when you fake sophistication, you're no better than a kid.

Did I just melt your brain?
Whole Lotta Gelata120 King St S,
Waterloo, ON, Canada

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