Matcha-do About Nothing

Please don’t get me wrong. I love matcha. Adore it, in fact. Now, I’m no connoisseur by any means—and I really want to impress that—but I am nevertheless a great admirer, as much as anyone living so far from the source of this majestic powder can be.

I have been to Japan and partaken not only in a tea ceremony (which I felt ambivalent about given its now-touristy setup), but also in the consumption of plenty of matcha from legitimate purveyors. Both straight—mixed only with hot water, as is supposedly custom—and in a variety of milk-laced formats. Personally, I enjoyed the tradition of having this bitter powder and water concoction alongside a little sweet something. However, I would be lying if I said I didn’t prefer it milky and frothy, like some sort of adult hot chocolate. But let me be clear to all those twitching to criticise my right to talk about matcha: of course I know spending a few weeks in Japan means sod all when it comes to really understanding this national treasure, and of course having tried it at the source does not make me a better person. In fact, a note to all trendy matcha sippers: despite its health benefits, it makes you no more virtuous than the rest of us. Sorry, not sorry.

Personally, I prepare it by whisking up a little matcha powder with just-boiled water using the requisite Chasen. I then pour over freshly steamed and frothed milk until I have a beautiful cloudy green mixture. Nowadays, I like to use oat milk because it lends a natural sweetness, but cow milk is fine too. I have tried it with coconut milk, and it’s not bad, but I do find the combination of flavours a little peculiar. I also have a local Japanese cafe that makes superb matcha in this more European format, offering, too, different seasonal takes. My favourite so far has been their Banana Bread Matcha Latte, which I believe has a touch of banana syrup and an added cinnamon topping to the froth. Just delicious. And, I should hasten to add, the matcha flavour—freshly whisked up—still shines through.

So, my issue that will irrevocably turn this post into a rant is the general trend of cafes adulterating matcha so that they taste nothing like the thing that allows these establishments to charge a hefty sum. I won’t name names—you all know whom I’m talking about—but these cafes offer vanilla matchas, fruit-flavoured matchas, matches with jams, cold matchas with various flavoured foams, matchas with all sorts of added ‘health’ ingredients (reishi, collagen, and so on). Every now and then one of these cafes will really respect the matcha, only accenting it with a little sweetness or flavour, which I’m not against. But largely, what’s plonked in front of you is a sugary, artificially-flavoured, instagramable monster.

I hear you, matcha on its own is an acquired taste. How else can us Europeans drink it when this ritual has only just entered our collective consciousness? Needing to offset the natural bitterness is understandable from this standpoint. I mean, I have mine typically with milk for that reason (plus it goes further, as do my pennies). But if you require your matcha to be so strangled by other flavours to be palatable then, guys, let it go and stop encouraging them. Or, quite simply: if you don’t like the taste of matcha, then why are you paying for it?

Of course, for all of you reading this who don’t even realise that matcha is supposed to have a distinct flavour then make it your goal to find out what it is. And to all those culprit cafes out there: stop patronising us and swindling us, and give us the hard stuff. I mean, we’re obsessed with coffee for god’s sake. If we can learn to love that, we can learn to love anything.