Not My Cup of (Matcha) Tea

Time of India

8 hours ago

When a long California queue flatters to deceive
There are few things in life more suspect than a long queue of students outside an ice cream shop – except perhaps a professor starting class on time. Yet there I stood, hypnotised by the serpentine line outside Maruwu Seicha, a Japanese tea specialty store on University Avenue, Bay Area, famed for its Matcha ice cream and even more for the number of selfies clicked in front of it.
The aroma of exclusivity was thick in the air. After 20 minutes of pondering life, love, and lactose, I reached the counter and asked the fatal question: 'Is this gluten-free?' The cashier, clearly trained in the ancient art of customer discouragement, stared at me as if I'd asked her to explain quantum physics in iambic pentameter. With a weary sigh, she barked, 'Hey, anyone know if there's flour in the ice cream?' Several heads nodded vaguely – either in agreement or early signs of fatigue. I took that as a 'probably safe'.
Ordering was a bit like investing in cryptocurrency – you don't understand it, but everyone else seems to be doing it, so you throw caution (and cash) to the wind. My order was punched in without knowing what it was, only that it wasn't sold out. We were united in ignorance, the cashier and I – two souls adrift in a sea of Matcha.
The wait stretched on like a Tolstoy novel. Around me, young scholars buzzed with the vigour of finals-week caffeine. Their devotion to Maruwu's green swirl suggested that either the tea had magical properties or tuition didn't buy much else.
Finally, my prize arrived: a dainty spiral of jade-green mystery, perched atop a cone like a temple offering. One lick in, I paused. Was this dessert or penance? The second confirmed my fears – it tasted exactly like a bitter tea gone cold, frozen in time.
I passed the rest to my unsuspecting family, murmuring with poetic resignation, 'Not my cup of tea.' They nodded with pity. I had been Maruwu'd.
To be fair, this may be a delicacy for those who enjoy their dessert with notes of ancient philosophy and powdered austerity. For the rest of us, Salt & Straw exists – and with flavours that don't double as dissertations.
Moral of the cone: sometimes FOMO leads you to enlightenment; sometimes, it just leads you to a very cold green regret.
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This article is intended to bring a smile to your face. Any connection to events and characters in real life is coincidental.