The Real Tea
By Anna Haddad
I step out of my car, the gravel crunching under my shoes. It’s Saturday. The air is cool, but summer’s not quite lost its sting. The heavy oak door masks the smell of ground coffee that greets me, as the bell rings above. I hear myself ordering at the counter while Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls plays overhead, my fingers tapping along to the rhythm. A group of friends laugh in the corner, draped over couches next to half empty cups. A moment or two later, I leave with my iced matcha latte in hand.
My hometown is small, rural, and boring. There’s about five noteworthy restaurants, and even less noteworthy things to do. A trip to the grocery store means running into someone who knows my parents, which leads to an awkward conversation I struggle to get through. A fun night out is spent with music and friends in a Walmart parking lot, where no one seems to notice the harsh fluorescent lights burning our eyes. The vast majority of buildings are foreclosed and the only open store in the mall is Belk.
However, a “hidden gem” as some might call it, is found in our downtown. My local coffee shop makes the best matcha I’ve ever had. That sounds like an exaggerated statement, but I promise I’m not just being dramatic. If you know me, you know I love a good taste test. A few years back I made the executive decision, just with myself, to find the best matcha out there. My local coffee shops’ was marked as the one to beat, and believe me I tried. I began my journey by attempting matcha at home, but it always came out grainy, too sweet, or not sweet enough. I went through many Starbucks and Dunkin’ Doughnuts drive throughs, each time thinking “Maybe this location is better!” “Maybe they were having an off day last time!,” but I drove off disappointed time and time again, sipping on a mediocre drink with a flashing advertising sign in my rearview.
Eventually the summer months found themself approaching once more, fighting to steal the spotlight from the bitterness of February. Once again my mission continued, and once again my social media was filled with big names, flashing big cups, paid for by big coffee companies. I managed to find myself in large cities like Boston and Portland, and I visited well known coffee shops with long lines, high prices, and flattering reviews. I would order a matcha each time, and each time my small towns unheard of coffee shop would wipe out the competition. This lengthy taste test proved more to me than just where to find a cold drink. It showed me that sometimes the greatest things in life are found in unexpected places. Sometimes, what’s mainstream or expensive is worse in the long run. The big names, the brands, and the price mean nothing if what’s being served is subpar. So when I'm home, I find myself walking through that heavy oak door towards the counter. I order while humming along to Scar Tissue by the Red Hot Chili Peppers, my foot dancing alone to the rhythm. A moment or two later, I walk out with my iced matcha latte in hand.
