Matching with Matcha

An Adoration Poem for the Green-Hearted

From ice cream to deviled eggs, my love affair with matcha runs deep. This poem is for the green-hearted, the flavor-obsessed, and anyone who’s ever found joy in a cup of ceremonial-grade magic. 

Whether you’re here for the matcha recipes, the memories, or the mood—it’s all in here.

There are few things I love more

than a good matcha—

ceremonial grade, of course.

Picky me: low or decaf, please.

Grassy as spring after rain,

earthy like a forest floor kissed by fog.

The color is a child’s sacred green—

half jade, half lightning, fully alive.

I’ve had it frothy in a dozen lattes,

scooped into ice cream with sprinkles,

waffled crisp, pancaked soft,

folded into crepes like sweet origami.

Matcha cake. Matcha cupcakes.

Matcha brownies topped with strawberries.

Matcha chicken (don’t knock it).

Matcha soba noodles—cool, savory silk.

Then matcha donuts, matcha mochi,

matcha smoothies, matcha croissants,

matcha macarons, and matcha truffles—

so creamy they should be illegal.

And yes to all: matcha pizza,

matcha deviled eggs at brunch,

matcha butter on sourdough toast,

matcha popcorn at midnight.

Even matcha lotions and face masks—

because why shouldn’t my body

drink in that shimmery green potion

and gleam like summer moss?

Missing matcha is a kind of ache—

a craving that hums beneath the skin.

For everything bitter and everything sweet,

I match with matcha all over again.

Too much? Maybe.

But matcha holds me longer

and deeper than most men.

And truth be told—

it still stirs me more.