It was shortly past midnight on a bone chilling December evening, not four days past a Yule rife with danger – our hired acrobat having consumed more Chardonnay than would be strictly recommended and ending his final act on a tumbling act through a second storey window – when I curled like a python around a grassy cup of matcha I’d received from my grand-maman shortly before her elopement. This being my first taste, I felt a duty to commemorate the moment aloud, so that my 38 Legolas poupées d’action would not remain ignorant to the significance of the moment.
“HOW UNCIVILIZED,” I said, evoking a young Richard Burton, “HOW UNCIVILIZED to even consider sullying a fine matcha by flavouring it. Perhaps that sort of thing happens in a circus funhouse, but not here!” Yet as I raised the cup to my lips, the scent of vegetal gaiety I had expected was joined by a peculiar tendril of dark sweetness. Could it be—-? I cautiously let slip onto my tongue a drop of bubbly emerald. Caramel. CARAMEL. In a second it swept me out of my humdrum life and into the arms of a sugary fever dream. Was that indeed Jory, my first true amour, rinsing his hair in caramel as he had done prior to his devastating burning-caramel-induced baldness? A memory I had long thought lost was awakened like a centennial bloom. Grand-maman, ever the Puck to my Hermia, had let loose one last trick from her quiver of deceit.
As I floated back down to Earth and time slowly took up its forward march, I shook myself out of my caramel haze just long enough to stretch my trembling fingers to my keyboard and began typing: http://www.redleaftea.com/matcha-tea/caramel-matcha.html With my other hand I reached for my address book and flipped slowly to Js. Caramel Matcha couldn’t wait … and nor could Jory.
Flavors: Caramel, Grass