Matcha Ice Cream: Asian Meets Western

by Chloe Song

For most of my life, it has been a backand-forth: am I more American, or am I more Asian? Over the years, however, I have learned that sometimes it is more rewarding to find a middle ground; somewhere where I did not have to make a concrete resolution between my nationality and ethnicity. In doing that, I have learned to appreciate the spaces in which my two identities coexist. One of these spaces that I have found particularly appetizing is food. The one dish that I go back to in particular is a very specific dessert, only found in the loaded freezers of Asian supermarkets, or more authentically, in the streets of Japan. This particular dish goes by the name Matcha Ice Cream.

As an Asian-American, the combination of these three words sound odd. It sits almost contradictory on the tongue. How can something as seemingly exotic as Matcha, often found in the traditional delicacies of Asian cuisines, be a flavor of something as conventionally western as ice cream? As a nine year old, on a family trip to Japan, I wondered this exact question.

We were in an underground mall, somewhere in the dazzling depths of Tokyo, shopping and eating. As we wandered, we stumbled upon a green store with massive windows, giving us a glimpse as to what was stirring inside. Behind the glass, a lady was grinding up what looked like foreign green powder using a stone machine. To my naive eyes, it seemed like magic, strange magic since I didn’t know what was being made, but otherworldly nonetheless. A Japanese native beside us noticed my awe and confusion, and kindly offered to explain the mysterious process. He told us that the powder came from a plant called Camellia Sinensis, found mostly in East Asia, but the particular ones used before our eyes were from the lush fields of Uji in Kyoto. Following the harvestion of the green plants, the leaves were taken through a drying process, which reduces the moisture of the leaves by applying heat to result in a crude end-product named Tencha. Finally, it entered a process of grinding.

The man continued explaining, but my eyes had already moved elsewhere. I was now watching another worker turn the powder into cream-to-green colored paste, and unknowingly, I had stepped closer to the lady grinding the powder. She looked at me and gave me a smile, in which I returned, mesmerized by the way she moved her hands along the mixer.

Then it was time to eat. My thoughts went a little something like this as I dug in: Hmmm,Ilikethis. Another bite later: Interesting.Theflavorsareheavy butlight! Third bite: Wait,isthisAsian food?No,itcan’tbe.Butithastobe.I amliterallyinJapan!Wait,wait.Letme tryagain. And then another bite went in: This tastes too American to be Asian! Or can it be both?

Lick after lick, bite after bite, the dish transformed into a realization that a singular dish can be both American and Japanese, both western and Asian. To me, the taste was bitter but sweet, and the experience foreign yet familiar; a memory of contrasting words unknowingly rendered a pleasant encounter. Reflecting on this experience, I now confidently believe that foods of different cultures can harmoniously mix into one, beautiful whole, as demonstrated by this ever so delightful Japanese dessert. For this eye opening revelation, I thank you Matcha Ice Cream!