It was late morning, and I was in the kitchen, whisk in hand, watching the matcha froth into that perfect, creamy green. There was something about that moment—the sound of the whisk, the smell of the tea, the way the liquid caught the light. It was calm, satisfying, and grounding in a way I didn’t fully understand at the time.
Back then, I didn’t think much of it. Matcha was simply part of my day. Until one day, it wasn’t.
In 2020, I left Los Angeles, moved back to Wisconsin, and hit the reset button on my life. My days were a mix of starting a marketing agency from my parents’ basement and trying to figure out what came next. But every day, around 11 a.m., I made matcha. The rhythm—sift, whisk, sip—became something I looked forward to. A moment of structure, a little pause, and a kind of energy that felt more sustainable than anything else.
At first, it was just a habit. But the more I leaned into it, the more I started to feel its impact. Matcha offered this unique blend of clarity and calm. And I began to wonder if there was a way to bring that feeling into something more.
Matcha has a long history, with origins in China and deep cultural significance in Japan, where the landscape helped shape the matcha we know today. I’ve always respected that tradition. And while I wasn’t setting out to reinvent it, I wanted to create something that felt thoughtful and approachable in its own way.
Over time, I found myself just as drawn to the ritual as the drink itself. The pause, the presence, the way it made even the most ordinary moment feel like something more.
That’s where Lucky Matcha began. Not with a grand idea, but with a quiet, consistent curiosity. What if more people could experience this feeling? What if matcha could feel light, modern, and personal without losing the meaning behind it?
That’s how Lucky Matcha started. But the first step to making it real wasn’t the matcha itself. It was the name.