ポテトチップス 明太 マヨネーズ味

You've got to love a culture that eats cod roe. In Greece, cod roe is increasingly used for taramasolata, the traditional dip originally and still sometimes made with carp roe. In Sweden, one can get cod roe in a tube. Mighty tasty squeezed onto a peice of knacke. And in Japan it seems to be everywhere. Plain (鱈子/tarako) or spicy (明太子/mentaiko), it shows up on many a dinner plate, either served with a side of mayo or in one of the most incredible crossover dishes ever, pasta with tarako sauce. And now in chips.

However, one must remain a little skeptical when Calbee's Mentai-Mayonaise Flavor Potato Chips (ポテトチップス 明太 マヨネーズ味) ingredients include mentaiko and mayonaise powder. Why, in the name of absolute control do industrial food companies insist on powdering, agglomerating or otherwise changing the basic nature of foodstuffs until they are nothing but unrecognizable additives that add up, ultimately, to a much lesser experience. And perhaps a little bit of a bad taste in one's mouth.

Calbee's recent offering in its Paripari (パリパリ/crisp) line of so-called adult flavors is neither all that reminiscent of mentaiko nor mayo. The chips themselves are decently fried super-slim slices of real potato. The flavor additives seem to be a bit of an afterthought. A slight hint of cod roe, a whiff of mayo and a longer lasting mild burn of hot pepper. But if you're looking for a real mentaiko experience, leave the chips on the shelf and go for something like mentaiko pasta.

Here's my recipe. It's about as simple as one gets

Mentaiko Cream Pasta

Serves 2

linguini or spaghetti

200 - 300 grams mentaiko

2 T unsalted butter

2 T finely chopped onion

250 ml cream (butterfat content to your desire)

shoyu to taste

shredded nori

finely chopped negi (Japanese leek)

Bring a large pot of water to a boil and add pasta. Cook for appropriate doneness.

Meanwhile, melt the butter in a skillet. Add finely chopped onions. Cook 2-3 minutes until soft. Add cream and bring to a low simmer while stirring with a whisk. Reduce cream to about 1/2. Scrape mentaiko from its connective membrane and add to reduced cream and onion mixture and mix until evenly distributed through the mixture. Add shoyu to taste.

In a large bowl, mix with cooked pasta. Transfer to serving plates or platter and garnish liberally with nori and chopped negi.

This can be done in about 9 - 13 minutes. It's that easy!

KitKat ジンジャーエール味

Nestle Japan is justifiably famous for the endless flavors of KitKat that they foist upon the market. The well seems to be endless for the whacky food technologists that they hire. Kudos must be given to the corporate giant for at very least, hiring some creatively insane people.  Forget about the sins of their tireless marketing of infant formula in the third world at the expense of undermining traditional nursing (we're talking breastfeeding here) and possible and probable contamination from unsafe water sources and unsanitary preparation conditions. Forget about melamine in your milk, slave labor harvested chocolate and frankenfoods. We're talking pure mindless celebration of consumer culture and nutty capitalism.

So, of course, tempted by constant novelty and having 100 yen sitting in my pocket, I had to buy the KitKat Ginger Ale Flavor (KitKat ジンジャーエール味). Can anyone resist? Cracking open the foil-wrapped inner package, an unmistakable whiff of ginger ale filled my nose. Wow! The scent soon dissipated. First bit revealed a lemony white chocolate amidst the familiar crunchy wafer. The ginger itself was overwhelmed. Though they use real ginger in the product, they also use real lemon powder. And as for ginger ale - as suspect as contemporary Canada Dry and Schweppes may be - you really don't need lemon. However as a lemony white chocolate concoction it ain't too bad. 

A quick perusal of the Nestle Japan revealed that apart from the strawberry and blueberry cheesecake and apple flavors, hitting the market are some traditional Japanese flavored KitKats - wasabi, kinako (toasted soybean flour), and sweet potato. Plus shoyu, miso and wasabi! I can hardly wait!

Check out the new flavors here - http://www.rakuten.ne.jp/gold/e-nestle/kitkat.html

大樹の小枝

The rather daunting English on the package of this white chocolate candy bar announces it as "A White Big Tree of Koeda Chocolate." In actuality it's Taisho no Koeda (大樹の小枝) - the twig of a big tree. Not necessarily a white tree nor from some mythical little place called Koeda, but made of white chocolate with cashews and bits of langue du chat (cat's tongue cookies) that makes for a quite pleasing confection - not unlike a high class Nestle's Crunch bar, but a lot better. And at a mere 100 yen a pop, a contemporary value.

About 35 some years ago, Morinaga, introduced the original Taisho no Koeda, short and uneven pencil diameter stubs of milk chocolate roughly mixed with nuts and stuff. These are the original twigs. They even looked like 'em. White chocolate versions came later. Now they've got the bars. Considerably larger than your average twig, but not quite stumps - let's say branches - they're fully packed for modern consumption, worthy of a few healthy chaws.

The white chocolate of the bar sampled, though not as complex as a good dark chocolate, had a fine mouthfeel, almost buttery and with the liquory tastes that gives good white chocolate its elegance. Coupled with the light nutty taste and gentle crunch of cashews and the vague give of cat's tongues, it's quite a beautiful bar, even if it looks a bit lumpy.

A few kudos must be given for the commercial. It's haphazard direction and editing, along with the absurd premise and striking situation is a grabber. The man in the middle of a ravenous dog and hungry spy is a strange place to put the potential consumer, but isn't advertising - and what advertisers want you to desire - basically about fear?

Cratz メキシカンサルサ＆チキン

From the people who brought you Pocky Sticks, Glico, a more adult version, made for scarfing down with beer, Cratz works a similar paradigm - crunchy baked dough cylinders with flavor coatings. Cratz, though are little hard biscotto (twice-cooked) pellets with intense seasonings, mostly built around salt - and thus demanding a good swig of beer or shochu to wash it all away. The Cratz flavor pellets always come with a few toasted almonds in every package. Pocky Sticks, on the other hand, are delicate wands with dipped in sweet fondants (mainly chocolate) made to indulge the sweet tooth.

For what it's worth, both Cratz and Pocky products are true winners in the junk food sweepstakes, Pocky Sticks actually having become a cultural signifier of Japanese sweets.

Cratz's flagship products come in a few basic flavor combos - Spice Cheese and Pepper Bacon being the year-round favorites. And then there are changing flavors to keep the consumer interested in the product. Hitting the racks recently was Mexican salsa and chicken (メキシカンサルサ＆チキン). Among the ingredients listed to give you that truly Mexican taste are chicken extract powder (can we say bullion cubes?) dextrin (can we say hydrolyzed starch?) salsa seasonings (?) and bacon extract (now we're talkin' Mexican!).

In endless variations the strange and novel concoctions that come out of food labs throughout the world, this one vaguely hits the mark. Granted, the Japanese really don't get Mexican, but a vague hint of jalepeno (most likely chemically created) with the slightest hint of tomato and plenty of salt, brought back vague recollections of some some sort of Mexican bizzarro world of Doritos, Old El Paso Taco Seasoning and Pace Chunky Salsa. But wait! That's what most estadounidenses think about when think of Mexican food! Maybe the Japanese food scientists hit the mark spot on.

And of course, any product that signs on Matsumoto Hitoshi, the comic genius responsible for the films Dianipponjin and Symbol, is definitely cratzin' the zeitgeist.

ドリトス ウィンターチーズ味

Fritolay Japan, like Kit Kat Japan, likes to have it's fun creating novel seasonal variations in order to keep the brand "fresh," even if the ideas are a bit stale. Case in point is Doritos Winter Cheese Flavor (ドリトス　ウィンターチーズ味) chips. Pringles Japan makes its own winter cheese product too, but since Pringles isn't food, it's not in the purview of this blog.

What we got are your basic Dorito corn chips cut into cookie-cutter evergreen tree shapes, dusted with generic cheese powder and a few other taste bud abusing chemicals. From the look of the package, there's a definite holiday theme - snow flakes, a Christmas wreath, a gold star not unlike the stars that front Chinese army issue Mao caps - preferably the big thick winter ones - and a conceptual cheese (white rind for the Japanese proclivity toward soft creamy ripening cheeses and big holes to say Swiss) that's all wintery in look.

The question, one may ask, is what does the pairing of cheese and winter mean? Is winter the time one should be eating cheese? Getting that extra butterfat to keep warm. Is there some tradition yet to become manifest of the Christmas cheese? Perhaps nice gooey cheeses left in Christmas stocking by the fireplace? Or perhaps a particularly ripe and stinky cheese as a replacement for hard black coal to be put in naughty children's sabots? Or perhaps a large wheel of brie as a replacement for the Christmas turkey or ham?

Traditions have changed hugely in the age of advertising. Santa as a fat bearded guy all dress in red can be traced to Coca Cola. Valentine's Day seems to exist only because of the flower and chocolate businesses. So, why not a big cheese to remember the Big Cheese's birth. After all, isn't that what the wise men brought for Him?

島豚ジャーキー

You won't find this at your usual konbini - unless you're traveling in Okinawa. I discovered this one in a wonderful little Okinawan store/cafe, Okinawa Souko, along the Pal Center shoutengai south of Asagaya on the west side of Tokyo.

Island Pork Jerky (島豚ジャーキー) is the product at hand. Jerky exists in many traditional cultures. The modern word for it comes from Mexico, from the Quechua. Ethiopia has a version of it made with either lamb or beef. But one of the commonalities of these places is dryness and plenty of sun. Neither of which exist much in Japan. And above all, hot and moist is the catchword for the Japanese islands, particularly the Ryukyu Islands (Okinawa Prefecture), the southernmost chain of greater Nippon. Not particularly good or safe weather for drying and preserving meat products.

However, here we are in the 21st century and traditional or not, Japan does have the technology.

Pork jerky makes so much sense. It's surprising that I've never seen it in the US market. This wonderful little package of slightly smokey salty dried pork goodness comes from an Okinawan producer, Asahi. They're a small company that also makes a black pork jerky, pigs' ears jerky, chicken gizzard jerky, among a host of fine products munchable with ice cold Orion beer or awaomori. Perfect for a hot and sweltering summer day.

Cola Shock

It was only a matter of time. Since its invention, cola has been a favorite mixer with any number of liquors. Note the continuing popularity of Cuba libres, Jack and Coke and the kalimotxo (a favorite of Basque youth - equal parts coke and red wine). Kirin has cut to the quick with premix Cola Shock (コーラショック), a chuggable mix of vodka and cola.

In an ever competitive market for canned liquors, Japanese booze giants are constantly filling the drink aisles of konbinis and grocery stores with the next seasonal brew or chu hai, often competing with their own brands. But in this consumer paradise called Japan, there must be something new all the time. It keeps the economy going and consumer consuming.

Cola Shock is reminiscent of RC. Quite a bit on the sweet side, but with a big cola taste. And with 5% booze a pretty potent little number. Of course, cola fans have their favorites and rarely is there any crossover in brand loyalty. Coke drinkers drink Coke. Pespi folks love their Pepsi. Does anybody still drink RC? No matter, Cola Shock could well become a favorite for underage drinkers and let's-get-drunk-'til-we-puke partiers. It goes down pretty easy and wallops with a potent sugar and alcohol rush.