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?