Wマロンのクリームホーン

Faux seasonality - it's one of the enduring myths of Japanese cuisine. All too often one is reminded of the Japanese obsession with its 4 seasons and its concern for preparing and serving food at its perfect time. Just like most other nations on earth. There's nothing special here. Especially when it's mixed up and mediated by the forces of industrial food. Japanese food in reality isn't particularly seasonal. You can get bad apples here all year, whether they're in season in Yamagata, imported from China or Australia. Sanma, which once truly was a fall fish, is now on grocery store shelves all year. Of course, they do lots of promotions for it in the autumn, but who's to know when that fish was caught - and frozen. Coulda been any time.

So, here's a little something from Fujipan, a particularly awful corporate baking concern, that hit the market about a month or so ago - Wマロンのクリームホーン. That's your W (meaning double) cream marron (chestnut) horn - a particularly nasty vienniose-style pastry. God know what they did to create this simulacra of pastry. In the double-ended "horn," one side had some sort of sham "whipped cream." The other a brown-died version of the same "whipped cream" that had the vaguest hint of sour chestnuts. Not at all a pleasant thing to eat.

But, in addition to the just plain badness of it, there was the package and the timing that made the whole thing even worse. Here it is, early September - this year mercifully temperate, but still not really fall. The package in an array of fall colors - oranges, yellows, browns - with bursting chestnut pods and bright maple leaves carrying all the appropriate signifiers. So when did they harvest these chestnuts? Not this year. When was the pastry made? Probably not this year either. At least it didn't taste like it.

This and other products of its ilk suddenly appear on convenience store shelves, pretending to be seasonal products. Bullshit. They merely take advantage of peoples' senses of nostalgia - if even that. Perhaps they become more insidious - blind markers of what you're supposed to be consuming and when.  Eating up every season like clockwork, marking off the years until you die.

ジャンボむしケーキベイクドチーズ

Here's your ジャンボむしケーキベイクドチーズ. That's the jumbo mushicake baked cheese. Mushicake meaning steamed cake. Baked cheese meaning baked cheese. How these two processes reconcile, I can't fathom. They actually don't. There are specific words in Japanese that refer to cooking processes. 焼く(やく- yaku) is a little slippery as it mainly means to grill, but also to bake. And then there's 蒸らす (むらす - murasu) - to cook by steam. These are different things. Looking at this package, first there's the image of what looks like cheesecake, mostly a baked item. And the image makes it looked like it's a baked item. In English, there it is, the words, all caps, BAKED CHEESE. However, the first descriptor line says "jumbo mushicake" - mushicake meaning steamed cake. The cake itself, revealed through the transparent wrapper - definitely a steamed cake, no evidence of baking. And what the hell do they mean by BAKED CHEESE anyway. Is this a good thing? Especially considering the basic quality of basic quality Japanese cheese. Does this idea of BAKED CHEESE send some signal to the Japanese consumer that this is a good thing, something desirable? I realize that there's often a disconnect between image/idea and product itself in this world of late-stage hyper-capitalism. But there is a point where one says, "Enough!" These fictive products, these faux foods, at a certain point make no sense whatsoever. What is this thing they're trying to sell me? I have no time for such linguistic conundrums. I may eat my words, but why would I eat yours. The mendacity gets caught in my throat. The company that makes this thing is Kimuraya. These people claim to have invented the anpan, the classic azuki bean filled bun that was originally stolen from China and probably developed with the input of a mess of forgotten Japanese home and professional bakers. There's no reason whatsoever to believe anything Kimuraya says. Ergo, they didn't invent the anpan and this thing, this BAKED CHEEZE whatever - it's a lie.

Diabolo Ginger

Diabolo Ginger. A sort of Deleuzian soda for a public trying to find some engagement with commerce. Like all such products, manufactured from fragments of the imagination. A bit here. A bit there. The final conclusion, specious at best, baldly manipulative and misinforming at its heart. Here's a soda, manufactured under the rubric of its Sekai no Kitchen (世界のKitchen) - the "world kitchen" line of soft drinks. It's important to note that the very name of this product is written with Japanese kanji and English orthography, hinting at an almost Hegelian synthesis of meaning. In this promotion, Hungarian grandmothers make yogurt drinks with mangoes and the old ladies of Provence boil down ginger, spices and grapefruits, mix them with soda to make this new-fangled ginger ale. Diabolo - a French slang that sounds almost Spanish - used mainly for describing soda drinks made with either mint, grenadine or raspberries - and Ginger (again in English, not in French) are the exact words they use to describe this thing. This thing, where exactly is it from? This thing springs from the imagination of those food scientists at Kirin, that they market as something traditional, yet not, something ultimately fictive. Do you buy this fiction? Do you buy the story it tells?

It's actually a rather nice ginger ale. Certainly better than the Schweppes or Canada Dry or Wilkeson products that in their pure artificiality signify "ginger ale," rather than actually taste like ginger ale. Which brings up a certain conundrum around the nexus of the taste imprinted on the imagination vs. the actual taste of things. If you expect the taste of ginger to be what's in your basic commercial ginger ale, what happens when you taste real ginger? Which is why Diabolo Ginger, which tastes like the more artisanal and real ginger sodas that began hitting the US market about 15 or 20 years ago, will probably always live in some niche market. It just doesn't taste like ginger ale. Even though, objectively, it tastes better. And what does Provence have to do with it anyway? Nothing, if you're being objective. And as a postmodern marketing strategy it's totally laughable. Choose your Deleuzion.

不二家 ミルキードリンク

I knew there was a reason I can't stop suckin' down this stuff. It says so on the label. ミルキーはママの味. Miruki wa mama no aji. Milky is the taste of mom. Yes! Japanese food technologists have been working for a long time, studying lactating mothers to reproduce that truly natsukashi flavor - mom's milk!

What can I say? They did it. Here's a potent mix of oligosaccharides, sweetened condensed milk, sugar, milk, etc., skim milk powder, whole milk powder, syrup, dextrin, salt, carbonate Ca, stabilizer (cellulose, xanthan), flavoring (milk, soy-derived), emulsifier ( derived from soybean), casein Na (from milk), vitamin B2, and vitamin D that will take you back to those long lost days when cognition was all about a warm breast and free-flowing milk. Granted, a cold hard can is a long way from soft warm mammary. but thank you ma'am or sir or whoever for coming up with this sweet mix that takes you back. Back to just out of the womb. I think it's those protective and nurturing oligosaccharides that really do the trick.

It makes me imagine of all those milk donors, lining up in florescent white sterile halls, waiting for particularly nerdy researchers - pocket protectors and black thick-rimmed coke-bottle glasses - finally having their wet dream come true, to harvest their fresh milk. These beautiful beautiful young mothers, all giving up a little of their child's sustenance to these pervy doctors in search of lower truths. Damn human kindness! The dystopia of food-technological will not be thwarted! The milk is rushed in pre-cooled thermoses to be either centrifuged, freeze-dried, boiled, held at a slow simmer, brushed onto microscope slides, analyzed, tasted, observed over several weeks, thrown against the wall, fed to monkey babies, secretly made into cheese, whatever their diabolical minds could imagine. Finally all the cognate chemicals and bovine lactic variations are arranged and rearranged and tasted and tested until... until... the perfect simulacra for sweet mommy's milk is developed. Bravo, you brave bulls.

Wチーズケーキタルト

Somewhere sometime in the 80s, I'd wander the West Village in a cocaine-Boodles-Gin-martini daze, not exactly a daze, it was more strident, more enlivened, but now it's all a daze, and more often than not home in on this little corner cafe famous for its cheesecake and a pretty new wave girl who worked behind the counter. Dark hair spiked with product. Pale white skin, black lipstick and fingernail polish. I wore all black at the time. Now I pepper my wardrobe with some white. And some gray tones.

I'd order the plain cheesecake. I was a purist at the time. All white. All black. No gray tones. She'd serve me up a thick creamy slab of the very best cheesecake I'd ever had. No such thing on the West Coast in those days. Still isn't. I'd smile wanly. The drug-knowingness shrugged off as she went to serve other customers and I was left with the most immense creamy sugary tart ivory-colored intervention to the New York high that accompanied life in those days.

Though I don't remember exactly where the place is/was - and I do generally have a great place-memory (that's how high I was) - it comes back to me as the ur-cheesecake, the one that will always be remembered (beyond the grave, even?), the one that will never be found again. As will the new wave girl, perhaps an amalgam of all those new wave girls, perhaps never existing.

Food, memories, food-memories play tricks on ya. They lie. Except in the case of this cheesecake. It was really the best. And the times themselves, ill-remembered for the details, indelible for the feeling are not forgotten. So when my wife joking asks, "You want some cheesecake for dessert?" - a joke more hurtful for thin-skinned folks in the cheesecake desert of Japan - my mind always shoots directly to those lost years in lower Manhattan.

So, I walk into the convenience store the other day and there it is - the (double)W cheezukekitaruto (Wチーズケーキタルト). This thing actually has the appearance of being somewhat cheesecake-like through the plastic wrap. On the package there's a disturbing little phrase in English that must have been a warning - May there cakes bring you a nice teatime. This here cake or them there cakes? Perhaps it was advising me to buy other (there) cakes, rather than this one.

All in all it was a very sweet, slightly crumbly cake wrapped in a sweet, moderately crust-like crust with little bits of browned process cheese product on the top. At 531 calories, it was a meal in itself. And did I tell you it was sweet?

Again, let down, burned, bummed by the complete misunderstanding of the meaning of cheesecake in Japan. Just like the way this place tricks you with French, Spanish, or Italian cuisine. Where's the bread? Where's the abondanza? Where's the nicely cooked seafood? Where's the garlic? Like the bagels. Like the Mexican food. They just don't get it here. Could be not having the right ingredients - Mexican food. But they got the stuff for most other things. Of course the quality for the likes of Mediterranean food is lacking.

So, I'm left with fading memories. Things I'm making up. Things that I wish for. Unfulfilled. What do I expect, relying on convenience stores? There's no memory-making or remembrance there. Find what you need. Make what you need. And remember... remember.

すいかソーダ

Bears! It's all about bears. See, the watermelons come from Kumamoto. These are the little ones that (and I quote)"contain a lot of citrulline which has a diuretic effect, and lycopene which has antioxidant properties. Why don’ you get through the hot summer vigorously eating delicious watermelons grown in Kumamoto Prefecture?" 'Cause you see, kuma means "bear" in Japanese and moto means "origin" or something like that and this is where the bears come from or rather, started out. And as for the watermelon - the suica - here where they promote these little sweet ones or these heart-shaped ones that have this "diuretic effect" that you should "vigorously eat..." rather than just enjoy for the fact that summers here are ridiculously hot and watermelons are kinda perfect on hot days, but the ones from Kumamoto, like much Japanese produce and fruit, are promoted to a fare-the-well as something extremely special (and they probably are) and ridiculously expensive, which is all because of the promotion, and... well, you see where this all goes. So you're stuck with a watermelon soda, Suica Soda (すいかソーダ), which will do on yet another extremely hot day in Tokyo and is about all you can afford. You spy that happy bear (nicely designed can, by the way) smiling at you from the vending machine, pop in your 120 yen and "vigourously" suck down your first gulp. And it's good. It's cold it's watermelon-y and soda-y, but still it's not quite the same as you imagine a big slice of a real Kumamoto watermelon, which you've never tried because they're so damn expensive and you don't trust the hype anyway. Anyway certainly not as good a Hermiston melon, which you have tried and lives up to the hype and at the height of summer you can probably buy for a buck or two - and they're big! Bigger than those puny Kumamotos! So you make do with a can of cold soda, refreshing, slightly watermelon-y, fine for a sweltering day. And you dream of bears.

PUWATER（ピューウォーター）

There are a couple of double entendres from this bottled water's name, PUWATER. The first is in the obvious quick English reading of the label. The other is in the intended pronunciation - PEE-yu-water - signified by the umlauts over the u. The ostensible intent of the marketers naming it was the idea of mixing the words "pure" with "water" and thus, PUWATER. Methinks they were savvy enough about how English speakers would look at it all and buy it for novelty value alone.

The shtick behind this stuff is they get it from Lake Yamanaka, one of the Fuji Five Lakes. It's supposedly sluiced up from 100 meters below the lake's surface. This reminds me of old WWII movies where crack allied troops try to stop Nazi shipments of "heavy water," from alpine lakes used to make top secret weapons. We had to stop them before they developed their own bomb.

PUWATER's supposed to be soft and mellow, suiting the Japanese taste - whatever that is. And also it includes vanandium.

Vanandium - Number 23 on the periodic table of elements is a metal. Its main application is as a strengthening agent added to steel and titanium. And it's also used medically for treating diabetes, low blood sugar, high cholesterol, heart disease, tuberculosis, syphilis, a form of “tired blood” (anemia), and water retention (edema). It's apparently wormed its way into the athletic world as an aid to weight training. Oh, and it's used in homeopathy.

From WebMD

Vanadium is LIKELY SAFE in adults, if less than 1.8 mg per day is taken. At higher doses, such as those used to treat diabetes, vanadium frequently causes unwanted side effects including abdominal discomfort, diarrhea, nausea, and gas. It can also cause a greenish tongue, loss of energy, and problems with the nervous system.

Vanadium is UNSAFE when used in large amounts and for a long time. This increases the risk of serious side effects including kidney damage. Vanadium might lower blood sugar. People with diabetes should check their blood sugar carefully and watch for signs of low blood sugar (hypoglycemia).

Vanadium is LIKELY SAFE in children when taken in amounts found in foods. Don’t give children supplements. Not enough is known about the safety of these larger doses in children.

Special Precautions;

Warnings: Pregnancy and breast-feeding: If you are pregnant or breast-feeding, limit your intake of vanadium to the amount found in food. Not enough is known about the safety of taking larger doses. 

Diabetes: The vanadyl sulfate form of vanadium might lower blood sugar in people with type 2 diabetes. Monitor your blood sugar carefully.

PUUWATER seems to only contain trace elements of Vandium, as do some of the foods we eat.  I'm not one to go overboard on things that naturally happen. However, I generally don't like shit in my water. And I am alway suspect when a product speciously promotes something that probably shouldn't be promoted without some serious research as to the effects it may have. About half a century before the krauts were on to the potentially world-destroying effects of heavy water, radium water was a bit of rage in the U.S. Where's it now?

牛肉のおいしい カレーパン

Who doesn't like a karepan. This trusty variation on a piroshky is one of the better crossover foods ever made. I likes myself a good piroshky. I grew up on them. Mom would set up production, fry up some ground beef and onions, add some hard-boiled eggs, plenny of salt, then wrap 'em up in a yeasty homemade dough and deep fry huge batches of 'em. I'd eat them hot or cold, sometimes with a spear of dill pickle piercing the meaty filling or a drizzle of soy sauce (Mom was born in China). A perfect snack, meal, what-have-you on the run.

So, I come to Japan and here are these things - and man, some of them are better than plain old piroshky. Here they got this specifically Japanese variation of curry (カレー) that's got this fruitiness and a dark roux to thicken the whole thing up. Deep fried, often studded with crispy panko (my mom occasionally would roll her piroshky in corn flakes), they can be a beautiful thing.

And they can be shite. Case in point, the Beef Tasty Karepan from Kobeya. Kobeya is actually a fairly trustworthy bakery chain that can be found all over Kanto. Buying stuff from their bakery outlets can be just fine. However, I found this one at nearby convenience store. Apart from the general lack of freshness, which is not unexpected in these packaged products, the beef, the curry and the complete pretentiousness of the whole package left much to be desired.

I mean, what the hell is European Beef Curry, proudly emblazoned on the package, supposed to mean anyway? I know that there's still a bit of a throwback thought in Japan that things "European" hold a bit more class than the lowly "Japanese" brand. But it's the 21st century ferchrisakes! And when you think of curry or kare do your thoughts immediately go to the canals of Venice, the streets of Paris, Rome? I think not. You're forgiven if you've got some fond memories of currywurst or the vindaloos of London.

The package shows an image of a silver gravy boat streaming lovely brown curry into a beautiful bun. And old fashioned image of service à la russe, which nobody, I mean nobody does anymore. An image of some sort of nostalgia that rings hollower and hollower. Garçon, je voudrais un petit karepan pour commencer, et puis ...  et puis... forget it! Get some real karepan at a creditable outlet where they make in on the premises. You'll be glad you did.

Gari Gari-kun Napolitan

OK, I couldn't help myself. My better angels said, "No!" but the draw, the absurdity of it all, made me lose all reason and I bought it. Napolitan flavor. It says it all. Here's a frozen confection by Akagi, done under their Gari Gari label - largely  a creditable producer of popsicle-like snacks. This one, though, is ostensibly savory. It's all part of a promotion to keep things on the absurd side - remember Jones' Soda Turkey and Gravy flavor? They've made beef stew popsicles and corn potage-flavored ones, which were very popular. However with Napolitan, they actually suffered bad press and pulled them pretty quickly.

The Gari Gari-kun Napolitan bar is based on the classic yoshuku favorite, Napolitan spaghetti. This spaghetti is basically ketchup with homeopathic amount of vegetables. A taste acquired from childhood, for millions of Japanese it's a natsukashi (nostalgic) taste. For those introduced to it in later life… well… like TastyKakes, I guess you had to grow up with it. All that aside, the popsicle version is what happens when you let some particularly transgressive food technologists the go-ahead with their most aggressive ideas.

So, here's what it was. A molded quiescently frozen pop. The outside, a mildly sweetened tomato flavor. The bit of milk analog that bound it would have made one think of tomato soup - frozen - but it had more of a cheap canned-tomato funk. The taste itself was marvelously unpalatable. Neither having any tomato freshness nor sweet summery-ness, it left a lingering bitterness that tickled the partoid glands in particularly annoying fashion.  Like in the I-wanna-puke way.

Beneath that layer lay crushed ice with tiny bits of tomato gelatin. I suppose it was to give a bit of pasta-like texture, but also to continue the questionable tomato goodness at the essence of the experience.

I give it up to Gari Gari. They make a nice nashi-flavored pop that's about as close as one can get to a paleta in this neck of the woods. But with the Napolitan bar, they've crossed the line. I wonder what's next? Tonkotsu ramen bars?

Crunky Ball Nude

In the darker areas of my imagination, Crunky Ball Nude plays itself over and over. Myriad variations on some sort exotic Eastern sex thing. Like the three second blow job or thrusting buttocks loop going over and over and over and over and over the crunk takes hold.

The Crunky Ball disrobed, naked, revealed, stripped bare by bachelors even, all in it's obscene glory. The porn reel continues. A crunky ball is inserted by shining chrome mechanical fingers, the thick wet labia hungrily devouring it. Cut to a woman's face, eyes clamped shut, her red lips grimacing in both pleasure and pain, in mock ecstasy. "Oooh, baby, give me more!" she demands. The ancient mysterious (inscrutable) Chinese pleasure orb. So simple, yet so... magical! Undreamed of sexual pleasure are to be had with the clunky ball. A mandarin robed man with a Fu Manchu moustache observes discreetly from behind a silk curtain.

Or maybe... Crunky Ball is the pseudonym of a devilish or maybe churlish little fellow, like Willy, the unassuming 1920's Brooklynite stumbling into the ladys' bath or Ron Jeremy, that hairy pot-bellied shmoe who manages to peg all the right porn star babes. Hey he's just like me. Wait, I'm better lookin'! Why don't I get the babes? Like he does! Crunky Ball, whew, you look nasty, dude. All naked and shit! I hate you! What you got that I don't? And why can't I stop watching your fuckin' movies? You fucker!

Or maybe... Crunky Ball is a new high. Better than even bath salts. You take wallboard, crunch it up, mix it with Boraxo, spray it with Raid (use the whole can) and boil it in bleach until goo rises to the top. Then you take that goo, form it into balls about an inch around. Cut with baby powder to make it keep its shape. Take the ball and shove it up your ass. Be sure to take off all your clothes or you'll soil them with bodily secretions as the effect takes hold. The high is insane! The addiction immediate. It's a drug that knows what it's about. Oh Crunky Ball, you beguiling master. I will do anything for you! I would even kill for you. Even myself.

But no... I go to the darkest place of all. With the certainty of death - lungs crushed by pressure, water seeping in through all orifices, numbness and then collapse of all bodily functions. And that's what the Crunky Ball Nude makes me think of. Like little underwater mines, these confections are an inside out chocolate ball. Studded with crunchy rice puffs over a soupcon of a chocolate layer over some undefinable cereal center (something like dried white bread). Stripped of any pretense of flavor beyond sweet, likable textures beyond styrofoam, or even candy-ness, they're afterthoughts become objects. The scrapings off the candy room floor turned into another product to sell. A bitter and cynical vision of the future - now - hiding in a layer of sugar. And as I succumb to the deep dark I ask, "Can I have another Crunky Ball? And can you make it nude?"

三角蒸しぱん

In the tradition of spotted dick and Boston brown bread Japan has its own steamed cakes. Appearing recently in my local (Walmart-owned) Seiyu was this thick and big wedge from our friends at Daily Yamazaki (the baking and convenience store concern). The 三角蒸しぱん (Three-Cornered Steamed Bread), the 黒 (dark) version is a spongy trifle flavored with brown sugar and rum-soaked raisins. Leavened with baking soda, it has that slightly acrid taste that actually complements the mild sweetness. The packaging markets in nostalgia with a simple drawing of the furusato in the corner. And the flavor, even for gaijin like me, takes one back to simpler times and tastes.

Steamed buns and cakes have a long tradition in this neck of the woods, but there's a more modern variation that, again, plucks on the heartstrings of Japanese of a certain age. Seems that in the 20's, some clever entrepreneurs in Kansai had the idea of baking up steamed cakes and sending small armies of underpaid workers out on donkey-drawn carts with strict orders not to return until all the cakes were sold. Fast forward a bit to the post-war years and these same baking concerns revived the ass carts. Even then it was banking on the nostalgia factor.

1955 - A clever songwriting team, Minoru Toyoda and Akira Yano, with hit-making King Records wrote a song, パン売りのロバさん (Bread-selling Mr. Donkey). With the treacly voiced Keiko Kondo, the loping rhythm and hee-hawing horn, they not only had a hit, but a cultural signifier to boot. The song, played loudly, as sellers blanketed the neighborhoods of Osaka and Kyoto, made a mark, probably stronger than Hound Dog (recorded and released the same year), on a young generation of Japanese.

The donkey carts are long gone. A handful of trucks still make the rounds in a few neighborhood in Kansai. But now, sans song, you can buy a much more limited and staler selection of steamed buns at your major grocery chains. Not to celebrate the exploitation of the sorry steamed bun sellers by their baking bosses, but a certain quality, a particularity of the Japanese landscape has truly been lost, replaced with a new marketing scheme that exists solely upon nostalgia and not a single new idea. I wasn't even around for the song and the street sellers, but I kind of miss 'em. But I guess I'll just have to settle for listening to the tune on youtube while munching on a mushipan with a glass of milk. And if I want to really wallow in yet another slice of nostalgia, there's Keiko-san's thick 1960's hit, Song of the Southern Cross to indulge in.

パン売りのロバさん (Bread-selling Mr. Donkey)

1.

ロバのおじさん　チンカラリン
チンカラリンロン　やってくる
ジャムパン　ロールパン
できたて　やきたて　いかがです
チョコレートパンも　あんパンも
なんでもあります　チンカラリン

2.

赤い車は　チンカラリン
チンカラリンロン　ひいてくる
ジャムパン　ロールパン
甘くて　おいしい　いかがです
チョコレートパンに　あんパンに
どちらにしましょう　チンカラリン

3.

いつもにこにこ　チンカラリン
チンカラリンロン　こんにちは
ジャムパン　ロールパン
さあさあ　みなさん　いかがです
チョコレートパンと　あんパンと
はいはいありがと　チンカラリン

4.

晴れたお空に　チンカラリン
チンカラリンロン　鈴がなる
ジャムパン　ロールパン
よい子のおやつは　いかがです
チョコレートパンも　あんパンも
なんでもあります　チンカラリン

Song of the Southern Cross

復刻堂 森永ホットケーキ ミルクセーキ

Sometimes the idea is so grotesque, so faux retro and so insanely clever and good that you can only gape in wonder, shove your 120 yen into the vending machine slot, grab that can just as it drops and pop it open and go ohmygod this is so amazing because it smells and tastes so much like butter and syrup - even though it really doesn't have any of that stuff in it - and it takes you back to an ur-pancake state of bliss. You close your eyes and all those Krusteaz dreams, short stacks at IHOP after all night drinking binges, Mom lovingly servin' 'em up before sending you off to school with a kiss on your forehead, early morning breakfasts - we're talking before the sun comes up - with Dad filppin' flapjacks over the fire during car camping fishing trips, leisurely mornings - with lots of sweet sticky syrup - and your lover, it all comes back. The only thing missing is sausage. So here we're presented with Morinaga's "Reprint Hall" hotcake flavor milk shake. It's not a milk shake in the North American sense. Not so thick and ice creamy, but this baby's packed with enough different milk powders, cream, eggs, caramel color and emulsifiers to pack a mighty diary wallop of a casein rush. Coupled with a perfectly attuned Aunt Jemima flavor simulacra - no maple here, we're talkin' caramel colored sugar syrup - who needs to go to Denny's or any other places in Japan that sell pancakes - at a tremendous cost, I might add, since I'm adding endless clauses to all my sentences anyway. Morinaga's made the claim that by reprinting a nostalgic Showa era image of pancakes on the can they're bringing back something of the good old days, but pancakes just kind of remain timeless and nostalgic no matter when they've been photographed. It's all signification. On a box, on a poster, on a can, on a T-shrit, a pic of three (it's always three) pancakes with thick golden wedges of butter and molten bronze cascades of luscious syrup, as Pavlov suggests, just kinda makes you go all soft and gooey. Don't it? So this crazy hotcake essence in a can showed up about a year ago and still remains in a few choice vending machines around Tokyo. I've made a note of them, but I'm keeping 'em secret. This stuff is like pancake crack and I want it all for myself.

ブラックメロンパン

I did a double-take when I first saw the Afro Tanaka Black Melon Pan (ブラックメロンパン) in the packaged bread and pastry section of my local Mini Mart. The cellophane sleeve had an illustrated image of a moderately Afro-Japanese man sporting a very big afro. There was no printed ink in the afro section so the roughly textured surface of the black pastry below filled in the color, shape and feel of retro hairstyle. A hairstyle that occasionally makes its comebacks.

My first thought was "this is some sick joke." A little research revealed that the character in question is Afro Tanaka, a manga character invented in 2002 by Masaharu Noritsuke. Afro Tanaka is a disaffected high school student who gets involved relatively boring and mildly funny situations. His afro remains unexplained. It's what makes him different than his peers. Whether this is slightly racist type of negritude or merely observation on the part of Noritsuke also remains unexplained. The manga, like the hairstyle makes its occasional comebacks.

This design and promotion are somehow linked to Mini Mart's 30th anniversary. Is Mini Mart actively working to break down stereotypes and promote acceptance? Japan is notoriously racist even as it consumes and reinvents everything it can from other cultures. One is unsure of Afro Tanaka's racial heritage. Is he mixed blooded? Is he just playing at blackness? Is it natural? And does it matter?

No matter, the cleverness of the packaging is arresting, The product itself less so.

Melon pan, or what one may call melon bread, is a ubiquitous staple of Japanese bakeries. Though it is often melon flavored, the name actually comes from the sugary crunchy cookie-like dough that thinly covers the lump of sweet cake that makes up the melon pan. The surface gets a leathery melon rind look. Black melon pan is merely a pastry of the same sort with a black sugar coating. In the Afro Tanaka version, the black "melon rind" covers a sweet/bland chocolate cake which encloses a standard chocolate custard. All in all, it's sweet, a little chocolatey, and not much else.

The current Mini Mart promotion also includes the Afro Tanaka Onigiri Bomb (アフロ田中ばくだんおにぎり) - a black rice cake, again with a clever package. As to what's inside and what it tastes like... I'm off to the Mini Mart right now!

北海道チーズ蒸しケーキ

The Daily Yamazaki company (from which this blog gleefully and illegally has stolen its name) really doesn't make very good baked goods. Jumping on to the corporate food bandwagon in the immediate post-war period, they, like Wonder and Langendorf in the USA cornered the market on cheap generic bread products (shokupan and various cakes and sweet breads). As tastes changed over the years and desire for better baked goods claimed the market, their flagship bakery outlets lost even their middle-class glamour and the handful that one can find around Tokyo are best left passed by. Like all good megacorporations, the company has expanded into other areas, and they are even trying to compete against much better chain bakeries with their Vie de France outlets - probably the worst of the semi-French bakeries in Japan.

But their products do show up packaged upon shelves throughout the nation. And one in particular has become a bit of guilty pleasure for me.

The Hokkaido Steamed Cheesecake (北海道チーズ蒸しケーキ) is one of the most beguiling and strange things that pass for normal here. In truth, it's not really that good, but like a bad habit, I crave it.

Here's what it is. The most perplexing sponge cake. It tends to shear when broken or bitten in to. How do they do that? The "branded" reverse outline of Hokkaido on the top has a vaguely cheesy edge to it. Slightly funky. The steaming of the dough tends to make it a bit dense, but not quite as dense as cheesecake as we know it. Yet not quite fluffy. Oh, and it's sweet and filled with calories.

Research has come up goose eggs on whether this is a real variation of something traditionally made in Hokkaido or something made up in the laboratories of Daily Yamazaki in those heady years immediately after the war, when the US was flooding Japan with government cheese, flour and sugar. In my imagination, a certain Japanese ingenuity with the products at hand created this monster that can still be frightening and a friend of children after all these years.

Green Cola

Lifting the logo from the real thing, Asahi Green Cola positions itself in the market as a "natural" product with a sort of "trendy" appeal. Of course when your main barker is a popular, though somewhat long in tooth, J-Pop star, one is convinced that the marketers at Asahi have no idea what the kids are into. Perhaps the marketing is toward boomers, who probably also don't care about Kiyosuke Himoro either.

As for it's green-ness, the bottle states "For you natural life" and a bit below "'Asahi's Green Cola' is made from selected raw materials derived from plants such as fruits, with cola's own dynamism and briskness." What's inside? High fructose grape sugar, sugar, lemon juice, malt extract, and flavors. I suppose in the literal sense, the marketing is somewhat honest. Still, it's a bit of a shill.

As for the taste, it's very light in flavor, high in sugar. In the world of cola, there's the sugary maltiness of Coke, the citrus edge of Pepsi, and the pure kid's sugar fantasy of RC. This one approaches RC.

It just hit the market a couple of days ago. Between the US big boys, Kirin's Cola Shock and god knows what else shoves it's way onto the shelves, Green Cola's got a long row to hoe. Still it's better than Coke Zero. At least it's drinkable. And the big Zero seems to be having a fine shelf life.

Green Cola

Asahi just joined the cola wars by releasing their Green Cola（グリーンコーラ）May 25, with a full on ad blitz. They are promoting this cola as soda made from natural sources, with zero colours, zero caffeine, zero preservatives and Asahi Brewery's black malt. Hmm, sounds a little zero-ish. Perhaps they're going up against Coke Zero for the nothingness and Pespsi Baobab, with a sort of "green" branding. I haven't found it in the stores yet, but will be sure to give it a taste someday soon.

That 50-something Brian Ferry-ish guy in the poster is Kyosuke Himoro, J-pop star with the band Boøwy.

ビーノ・うま塩味

Here's an article from Just-food, an online food newsletter, from May 4, 2005.

"Genetically modified soybeans could hold the key to cure hair loss, say a team of top researchers at Japan's Kyoto University.

Led by soy and health specialist Masaaki Yoshikawa, professor of food science at Kyoto University, the team used genetic engineering technology to incorporate into the soybean a substance derived from egg whites that promotes hair growth.

After feeding the GM soy to mice that had lost hair after receiving chemotherapy the team concluded that it promotes hair growth, helps prevent hair loss caused by chemotherapy and encourages hair to grow back faster than normal. Despite public opposition the Japanese government is now granting licences to GM crop growers."

Apart from the genuine bad reporting - Who funded the research? What were the parameters of the test? What did the research say exactly? - the fact that this tidbit became some sort of isn't-that-fun news and was allowed to sully cyberspace is more important. The damage has been done. There's another chip in the wall by an apologist for GM food. Let's give another point to corporate food. Just remember that name, Masaaki Yoshikawa, torturer of rats, pseudo-scientist, corporate tool. And if you see his name associated with anything food wise, suspect the worst.

At this point, Japan imports GM soybeans from the USA, but only for non-human consumption. I bet the big boys are chomping at the bit for a GM entry into this lucrative market. Soybeans are huge (so to speak) in Japan.

They are one of the basics of Japanese cuisine.

Case in point is Tohato's ビーノ(Beano) line of soy bean cheetos. These baby's are some sort of soy bean and whatever's left in the chemical sink slush, extruded and fried to either a styrofoam peanut consistency (all chewy and melty) or to a crisp crackle. They offer the choice. Apart from straight ol' soybean flavor, they also offer shrimp, black pepper and nori variations.

The version sampled was the basic soybean and salt variation. Fairly bland, chock-full of umami and lightly salty at the end of the taste, they were moderately satisfying, but not quite the thing they were alluding to - fresh edamame, steamed and salted. One of Japan's finest treats.

Edamame is a classic accompaniment to drinking. And Beano products are marketed to go with beer. With their jejune and inoffensive flavor, their saltiness or sharp tastes, they make do when the real thing just ain't available. Their commercials push this idea with a catchy song sung and juvenile (broaching the offensive) subject matter.

The round-faced funny guy in the commercials is Asei Kobayashi, sometime actor and commercial jingle and songwriter. He (and co-composer, Micky Yoshino), though, may be more famous for scoring the nutty 1977 psychotronic classic, Hausu. Here's a scene from it.

ホームランバー

The Japanese passion for baseball is famous. By 1920, Japan had gone professional. Living in Tokyo, I guess I must be a Yomiuri Giants fan, but I'm certainly fonder of the names Orix Buffaloes and Hokkaido Nippon-Ham Fighters. Of course, Nippon-Ham is a giant meat packer and the cross marketing potential of tagging its name on a ball team (not necessarily the best) means automatic advertising whenever a sportscaster or casual observers even mention the name. And of course, Nippon-Ham is one of the worst ham products available in Japan.

But we're talking about ice cream today. Specifically Mieto's ホームランバー (Home Run Bar). They're celebrating their 50th anniversary this year, so the fancified their package, made the bars a little bigger and costlier. They're still a deal. And the new plastic package pales in comparison to the old-fashioned foil wrapper on their original product. I imagine that once this promotion is over, they will go back to their very cool old design.

The bar itself offers nothing new or better than your average vanilla ice cream covered with a thin vanilla or chocolate fondant. Their cheapness reflects in their taste. Not much to write home about. But for nostalgia value alone, they have that sort of kid-blandness that brings me back to some unspecified youth in some baseball-loving country and the simple pleasures of a life that never happened. By the 60s, when this bar came out, baseball wasn't the national pastime, merely a reflection of it. Long gone were the days of the Babe. Now, it's more boring than golf, more corporate than ever and only the rich can afford to go to games. At least, for less than a buck (or 100 yen) you enjoy a Home Run Bar. And if you get a specially marked stick you can get another one for free.

ポテトチップス和風ステーキ味醤油＆おろし仕立て

Returning from a recent trip to Spain, I was more than a bit dispirited at the Japanese food landscape. Apart from the beautiful and delicious food that permeates the Iberian peninsula, it was particularly noteworthy to notice that the iron hand of 7-11 has still to land in Spain. Convenience stores are a anomaly. In fact in many towns one is hard pressed to even find one. Of course there are large supermarkets proffering the same old same old - a quality cut above most stores in the USA or Japan - but between the mom and pop stores and the endless cafes, meat markets, bakeries and speciality shops, quality foods and drinks abound.

Vegetables, even in the off season of March were plentiful, robust, colorful and cheap - particularly compared to the anemic and overpriced greenery that gets sold at the yayoias of Tokyo.

Fish in Spanish markets is clear eyed fresh and most often de-scaled at purchase and cut to order. It's a far cry from the sad shrinkwrapped of unidentifiable fish protein that one finds at the fish markets of Tokyo. And this is Japan ferchrissakes! The ravages of industrial food production and distribution has certainly made for acceptance of the least in this neck of the woods. Despite promotion. Despite culture. And don't get me started on the beef.

Or maybe I should.

Japanese beef may have been good at one time. I don't know. I wasn't there. Cruising a Japanese meat market I still marvel at the amazingly marbled cuts of Kobe and wagyu beef. The few times I've had the opportunity to sample these good looking things, I've been sorely disappointed. Insipid at best. It even makes American beef taste good, though it's probably not as dangerous for you.

I've had good, dare I say great, beef in Japan. In Hida-Takayama, a respected beef producing region where the restaurants specialize in the local provender. But in Tokyo, no. Too far away (actually only a few hours from the main beef providers of Japan). But production and distribution on this island have become so abstract and industrial that even their most famous products - after god knows what they do on the farm, freezing and storing for god knows how long, and then god know what happens until it gets to the store - are more famous because of their promotion, rather than their quality.

But enough of my screed. This is supposed to be about fast food. So, today I bought a bag of ポテトチップス和風ステーキ味醤油＆おろし仕立て (Potato Chips - Japanese Style Steak Flavor - Prepared with Shoyu and Grated Daikon). Yamayoshi, who specialize in meat-flavored chips are responsible for this one. The package, in Engrish, proudly emphasizes "Wafu Beef" (i.e. Japanese-style beef) and states "We always produce japanese Style Steak taste for all customer's smiles." They sucked. Salty, thin and a little soggy. They actually had a "beef" taste. But it was like the taste of old grease. You know the one. The one that means a mean case of heartburn. But what should one expect from Japanese beef. Not much, these days.

And as for fast food, I believe that the best of it is the stuff that comes most quickly from the farm to the seller, rather than from the convenience store to the mouth.

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!