"Japanese snacks" news and stories

As many of you may know, I'm a complete sucker for bizarre Japanese snack foods and their equally bizarre packaging. Take Gorira no hanakuso, a bean-based treat whose mascot is a cartoon gorilla. But until the other day I'd never encountered a Japanese snack designed to mimic pet food.

Despite what the package indicates, Hamster's Lunch is not a meal for your furry friends, but rather a rice cracker. Each morsel is shaped like a sunflower seed, which a Japanese web site points out "is Hamster's favorite food." The site also contains these valuable words to the wise: " Attention: Please do not provide real hamsters with Himatane."

It makes no such warning about trying to feed said Himatane to any of the dozen cute hamster figurines contained in each package of Hamster's Lunch. Apparently this faux hamster chow has developed such a following online that one purveyor has run out. And just when I was about to complete my miniature hamster army with that twelfth figurine.
[via Boing Boing]

Just because I've gotten out of the big city to spend a week chilling out in Maine with my good buddy Jonathan doesn't mean that I don't still hanker for strange Midnight Snacks. Today's is pretty strange: Gorira no hanakuso.

It doesn't take terribly much knowledge of Japanese to realize that the name of this stuff translates to "gorilla boogers." After much laughter from Yuki, a line cook at Suzuki's Sushi in Rockland, my theory was confirmed. She also told me that the green legend on the right side of the package reads something to the effect of "It's so healthy, be careful not to eat too much."

The other day I found this fish-based treat in the snack aisle of a Japanese market that just opened in my neighborhood. Gotta love the packaging. It might look like a bad-ass gang tattoo related to murdering someone, but I'm pretty sure the teardrop coming from the pepper-person's eye is supposed to indicate that the dried slices of kawahagi, or file fish, are so coated with red pepper that they cause watery eyes and spontaneous combustion.

Tonight I dug it out of the cupboard for a midnight snack. The package bears an English transliteration at the top edge, "Kimuchi-kawahagi." This I take to mean kimchi-flavored file fish. I didn't find it homicidally spicy. The translucent slices of chewy fish had just enough red pepper flakes to cause a pleasant tingle. Each bite had a perfect balance of fishiness, heat, sweetness and saltiness: all of which spells drinking snack. Add to this a sprinkling of sesame seeds and soon I found myself with a half empty bag. I think I'll save the rest for another night.

I don't know about you, but sugary roasted miniature crabs don't exactly spell party to me. I found this unique snack at a Japanese grocery store. Let's make one thing clear: These are actual crabs, complete with shells. They're not tiny crab-shaped candies or marzipan.

The wording on the package brought to mind Fast Times at Ridgemont High. I can almost see Spicoli popping one of these crunchy crustaceans in his mouth and taking a swig from a bottle of Asahi, and exclaiming, "Let's party."

Believe it or not, I find the little guys to be quite tasty, if incredibly crunchy. They beat out shrimp granola for the strangest seafood item I've ever eaten. I can't wait to see how healthy my hair gets from all the chitin in the shells.

My friend the lovely Yukari Rymar took me shopping at the Japanese supermaker last week, and in addition to the okonomayaki which you'll learn all about in my next post, I bravely picked up an assortment of "dried fish snacks" on her assurance they were perfectly safe and that there was no "thing" one was supposed to remove before eating, such as the eye or "inner vein," an anxiety which had prevented me from buying them before.

In case you aren't fortunate enough to have a Japanese grocery near you, these things range from little dried shrimp, replete with their shells and eyestalks, to shredded Squid jerky; also tiny little crabs, where the claws tend to fall apart as you eat them, and... these little tiny anchovies, silver with their big sad, puppy dog eyes staring forlornly out at you through the transparent, attractive packaging.

I brought this last bag into my office and just now my impoverished, half-starved assistant Emily sampled them, the salted dried anchovies, their eyes staring vacantly into the future. She took a tiny bite and wrinkled her dainty little nose in horror. Passing the remnants of the broken creature back to me she declared I had betrayed her trust. I quickly thrust some of my home-made dried cranberry and almond trail mix at her to calm her down, and took a bite of one of these things myself.

 

It was.... Strange.