Yes, They Make Wasabi Kit-Kats

A couple years ago, while making our way back to the US from Korea, Nana and I stumbled upon a pack of green tea Kit-Kats during a layover in Tokyo. We promptly bought a few, and while we meant to blog about the experience, it seems we never got around to it. Just another one of those weird little things that, despite all our best efforts, didn't make it into the blog.

Little did we know, however, that we were just scratching the surface of Japan's strange Kit-Kat obsession. (Our friend Rosa over at ZOMG Candy has links to some relevant information, including reviews, here.) It turns out that "Kit-kat" sounds a lot like the Japanese for "good luck," so it's become a thing to give people Kit-Kats before important events, such as (especially) college entrance exams. From there, the Kit-Kat has blossomed into a national obsession, with hundreds of strange flavors available, including regional and limited-edition varieties, some of which are considered collector's items. Yes, you heard me: collector Kit-Kats. There's even a Kit-Kat blog devoted to the phenomenon.

Thus for Christmas, in addition* to bringing home a stash of dark chocolate Kit-Kats (delicious, especially when frozen), Nana and I decided to torture--I mean, treat her family to some of the stranger flavors we could find.

The top is wasabi, the bottom sweet potato.

Each one seemed to be made from a white-chocolate base, with the flavor and color added.

We decided to taste the sweet potato first, on the theory that it was less likely to nuke our tastebuds and/or make us swear off Kit-Kats for the remainder of our natural lives.

Verdict? It actually tasted like Japanese sweet potato (which is a little less sweet and a little less orange than the sweet potatoes you find in the US). Fairly edible, but it had a sickly, buttery kind of taste that means we probably won't be buying any more.

Next: wasabi.

 At first, it didn't taste much like anything--but then it hit.

As you can see from the photo above, the wasabi Kit-Kat actually tastes like wasabi. White chocolate and wasabi. Hm.

*Somehow, I managed to spell this as "edition" in the first draft. Whoops!

Japan Post Makes Amends

The Japanese Post Office is the cheapest and simplest way for expats to send money overseas: you fill out a form, flash your passport and your alien registration card, and plunk down some cash for a wire transfer money order--then the money shows up in your US account in about 10 days.

But sometimes something goes wrong, as was the case when the post office here lost their photocopy of my passport. I got a call a few days after my visit from a very contrite employee (who spoke excellent English) asking me if I could come back with my passport that afternoon. No problem: the office is only a block from the school, and I had given myself plenty of time for the payment to go through before my bills were due, so I wasn't concerned. The whole ordeal, from my desk to the post office and back, took maybe 15 minutes.

Right before I left, though, Japan Post surprised me: the employees of this particular branch had prepared a little gift bag to apologize for the delay.

I opened the bag at home later that day. The first two items made at least a little sense: a piggy bank in the shape of a Japan Post mailbox . . .

. . . and a thermal mug in JP colors (though with no overt JP branding).

Then things got weird. Item number three was an entirely nondescript white towel, of the sort people here drape around their necks on a hot day (read: every day).

Nana suggests that the office workers were sick of seeing me stagger in drenched in sweat, but tragically towel-less.

The fourth and final item was . . . a perfectly normal Ziploc container.

We're pretty sure, by this point, someone looked at the "I'm sorry" bag, decided there wasn't enough crap in it, and started stuffing it with whatever they had lying around. White towel? Off-brand Tupperware? Sure! Toss it in!

Anyway, if you read this, Japan Post: consider yourself forgiven. After a year of wrestling with the Royal Mail, you could have smacked me across the face for my troubles and it would have been a welcome change.

The Hundred-Yen Shop

The 100-yen shop is a cultural institution in Japan. Like their US counterparts, the dollar stores (100 yen is about $1), they sell a little bit of everything, from fish food to frying pans. Unlike dollar stores, though, 100-yen shops have become the first stop for most small household goods and things like stationery and writing supplies. As newcomers, we've been steered to the 100-yen shop time and time again for things like tupperware, cleaning supplies, lunch boxes, and even sandals.

Here are just a few shots from a 100-yen shop we visited downtown last weekend.

This one was in a long, covered pedestrian street stuffed with shops and restaurants. It's a Daiso, part of the largest chain of 100-yen shops. You can find Daiso shops scattered throughout Asia (converted into the local currency, of course), and there's even on in Canada.

On the one hand, the clutter goes against the usual stereotypes about Japanese minimalism and organization. On the other hand, despite the apparent chaos of the place, it is actually pretty neat and tidy inside.

Daiso also seems to sell the smallest folding stools in the history of mankind. I don't know a single adult who could fit more than one buttcheek on that thing.

(Hand model credit goes to Matt Buck.)

Japanese Shopping: 100 Yen Stores (And, Eyelids!)

Nowadays, 100 yen is approximately equal to a dollar (one yen ~ one penny), so a Hundred Yen store would be similar to a dollar store. Of course, in the US, dollar stores are notorious for selling things that cost much more than a dollar - and has anyone ever seen anything for five cents or a dime at a five and dime? (Okay, Mom, I meant RECENTLY.)

100 Yen stores aren't like that. Everything in the store is, as advertised, 100 yen - unless marked otherwise, and surprisingly few things are. Check out some of our hundred-yen loot from Daiso, the 100 yen store motherlode:

Flip-flops, very useful in case you forget which gender you are:

Children's Japanese language practice sheet, now taped up in our bathroom for practice:

Japanese version of the water-eating hippo from our Korea days (essentially a carton of dessicant to combat wicked Japanese summer humidity). We bought four - one for each closet, one for under the kitchen sink, and one for the bathroom.

Things we did not buy, but are of interest:

Jigsaw puzzle providing correct Japanese pronunciation of "Dachshund" (note: not from Daiso)

Eyelid tape:


Now is the time when we get controversial! Partay!

Eyes are an issue in East Asia that could be a blog post all their own. In the West, most people probably define "Asian" in a large part by eye shape - more elongated or "almond," to use the poetic term. This shape is in part due to some skin over the eye called the "epicanthic fold." (see picture on the Wikipedia article here). Not all Asians have such a large fold but this "monolid" look is more common here.

Some Asians have an aesthetic preference for double eyelids. (Note: I know this is a comedy site. Many a true word is spoken in jest.) Some people blame this on "Western cultural imperialism" with white models and the like, which would suggest that an Asian using double-eyelid tape is trying to "look white." Others point out that large eyes are preferred in all cultures because they are associated with youthfulness and look energetic - I, the whitest whitey in Whiteytown, wear mascara to give myself a larger eye without any ethnic implications, so why can't an Asian girl do the same?

In any case, the law of capitalism dictates that where there is demand, so shall there be supply, and consequently there are all sorts of products allowing you to get them. Eyelid tape and glue are used to stick skin above the eye together and create an eyelid (see tape video here and glue video here). There is also the option of surgery (before and after pictures here; no gross surgery pics, I promise).

I have no moral opinion on this, but I do have an amusing and ironic anecdote to stick in here. When I was in middle school or high school (or one of those times when people are dumb), I noticed while leafing through celebrity magazines that a lot of famous women have eyelids that are not visible when their eyes are open - see, for instance, Jessica Simpson or Reese Witherspoon. I myself have eyelids for which the technical term is "gigundo." Check those puppies out:


The point of all this is that I developed a complex that my eyelids were too big. In the meantime, my Asian counterparts were purchasing tape from the 100 yen store (the theoretical point of this post) and poking their eyeballs with plastic sticks in an attempt to get their eyelids bigger. This is basically the eyelid version of my lifelong struggles with skin so white I occasionally get visits from the Ghostbusters, only to discover that my Chinese suitemate at summer camp, who was a stunning even shade I can't call anything but gold, felt that she looked like a peasant.

I believe the moral of this story is that people are dumb, and I definitely need to live in Asia.