Workin' the Takoyaki Factory

YO QUIERO TAKO(YAKI) BELL: While mindlessly surfing for Japanese shows through Keyhole TV recently, I ran across a certain celebrity who looked absolutely thrilled after receiving a "takoyaki koujou."

"Did that guy just say he got a takoyaki factory?" I thought. "Either I'm hearing things or my horrible Japanese has gotten horribly more horrible."

Now, as someone who just loves the sauce-covered, batter-based, octopus-filled delicacy from Japan's Kansai region, "takoyaki" is one of those keywords that automatically makes me pay attention. It's like my purse-obsessed female relatives hearing the words "Coach" and "sale" at the same time. You'd think the mall just fired a mini-tractor beam right smack on their face. (Must ... get ... to ... the ... mall ... now.)

Anywho, I was highly doubtful that some guy just received a whole takoyaki factory as a gift. But he just looked so gosh-darned happy that it kind of did look like he got some huge takoyaki processing operation. (And yes, I refuse to call takoyaki "octopus balls" out of principle. That would be the principle that no item I like to nibble on should have the word "balls" in it. The singular form of the word, however, is just fine—i.e. rice ball, gum ball, you get my drift. I know, I know, I'm an idiot.)

Anywho (again) just as my seething envy for this guy was about to reach a thoroughly unhealthy peak, the true scope of this whole takoyaki factory ordeal was revealed. Turns out "Takoyaki Factory" was the name of an automatic takoyaki maker that the guy received as the gift. I no longer was envious. I was certifiably, 100 percent jealous! After all, I'm the same guy who owns a gajillion kitchen gadgets. It doesn't help that this automatic takoyaki maker makes my traditional cast iron takoyaki pan now look quaint and cumbersome.

Now I know what you're thinking. You're probably wondering: "Um, you actually have a takoyaki pan?"

Number two: "What is the big deal about this automatic takoyaki maker anyway?"

Well, the big deal is that this machine not only cooks your takoyaki, it even turns and flips it for you! For any takoyaki wannabe who's ever struggled flipping takoyaki, um, spheres before, this is a flippin' big deal.

"But wait, Mr. Shingenmochi," you say. "Why not just turn the takoyaki yourself and use the pan you already have?"

Great point. Except for the simple fact that my old pan just doesn't look this cool. Did I already mention by the way that I'm a certifiable idiot?

Now, as any reasonable person with a modicum of self-control, my immediate reaction was to feverishly search the Internet for a place that sold the darned thing. I had to have a "Takoyaki Factory Ton Ton" at all costs!

Orrrr maybe not. About the only place I could find that would deliver to the U.S. was charging about $169 plus $80-something for shipping. That's a steep price to pay for a machine that only makes octopus, um, circular thingamajigies. About the cheapest price I could find was at Amazon Japan, which sold it for less than $100. Unfortunately, they don't deliver to the U.S. Which means my automatic takoyaki making days will simply have to wait. At least it gives me one more thing to look forward to buying the next time I visit Japan. And yes, I'm that easily amused.
by SHINGENMOCHI

P.S. Here's video of the machine in action. Apparently, if you want perfectly shaped balls (lord, that sounds weird) like the ones pictured above, you need to wait until the batter has firmed up enough before triggering the machine to flip. Otherwise, it just defeats the machine's purpose.

Shingenmochi: What's In a Name?

When I first started blogging about weird tech news under a pseudonym for my local paper, the most frequent question I had from coworkers amused by the irreverent blog's posts was: "Hey, are you 'shingenmochi'?" (Apparently, my goofy writing style is like a fingerprint.)

The second most popular question? "What the the heck is a 'shingenmochi'?"

For the uninitiated, "shingen-mochi" is a type of Japanese "mochi" or rice cake (for the lack of better word) that harkens from the Yamanashi region. It also happens to be my favorite type of Japanese mochi.

I first ran across this delectable delicacy after my then-girlfriend brought one back from her hometown as an omiyage or present. Named after Yamanashi's famed warlord, Shingen Takeda, shingen-mochi is a perfect example of delicious simplicity. The classic I'm acquainted with is based on just three elements: a basic mochi, kinako (a light brown soybean powder), and kuromitsu (a gooey, sweet syrup made from Japanese brown sugar). With these three elements combined, the result is a delectable delight that's a hundred times more awesome than Captain Planet (Get it? Elements? Combined? Captain Planet? Um, never mind.)

Ever since my fateful introduction to this delightful concoction, every trip to Japan wasn't complete for me unless I got one of the beautifully wrapped boxes of shingen-mochi made by Kikyou-ya, and I mean beautifully wrapped. The packaging is so artistic that I always feel guilty unwrapping the stuff. I'll stare, stare and stare at it some more until the desire to snack on the mochi overpowers my guilt and I just open up the darned thing.

Eating Kikyou-ya's shingen-mochi also requires a labor of love. You have to get out one of the tiny packets of kuromitsu, pour it on the tiny container that contains the mochi and kinako, then mix and mix and mix until all three things come into perfect unison.

(See that picture up there with the nice big bowl? Well, it doesn't come like that. It comes in tiny little containers, so you've got to be careful mixing or risk ending up with an overflowing mess).

Granted this can be annoying if you're really hungry and impatient since it's like mixing water and oil. But you get an even bigger sense of satisfaction from the fruits of your labor once you start chewing on the tender mochi morsel wrapped in that oh-so gooey kinako-kuromitsu symphony. It's the exact opposite of the instant gratification promoted by fastfood. You can even say there's a zen like quality to it. And that's why I decided on the pseudonym "shingenmochi." Now if only it was easy to find the thing stateside... T__T