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