kobinifest 2006

The Japanese are a materialistic people. Furiously so. To be sure, we Americans are as well, but at the same time we somehow cringe from our materialism, denying it while at the same time giving into it. Self-hating materialists, I suppose. The Japanese, however, revel in it, and I love it. This isn’t to say they are solely materialistic, not by any means. But they love their stuff, and they love loving it, and there’s something to respect in that.

Case in point: konbini. “Konbini” is the shortened form of “convenience stores”, and if there’s one thing that Japan has in droves, it’s these places. Within a mile from my house, there are the following: two Mini-Stops, (my go-to konbinis), two Sunkus-es, each about 300 yards from each other, a 7-11, a Family Mart or two, a Circle K, and my favorite and the most authentically Japanese in my opinion, a Lawson. Lawson is an enigma whose secrets I hope are never revealed to me for it would spoil the fun. Decked out in a classy blue and white motif, all Lawsons look like they were built in 1969. Their logo is, for whatever, reason, a milk can, and their employees wear hilarious little uniforms. They also feature “liquor corners”. Now, liquor is perhaps the lifeblood of the burgeoning konbini industry and is available at literally every one I have ever seen, but Lawson is the only one who calls their liquor corner (which is not, in fact, located in a corner), by such a name. The only form of ID-checking they have is a little laminated cutout of a hand with a message to the effect of “Halt! Are you 20?” printed on it, which protrudes out from the refrigerated wall on the end of a bouncy spring. The selection of booze is impressive, with each beer manufacturer (generally Asahi, Kirin, Suntory, Sapporo, Yebisu and the occasional foreign brew) sporting an average of 5 to 6 different variations on their brew. There are also dubiously cheap cans available for something like ¥105, or like 85 cents. Christ.

But enough of the booze. The amount of other stuff available at these places is staggering. An entire wall is devoted to prepackaged food, most of which is of disappointingly higher quality than its American equivalents. Of this wall, a good quarter is sectioned off to offer nothing but onigiri, an elegant Japanese invention that consists of a triangular wedge of a rice, wrapped on one side with nori (dried seaweed, a salty thing that tastes much better than you would expect) and with some sort of filling inside the rice. This can be anything from egg to fish (typically salmon or tuna) to chicken, to beef, or sometimes, even a different kind of rice. These snacks are available for about a dollar, roughly, and are ubiquitous. I wish they would catch on in the US, but with less fish and more chicken. At one convenience store it is not uncommon for upwards of 15 to 20 variations of onigiri to be available for purchase. Other prepackaged foods that are available include expected items like edamame, dumplings, and sushi but range as well towards more non-Japanese things like spaghetti and meatballs and all sorts of sandwiches and curry dishes. Another wall is taken up entirely by new and exciting types of ramen, some with incredibly complicated (for ramen) cooking procedures that entail putting the freeze dried vegetables in at one stage, followed by the first sauce at this point and then the second sauce after you’ve eaten half of it, etc. Yakisoba, a dish similar to ramen, is also available in a frighteningly diverse range of flavors and complexities, and is growing on me rapidly.