#47 - Azuki Daifuku

When people learn that I review sweets (whether through word of mouth or because I've actually ventured out into the real world), they generally respond in one of two ways:

1. Instantly and completely disregarding and/or forgetting the trivial information.
2. Solemnly vowing to introduce me to some extraordinary and unusual candy that they have (or haven't) tried before.

With the passage of time, then, it was inevitable that my loyal army of candy procurement operatives should grow. And it has.

The latest addition to my trusty team has already demonstrated his creativity and dedication, enlisting in the marines just so he could travel the world in search of sugary goodies for me (which showed remarkable foresight, considering it was years before I had even thought about reviewing candies).

Sadly, the rigors of military life proved more distracting than anticipated, and he forgot to bring any samples back. Undaunted, he booked a trip to Disney World (perhaps not as noble as joining the military, but, hey, it's something) to see what Epcot (that's no moon...) had to offer.

As it turns out, it had Azuki Daifuku.

Whatever they are, there are eight of 'em. That much is certain (I think).

At a glance, I was taken aback; the clear packaging was devoid of any apparent branding (aside from a sticker on the front that I cannot read), and, for all I knew, the objects inside could have been the eggs (or eyeballs) of some endangered species (in which case I'd probably feel pretty bad for eating them). So there is really no package design to speak of.

I guess it's nice each item has its own little cubby. That's something.

Checking the back, I noticed no mention of a manufacturer, either, just a note explaining that the product was imported from Japan by Ikko International Trading, LLC, which does not list said product on its website.

Very mysterious, indeed... I was starting to wonder if this really did come from Epcot or was some sort of top secret military experiment I was to become a part of.

No matter, I had to do my due diligence and continue with the usual formalities of the review. So I took a closer look at the back.

I don't know which info here is the least useful.

The first thing to catch my eye was the tiny "best before" sticker. The concise "5.31" would indicate that either these things are going to last until 2031 (unlikely) or that the shelf life is less than twelve months and so they felt specifying a year was unnecessary. To an extent, that limits the usefulness of providing a date at all; if the package is misplaced and found fourteen or so months later, who will know whether or not the items in question are still okay to eat (I suppose if they were eggs they'd have hatched by then)?

Anyhow, the date here tells me that either they are still good, or that they're no less than eleven months expired. Thanks for that.

Directly beneath the sticker was the nutritional information and name: "RICE CAKE (AZUKI DAIFUKU)." So this is what Japan considers a rice cake. It's a far cry from what I'm used to, but they've been making 'em that way for a long time, so that's on me; we Americans are generally stupidly ignorant of Asian cuisines, so much so that cartoon importers do not think we can tell the difference between doughnuts and rice balls.

According to Wikipedia, "daifuku" translates as "great luck," and the "azuki" part refers to the beans used in making the sweet red bean paste (a phrase which grows less appetizing with each new word). I think the implication is thus: "You are about to eat a rice cake filled with bean paste. Good luck!"

From a nutritional standpoint, there's not much to the "cakes." They are mostly just sugar with a bit of protein and an even smaller bit of sodium. And rather than describe a serving size as two cakes (in other words, there are 102.3 Calories per cake), they chose to present the consumer with a challenge, giving the size in mass and then nonchalantly revealing that there are four servings per container. Very sly, Ikko International Trading, LLC (or whoever is responsible for the label; I'm not entirely sure about any of this).

The ingredients list is below the nutrition data:

Translation: sweet death.

Since daifuku is not really candy in the usual (American) sense, the ingredients list is noticeably out of the ordinary. Most of the less common ingredients (maltose and trehalose, to name two) are sugars, as the nutritional content would imply. One exception is cassava, the root of a shrub that made Time's "Top 10 Most Dangerous Foods" list in 2010.

So once again I am putting my very life at risk for you, my loyal reader(s). I hope you appreciate that.

Additionally, the allergy section mentions the presence of egg, which for some reason was omitted from the list itself. I'll never understand how these things work.

Or maybe the "contains egg" refers to the fact that the "cakes" really are the eggs of some endangered species after all, and the whole "rice cake" thing is simply a euphemism (like "sweetbreads," which are literally awful (or is that "offal"?), or Rocky Mountain oysters, which are... well, not oysters).

As much as I would have liked to try and hatch the potential eggs, that goal flies in the face of my primary objective, which is to review sweets and other consumables, so I carefully opened the package and removed one of the "cakes."

It's like the toy in a box of Cracker Jack.

It was at this point that I discovered a desiccant contained within the package, which implies that Azuki Daifuku does best in a dry environment (which makes sense). At least I think it was a desiccant; the "do not eat" could have been a warning about the rice cakes from some rebel factory worker on a mission to save mankind.

But the cake was certainly interesting. It was squishy, much like a stress ball (though I'd not recommend using one as a stress ball unless you want a hand full of bean paste) or the egg (or eyeball) of some endangered species. The bottom had molded itself to the shape of its cubby, which seemed more an accident than a design choice (I suppose it doesn't really matter either way). Its smell was somewhere between rice and sugar. And there was a puckering of sorts at the bean paste injection site (a phrase I've never had to use before) that I found... less than appealing.

My first bite was likewise an interesting experience; the consistency was chewy, but not tough, and my taste buds suggested that the flavor had hints of both rice pudding and marshmallow peeps, which I probably should have (but had not) expected. It combined with the sweet red bean paste filling to provide a new and unique mixture of tastes to my uncultured palate.

 And perhaps it is an acquired taste. I don't think my senses really knew what to make of it and I was left in a state of ambivalence; it was sort of good (not great), but the flavor profile was maybe too unfamiliar for me to really enjoy it as I should have.

Let me put it this way: if I were served one at a dinner party (pretend I get invited to those) or Asian restaurant, I would eat another with no qualms, but if I came across one at a buffet, I'd save the space in my stomach for a more worthy occupant.

Therefore, I feel Azuki Daifuku falls just short of my qualifications for a 2 and must be rated an unfortunate 1. I'm very glad to have been given the opportunity to try this Japanese delicacy, but it's not something I would expect to ever crave.

Still, I in no way would dissuade others from trying it themselves; it's nothing to be afraid of, and many would arrive at an alternate conclusion (my sister-in-law, who has more of a flair for Asian cuisine, really enjoyed the sample I gave her). Plus, I'm pretty sure no endangered animals were harmed in the making of this product (or this blog).

So sign up for the military today for your chance to try this and other exciting treats!

Or just go to Disney World. The choice is yours.

Wishing you great luck (though not necessarily in rice cake form),
The Sweets Fiend
 

Rice and beans. And sugar. It's practically a dessert taco.

#46 - Mackie's of Scotland Haggis and Cracked Black Pepper Flavour Potato Crisps

Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o’ the puddin’-race!
Aboon them a’ ye tak yer place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy o’ a grace
As lang’s my airm.

Thus begins Robert Burns's "Address to a Haggis," which is basically a love letter to Scotland's most feared dish, a savoury pudding containing the heart, liver, and lungs of a sheep (and if you like poems about haggis, you'll love this nearly-six-hundred-year-old recipe; whatever happened to poetic cookbooks, anyway?).

Despite being a wee bit (one-sixteenth) Scottish myself, the thought of an ovine pluck pudding does
not excite my salivary glands in the least. In fact, I find it hard to believe that anyone actually does find it appealing, despite claims to the contrary.

But I have a theory about it: in a country where traditional male attire consists of plaid skirts and fanny packs, proving one's manliness becomes all the more important, and consuming disgusting things is a surefire way to impress men and women alike (as many a schoolyard (or military training camp) dare has proven; tossing telephone poles around is also effective). Writing poetry about said consumption of disgusting things may not have a positive effect on one's reputation as a man, however (sorry Robert Burns; I could always be wrong here).

Now, I'm pretty sure I've demonstrated my manliness (or lack thereof, depending on who you ask) via gastronomical stunts once or twice before, but there are apparently still some folks not thoroughly convinced, because I find myself yet again facing a formidable foe: Mackie's of Scotland's Haggis & Cracked Black Pepper Flavour Potato Chips!

One of these may contain sheep organs. Actually, both may (TCR-FRESHY 5000's anatomy is not fully documented).

Mackie's began as a dairy farm in 1912, but when the milk market took a turn towards varieties lower in fat content, the company adapted in the most wonderful of ways: by using the excess cream to make ice cream (the enjoyment of which would negate any benefits of drinking low fat milk)! Having found prosperity in the world of frozen treats, the next logical step was obviously potato chips (or crisps, as our friends across the pond prefer to call them). Personally, I cannot imagine the train of thought leading from ice cream to chips, but the Mackies have far more business sense than I ever will, so I will not question their judgment.

Thus, in 2009 Mackie's partnered with George Taylor (no, not that George Taylor, although that'd have been awesome) of Taypack Potatoes to start their own line of potato "crisps," and the rest, as they say, is history.

Though relatively new to the potato chip game, Mackie's has already shown to be a strong contender; they know what they're doing, and the package design shows it. The use of so many different fonts could easily go very wrong, but it works here, and there's a simplicity and homey elegance to the style which is completely consistent with the Mackie's brand. It's all around a fine job, and it shows that Mackie's is not just mucking about; they're serious about their snacks!

So they've already won me over as a brand, but the fact remains that this particular product contains the word "haggis," so I decided to play it safe and enlist my robotic sidekick, TCR-FRESHY 5000, for some help with the assessment.

Lady Rosetta... Wasn't she on Downton Abbey?

The "best before" date gave no particular day, so I presume a little leeway can be expected (the publishing of this review comes well after actual analysis, so I was within the given range), which is always nice.

There is some additional information in the area, as well, but the most interesting (to TCR and me, anyhow) is the identification of the potato variety used: Lady Rosetta. This section is generally a reference for the manufacturer and/or the suppliers more than the consumer, and I suspect there may be some internal purpose for the data, though once again I am unable to fathom the workings of the minds at Mackie's; does the type of potato used for a given product vary from time to time (provided it's one of the "best varieties of crisping potatoes"), or are they just exhibiting a commitment to transparency? I don't know, but their record-keeping is admirable.

What, no ketchup?

Okay, so far, so good.

Normally I would proceed next to the nutritional information, but the ingredients list was positioned above it, and I tend to read from left to right and top to bottom, so, between that and my growing fears/curiosity, I figured I'd shake things up and tackle the ingredients first.

Thankfully, the list shows no signs of sheep innards (or animal byproducts of any kind, for that matter). In fact, the entries are rather innocuous, in keeping with the brand's "natural" image. There is a hint of vagueness in the "spices" bit (aside from the acknowledged black pepper), and the possible inclusion of milk and mustard is unusual, but those are small potatoes (pun intended) compared to some of the things I've encountered through my sweet (and salty) exploits.

At this point, I began to question the need for TCR-FRESHY 5000 (just don't tell him I said that) on this venture; the "Haggis and Cracked Black Pepper" crisps were looking to be quite harmless.

Not to mention TCR doesn't work cheap.

But what about the nutrition information? Any concerns there?

Finally, a haggis for vegans!

At a glance, it would seem the answer is firmly negative. Overall, the stats are typical of what one can expect from potato chips (the fat content is slightly lower) aside from the salt, which is double the usual amount. If low sodium is your thing, you might want to look elsewhere for your haggis-flavored potato chips (assuming haggis-flavored potato chips are also your thing).

The suggested serving size is one-fifth of a package. However, elsewhere it advises "Once opened consume within one day." As five servings add up to around 760 Calories, I would suppose the bag was not meant for an individual (though if your daily diet consists of five servings of potato chips, I'm not one to judge).

I guess it's a good thing TCR-FRESHY 5000 was with me, after all. He's a light eater, but every bit counts, and I wasn't sure I was ready for five full servings of haggis and black pepper flavored potato chips, even with my manliness at stake.

NOTE: Against all warnings, I did not consume the bag within one day; I am happy to report that eating a chip the next day (or the day after that) had no noticeable effect on me or TCR (or the quality of the product, as far as I could tell).

As TCR was going to be paid either way, I decided to charge him with opening the package and commencing the next phase of our inspection:

Notice the care with which TCR handles potato chips. He's such a pro!

I don't know what foul odor I had expected would emanate from the release of the chips within, but any suppositions were soon proven invalid. There was really nothing wrong with the smell at all; the scent reminded me of barbecue potato chips, just slightly off (due to what I presume was the haggis seasonings, but, having never had haggis, that's simply worthless conjecture).

TCR-FRESHY 5000 chose one of the more attractive chips for closer scrutiny. After a thorough checkup (verifying that there were indeed no sheep organs, or even mustard, to be found), he offered me the sample for flavor analysis (if he ever gets a flavor analysis add-on, I'll be out of a job).

To my surprise, it wasn't terrible! It actually tasted somewhat like a barbecue chip, too (though again "off"), with the black pepper providing a definite kick! There was something almost appealing about the flavor, to be honest, and I could absolutely see someone quickly developing an affection for the chips.

Someone other than me, that is. For the right person (perhaps the late Robert Burns?), these chips are a fine product, steeped in quality through and through. But I am sadly not the right person, and so I would be okay if I never happened upon another bag.

I struggled with the score for this one, but in the end felt I must rate Mackie's of Scotland Haggis and Cracked Black Pepper Flavour Potato Crisps a 1 (though an extremely high 1, if that's possible). It is not a flavor I much care for (to be fair, I don't generally care much for barbecue potato chips, either), and it in no way presents true haggis as an appealing proposition to me.

Let's put it this way: I'm not about to write a poem about the experience (unless my loyal readers really, really, really want me to).

Still, I commend Mackie's for thinking outside the box and for so successfully entering the competitive potato chip market. I would gladly try one of their other flavors, and I would recommend their line of "crisps" to anyone (even the haggis variety, to the daring).

So carry on, Mackie (and Taylor) family, and lang may yer lum reek!

Counting sheep innards as I drift off to sleep,
The Sweets Fiend

Even TCR-FRESHY 5000 was shocked by the lack of sheep parts.