Years ago, I read a book titled From Bonsai to Levis, a book on marketing mistakes made by US companies in Japan. By now, I’m sure the book is dated and I recall nothing of the book except one story about instant cake. It’s been years, so forgive me if I get some details wrong, but it went something like this:
Back in the 50s, when the cake mix was invented, it was a complete cake batter in a carton. An American housewife could open the carton, pour it into a cake pan and put it into the oven. Focus groups with housewives indicated why it wasn’t selling. It was too instant. The manufacturers reconfigured the recipe so the housewife had to add some eggs and milk and maybe some oil, mix it well, and then put it in a cakepan in the oven. The housewife now felt like she was part of the process and the boxes of cake mix sold like the proverbial, um, hotcakes.
Eventually, the marketers started looking at Japan. The Japanese have a liking for cakes and pastries, so it made sense. At the time the average Japanese household didn’t have an oven, so that presented a minor problem. But many households had a rice cookers, so the recipe was easily be adapted to a different cooking source, as well as the Japanese tastes.
Initial sales were promising but then quickly dropped off until sales numbers were almost zero. Again, focus groups were used to determine why these weren’t selling as successfully as in America. The initial popularity was attributed to mere novelty.
The problem was the flavor. Not that the cakes tasted bad or wrong or anything. It’s just that in Japanese culture, rice is pure. It just seemed wrong to have chocolate or lemon or other flavors in the rice cooker. I’m sure rice cookers can be thoroughly cleaned until there’s no chance of the taste lingering to “flavor” the rice. To the Japanese housewife, it just felt wrong.
Silly? I can think of other examples. We’ve all met people who say Chinese food just tastes better when eaten with chopsticks. They’re right, too. It really does taste better, except it doesn’t. Really.
I have coffee cups and I have tea cups. I could never put anything except tea in my teacups, except water, of course. I never use my coffee cups for tea. I use them for coffee, water or milk.
Now when I say milk, I mean soymilk (because lactose doesn’t tolerate me.) Which brings up another example of the brain’s control over the body.
I stopped drinking milk about 20 years ago. I can put a little cream in my coffee and drink a about a half cup of milk, at most. I have to be careful to eat only small amounts of cheese (including pizza.) I carry lactase enzyme pills if I’m going to Gaspare’s or Kinchley’s to chow on some pizza or Alfredo. Without them, I’d be passing gas like a superhero, or worse.
The thought of a tall glass of cool white milk does not appeal to me. In fact, the thought of the discomfort that would be caused by drinking it almost causes the discomfort.
Recently, I discovered soy milk when I got a free sample at Costco. After my fourth or fifth case I’ve noticed a few things. I can’t drink a tall glass of it. Can’t. I can drink a half of a glass and if I want more, I pour another half glass. And another. I can consume it in quantity, but not more than half a glass at a time. I can’t stand the sight, or thought, of a full glass of the nondairy liquid which looks and tastes (to me, anyway) like milk. I’ll eat two small bowls of cereal rather than one big bowl. Weird, huh?
Yes, I know the science but call me a Japanese housewife because it doesn’t change how it feels. On the other hand, I’ve been known to cook more than rice in my rice cooker. Mind over matter?
I don’t mind and it doesn’t matter.
