You certainly don't buy Botan rice candy for the stickers. Connoisseurs of the stuff will cite the candy's sweet, extremely chewy, vaguely citrus-flavored properties and its edible inner wrapper, a crinkly sheet of rice paper that literally melts in your mouth when you chew it.
It's not clear how healthy (or unhealthy) the stuff is. That's part of the mystery. The side of the box carries a strange promise: "FOR NUTRITION INFORMATION, CALL 415 871 1660."
There is no other flavor quite like Botan, and so like sushi (and other unique taste experiences, like Nutella or soft tacos from Taco Bell), you sometimes just get a craving that must immediately be satisfied. You buy several boxes, of course. But then you're left with some weird stickers.
"Free children's sticker inside," says the box. Ah, the days when kids could be entertained with something as simple as a sticker. These days, it's all Playstation 2, Pokémon and handguns that "just go off." But Botan seems to have an undying faith in their ability to sell more candy or just make kids smile by whipping up a menagerie of gaudy, culturally questionable little illustrations.
Let's take a look at the fruit of six different boxes.
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Well, we seem to have a couple of Japanese guys here, carrying a shrine. Probably as part of some sort of Shinto street festival, if I were forced to make an off-the-cuff guess. They don't seem very happy about it, though. Is the shrine too heavy? Do they not like festivals? Perhaps they have hernias, or miss their girlfriends.
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Ah, a clown. Always disturbing. This rotund fellow is a study in the color purple, and swings his umbrella with a disconcerting amount of poise. His hairstyle is identical to Mr. Spacely of Spacely Sprockets. You know. "The Jetsons."
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These dogs are in love! And before they do the wild thing, they're going to get married. Thus the pink hearts and unusually high level of dog-related fashion accoutrements. As usual, she looks happier to be standing at the altar than he does. Don't worry, though. Dad will bring out the hose before things go too far.
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What we have here is a little boy. He's calling out to something. Maybe he's trying to get the dogs to stop. "Hey! Don't do that! Daddy said you shouldn't do that!"
In his basket, he carries some colorful things Easter eggs, perhaps? It's absolutely unclear. Maybe he has been picking magic puffball mushrooms.
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"Holy frickin' balls!" This little girl is clearly upset about the small white puppy jumping up on her strange and hideous green dress/apron combo. Does the puppy have a contagion of some sort? Is it about to explode with lethal force?
Absolutely unclear. The stickers tell no complete tales. Also unclear: The puppy may actually be a bunny. A folded-ear bunny from England, to be exact.
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Who is this strange-looking fellow? He seems to be from Japanese spirit world might he be some sort of ghost or goblin (bakemono)? He's either standing on one foot, or has only one foot left: it's giant, pink and squiggly. There seems to be an enormous tuft of whipped cream rising up behind him.
Why?
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You may also enjoy the contents of five never-seen-before boxes addressed by a separate review.
Botan rice candy stickers embody the skewed sense of the absurd that the Japanese bring to so many of their consumer endeavors. The stickers are unpredictable. They're cloying, yet disturbing. They're edgy, yet clearly inked out by grandfatherly men hunched over drafting boards in some little factory/office complex somewhere in the rundown part of Kyoto.
Without the stickers, Botan rice candy is just another confection, with an edible wrapper that confuses Americans. But with them, Botan boxes are messengers from another culture, albeit messengers who seem genuinely confused about what they're trying to say.
It is our duty to listen, regardless.
James Norton (jrnorton@flakmag.com)