Hot Pancake-Flavored Milk Shakes?

One of the bizarre things about Japan is that vending machines are everywhere. Japan averages about 5.2 vending machines per city block (okay I made up the number, but it does seem like it, and Deniz read that Japan has one vending machine for every 23 people). Hike to the top of Mt. Fuji and what do you see? You got it, vending machines.

So what does Japan need with so many vending machines? It may be because it's almost impossible to find a water fountain anywhere. Or may be because they give you teacup sized cups at restaurants if you ask for water. You're so parched after you finish your "salt ramen soup" that you need to get a drink outside.

But really, Japan has taken vending machines to a whole new level. They don't just sell cold drinks. You want hot tea or hot coffee in the winter? No problem. How about soup? Sure. They have corn potage and tomato basil soup. Sure. One of the seven vending machines in my office building even sells curry risotto soup. Careful, though. The risotto is not rice. It's made of konnyaku (a.k.a. devil's tongue, vodoo lily, and snake palm), a gray tasteless chewy jelly made of plant extract. A little weird, but if you like boba, you're halfway there.

We've seen and heard stories of other weird vending machines. Fortune-telling vending machines in temples. School girl underwear vending machines (no longer available, banned in the 90s). Egg vending machines. The possibilities never cease to amaze us.

Today, after our routine walk around the neighborhood, we decided to take a closer look at the vending machines next to our apartment building. One had a can with a picture of a triple stack of pancakes on the front. That probably should have deterred us from buying anything from the vending machine ever again, but no, we were intrigued. It was called "hotto keku miliku seki." Or if you're good at guess-translating Japlish (a.k.a. Katagana), it was called "hot cake milk shake." Well, after we figured out the translation, there was no amount of begging to keep Deniz from buying it. And believe me, I tried. I tried to get him to inspect it before drinking it too, but no luck there either. He just opened and glugged it down. We're still not sure what it is, but it kind of tasted like milky hot maple syrup with maybe a little coffee. You should have seen the look on Deniz' face after drinking it. The remains are still sitting on our coffee table.