The Counterattack of the Shirokuma (7-Eleven)

It was thirty-three years ago.

I was thirty-five, and in an essay titled "Yoko-sensei," I wrote about "Shirokuma." I was referring to that cold, sweet, and irresistibly delicious treat from Kagoshima and Miyazaki, topped with plenty of condensed milk and fruit.

The editor immediately marked it up with red ink.

"Shirokuma might be mistaken for the animal, the polar bear. You should change this to 'shaved ice.'"

Shaved ice.

I held the phone, silent for a while. I wasn't silent because I was angry, but because I didn't know how to explain the difference between "shaved ice" and "Shirokuma" to someone from Tokyo.

It is as different as "curry rice" and "omurice."

Both might be the same in that they have something on top of rice. But if you serve omurice to someone who wants to eat curry rice, isn't that an act of violence? Violence might be too strong a word, but at the very least, it is a betrayal.

Shirokuma is not shaved ice.

Shaved ice is that transparent, ephemeral food from festival stalls where an old lady grinds ice and pours on toxic-colored syrups like strawberry, melon, or blue Hawaii. The kind that turns your tongue blue or red.

Shirokuma is different.

First, there is the condensed milk. Rich, thick condensed milk that smells like a Hokkaido dairy farm, soaked deep into the ice. And on top of that, strawberries, mandarin oranges, pineapples, and blueberries are scattered like jewels. Each piece of fruit is a star. It is in a different league from shaved ice syrup. It has a different origin. It has a different way of life.

However, I succumbed to the term "nationwide."

Nationwide.

I think the world should think more seriously about the violence of this word. Anything that isn't nationwide is treated as if it doesn't exist. A local Kyushu ice treat is turned into "shaved ice" with a single stroke of a Tokyo editor's pen. It was a truly terrible story.

Thirty-three years have passed since then.

I have turned sixty-eight. I am at an age where I live while worrying about my blood sugar levels. I have been hospitalized for diabetes. I have had sepsis and kidney stones. I have become a man who, even when eating a beef bowl at Yoshinoya, checks his step count on his smartwatch before ordering.

In front of such a man, there is 7-Eleven's "7 Premium Condensed Milk Flavor Shirokuma."

It is a convenience store. It is 7-Eleven. It can be bought nationwide.

The strawberry shines red. The mandarin orange glows orange. The pineapple asserts its presence in yellow. A single blueberry sits modestly in the corner. The white ice of the condensed milk embraces it all. The old man (that's me) danced for about two minutes, waving his arms and legs wildly above his head. That is a lie.

Thirty-three years ago, that food item which was rewritten as "shaved ice" in a Tokyo editorial office is now sitting right here in front of my keyboard at home in Fukuoka, inside a transparent convenience store cup, proudly bearing the name "Shirokuma" (Polar Bear).

Good for you, good for you.

You've come a long way.

I picked up a spoon and ate the strawberry first. The frozen strawberry hit my teeth with a crisp sound. The sweetness of the condensed milk slowly spread through my mouth.

The thought of my blood sugar levels crossed my mind for a split second, but it would be boorish to dampen a reunion thirty-three years in the making.

The words I couldn't say to the editor back then, I can say now.
I can say them while sticking out my potbelly.

"That's why I told you. Shirokuma isn't just shaved ice."

Honestly, the times have finally caught up. It took thirty-three years, but it's not bad. It's not a bad night at all.

Oh my, oh my.