I know this is going to strike some of you loyal readers as a bit strange. Today I had my very first encounter with "melon bread" ('meron pan' in Nihongo). How, you might ask, could I have lived here this long and not tasted melon bread? Why, one of our friends swears by 7-11 'meron pan' and eats one as often as possible. The truth be told, I was never that intrigued with this hemispherical hunk of dough. Though I appreciated its half-cantaloupe shape, there was something slightly off-putting about the idea of combining bread and melon. I mean, be honest with me, do YOU think they belong together? In Japan there is a tendency to make connections between seemingly unrelated objects. Taste sensations are no exception. Consider the potato salad sandwich or spaghetti with fish roe sauce -- neither of these comestibles have ever crossed my lips. And they never will.
But melon pan has redeemed itself. I met a dear friend for coffee today and upon arrival she produced four, freshly-baked, pleasingly warm buns purchased from her local, melon pan specialist. If I had been in the US, I would have tucked into my yakitate ("fresh from the oven") roll immediately as I sipped my Starbucks brew. But this is Japan where that sort of thing just isn't done. Needless to say, as soon as I got home I carefully arranged the treats, took their picture (bear with me, I am experiencing technical difficulties) and then had my inaugural nibble. Indeed the bread had a mild melon flavor. But the fruity overtone harmonized beautifully with the bread's pale yellow interior and its crispy, sugar-coated cover. Not too sweet and not too doughy. Now I am a convert.
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