Familiar treat turns up in unlikely locale

Recently I visited a Wagyu beef farm in Japan's Fukushima prefecture. As we made the rounds of corrals and barns, I gazed at the massive, glistening black beasts, ready to ask the questions that Westerners want to know about these legendary creatures' lifestyle. "Do you massage them?" "Do they get beer with their meals?"

"Actually, no," came the polite reply, followed by a detailed description of the genetic lineage and dietary program that separate Wagyu from their more ordinary cousins.

Part of their regimen is their relaxed life - abundant food of the right sort, socializing and not too much stampeding or otherwise running around in the fields; they must grow with fat marbling them throughout. The creatures themselves were hefty, square and stocky: almost like buildings in their solidity. Gathered in groups, in straw-floored barns, these placid animals seemed as curious about us as we were about them.

Moo-sical theater

Here is what happened next - and I vow I am relaying the situation honestly, without sentimental interpretation. Those who dislike anthropomorphism, however, should turn away now. Anyhow, the cows gathered around, friendly-like. They were staring at me.

I looked at the cows; they looked at me in a way that seemed expectant. Not knowing what else to do, I broke into song - show tunes.

I warbled my way through "South Pacific," advanced into "Gypsy," then worked my way through a few "Bye Bye Birdie" songs. If I got too rambunctious or sang anything Ethel Merman made famous, the cows turned away in disgust. I began to sway with the music, emoting for this, my special audience. And then something so amazing happened that I had to wipe my eyes and blink a few times to see more clearly: The cows were swaying along with me.

I sang and swayed, and the huge cows with their chubby double chins swayed along with me while my companions tried to get a good video of the whole thing. And then, like all good performances, the show was over and we had to leave.

A delicious souvenir

A few days later, I stopped at a roadside shop of regional goodies and found a gift box decorated with red and black cartoonlike drawings of the most appealing little animal, chunky and chubby, with a great big smile. "Our famous Wagyu cows," the salesclerk explained. "Inside is a delicious crispy treat - nothing to do with Wagyu, but simply because we love and revere this animal."

I bought a box of what I thought would be something exotically Japanese, and packed it carefully in my suitcase.

At home, when I opened it up to share, I discovered that the exotic Asian treat was my very own childhood fave - a version of Rice Krispies treats enriched with an array of flakes and morsels.

Until that moment, I had felt resolutely artisanal in all things dessert - no industrial foods such as ready-made cereals, please - but bowing to my weakness in spirit when faced with deliciousness, I took myself to my own kitchen, returning to my - and probably yours, too - childhood treat.

Brown butter is key

But here is the thing. I had been inspired by Japan. When I melted the butter to start, I let it caramelize lightly to brown, which would result in a nutty flavor beyond mere sweetness, then flavored the mixture with matcha, Japanese green tea.

I made another batch with bacon. Next, I'm thinking chocolate, with lots of grainy flakes, perhaps butterscotch chips, too.

This being Halloween, it's a perfect time to make a big batch of treats. I'll wait for the trick-or-treaters to come to the door, though in the back of my mind, I'll be hoping that it's my old friends, the Wagyu cows, back for a few more choruses of singing and swaying, and we can all share a nice tray of these treats afterward.