End of the Line: Sakumaseika’s Classic Drops Vanish from the Jars
For more than a century, the tiny red‑can candy that practically became a household staple in Japan is finally getting the final whistle. Tokyo‑based Sakumaseika Co. announced on Wednesday that it will shut down in January after cost‑crashing production, a scarce labour pool, and a sharp slump in sales for its flagship treat.
The Candy That Stayed in the Middle of the 20th‑Century Classroom
- Product: Sakuma’s Drops—tiny, hard fruit‑flavored candies in a red steel can.
- History: Founded in 1908 by confectioner Sojiro Sakuma, the brand survived air raids and even inspired Studio Ghibli in the 1988 film Grave of the Fireflies.
- Flavors: Eight classic tastes—strawberry, lemon, and the rest that made every bite feel like a backyard stop‑over.
- Longevity: 114 years of service, 1908–2025, a sweet conveyor belt that once echoed from every corner candy shop.
“We always had a can at home when I was in grade school,” recalls Naoe Watanabe, 53, a sweets‑shop owner who witnessed the candy’s rise and fall. “It feels like a sign of the times. There are so many choices now, compared to when I was a kid.”
Why the Dragon Got Burnt Out?
The company says it never raised the price—it’s been a steady, unchanging price point for years, even as raw materials and energy costs sprinted upward. In Japan, many firms cling to frozen price tags, fearing that a hike will scare away customers.
The future of Sakumaseika’s roughly one hundred employees hangs in the balance, with a spokesperson refusing to give further details.
From the War‑Time Scene to the Screens
In Grave of the Fireflies, a war‑scarred child and her brother rely on a red can of Sakuma’s Drops as one of their few prized possessions after their house is destroyed. That moment has cemented the candy’s image as an enduring comfort.
Now, as the company’s last day looms, it’s not just a candy gone—it’s a piece of shared nostalgia slipping into the thicket of modern options.
Spoiled for choice
<img alt="" data-caption="Sakuma's Drops produced by Sakumaseika Co, are displayed at a snacks store Niki no Kashi in Tokyo, on Nov 9.
PHOTO: Reuters” data-entity-type=”file” data-entity-uuid=”ba826eb0-915f-44c5-a7c8-4a95d5badd6b” src=”/sites/default/files/inline-images/20221111_sakuma_drops_reuters.jpeg”/>
Old‑school Snack Fade: The Rise of the New‑Gen Choosiness
Inside Tokyo’s bustling shopping lanes, the classic snack “Sakuma’s Drops” is slipping from the shelves, leaving only a handful of nostalgia‑hungry 50‑plus fans behind.
What the street‑food vets are seeing
- Hiroshi Matsuzawa, owner of a popular snack corner, reports that the Drops are mainly a hit with older shoppers. “They’re a little quaint now. Kids have a universe of new treats in front of them,” he says, shrugging.
- Teruyo Ishiguro, who runs the classic dagashiya (school‑stop snack shop) has stopped stocking Sakuma’s Drops since last year. “We’re basically a sweet‑toxic playground for the kids. When Mom dreams, the older couples, but the drops? A relic only 50‑plus people chase,” she explains, her eyes misting slightly.
- The veteran, 80‑year‑old with 60 years of confectionery experience, added, “It hurts to see a piece of history vanish. They’ve been with us longer than most of us.”
Why the crunch is getting hard
A looming double‑digit wholesale inflation and a slumping yen are tightening the wallets of Japan’s snack makers. In January, corn‑snack giant Umaibo slapped a price hike for the first time since 1979, sparking headlines.
Sakumaseika’s net loss in 2021 hit over 150 million yen (about S$1.5 million), per Tokyo Shoko Research data. That loss ultimately led to the company’s walk‑away announcement this week.
Happy Endings for Fans? Not Quite
- Sakuma Confectionery Co. – the spin‑away from Sakumaseika after the post‑war split – will still roll out a twin snack. Their version, also named “Sakuma Drops,” comes in a green tin, so it’s hard to tell them apart unless you’re paying paid attention.
- A spokesperson from the competitor said, “We feel a pinch seeing Sakumaseika go, but hey—maybe they’re all about mixing up new flavor experiments.” The tone is bittersweet, almost as if consoling a friend who lost their favorite childhood game.
For now, fans have a pick‑and‑mix shopfront tomorrow. Either choose the older, classic flavor or the modern green re‑brand. Either way, the taste of Japan’s snack story is still alive in Tokyo’s hot‑spot lanes, dwindling but not lost.
