Sweet Bean Paste

by Durian Sukegawa

  ‘That Chinese paste…No it didn’t,’ Sentaro agreed.

  ‘That’s why I thought it was sticky and the sweetness had no pep in it.’

  Tokue was right. It was a question of taste, but Sentaro had always tired of that bean paste – which was of course non-salted – after a mouthful or two.

  ‘I have the feeling that men like you who like to drink prefer bean paste with a little bit of salt in it.’

  ‘Oh, so that’s why I can eat it.’

  ‘You don’t have much of a sweet tooth but you still like my bean paste, which means that the salt is probably helping.’

  ‘No, it’s the way you handle the beans – it’s extraordinary.’

  ‘But if there was no salt at all, you probably wouldn’t like it as much.’

  ‘Maybe…’

  ‘Everyone here is the same,’ Miss Moriyama said, looking round her. ‘When we serve bean paste to men, they always like it better with a bit of salt.’

  ‘Boss, which do you think is saltier? My usual bean paste or the soup you had today?’ Tokue continued.

  ‘Err…’ Sentaro was baffled for a moment, not understanding exactly what he was being asked. Then his eyes lighted on the plate of salty kombu.

  ‘The soup, maybe. Because we ate it with salty kombu.’

  ‘Yes, it’s a big difference. That’s why you could eat a whole bowlful.’

  ‘Because I like a drink?’

  ‘It’s not too much of an ordeal for you to eat bean paste with a salty flavour.’

  ‘No, it’s not.’

  ‘But when you make bean paste you don’t put a lot of salt in it, do you?’

  ‘No. Because if I did it’d all be ruined.’

  ‘If that’s so, what about this soup? Salty kombu has a high salt content.’

  ‘Well…um…What are you saying?’

  Tokue’s gaunt face was lit by the smile in her eyes. Miss Moriyama looked at her and said nothing.

  ‘With bean paste, you don’t know how much salt is used. But with the soup, it’s obvious because of the salty kombu. So why don’t you try using salt in another way when you make dorayaki? It could be a new type of dorayaki for people like you, who like a drink.’

  Miss Moriyama clapped her hands loudly. ‘Yes! There are already salted manju buns and salted rice cakes – it’s the concept of reverse expectations.’

  ‘So you mean, ah…salty dorayaki?’

  ‘Yes. Sometimes it’s good to go with what you like most.’

  Miss Moriyama let out a long whistling breath of admiration and banged the table enthusiastically. ‘She’s the one! Toku was always the ideas person in the Confectionery Group.’

  ‘Well, I just put this empty head of mine to work.’

  Miss Moriyama leaned forward. ‘Mr Tsujii, Toku is usually right. If she says something like this, you have to give salty dorayaki a try.’

  ‘You think I should make salty dorayaki?’

  ‘It’ll sell,’ Miss Moriyama pronounced, and Tokue mumbled in agreement.

  Sentaro nodded his thanks. ‘Thank you for the soup. And the new ideas. As always, I never know how to thank you enough.’

  ‘Oh, get on with you. I was just throwing out some ideas. More importantly—’ Tokue broke off and looked at Miss Moriyama, then turned her sunken eyes back to Sentaro.

  Miss Moriyama gathered up the bowls and placed them on the tray. ‘I’ll wash these,’ she said, and left.

  ‘I’m not asking you to say any more,’ Tokue said in a low voice, ‘but thank you for being honest with me.’

  ‘Uh…’ Sentaro knew what she was referring to and hung his head.

  ‘It’s a shame about your mother.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is your father still alive and well?’

  Sentaro nodded and said nothing.

  ‘Then wouldn’t it be best to go and see him?’

  ‘It’s hard to find a reason to go.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘The whole mess was all my doing. It was hard especially for my mother – I did something that couldn’t be undone.’

  ‘But you paid your dues. In prison.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then you have to start over.’

  Sentaro hung his head, unable to look Tokue in the eye. He stared at the salty kombu on the plate.

  ‘I thought about it a long time, too…how to start over. The boss came to my rescue and I started working in that kitchen, but…’ Sentaro paused, ‘all I thought about was getting away from there.’

  ‘But it’s no wonder if you don’t like sweet foods.’

  ‘Yes, but…’ Sentaro drew a deep breath, ‘now I want to keep the shop going. Do it my way.’

  ‘I can see that. I can definitely see you making your own style of dorayaki. That’s why—’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, to tell the truth, there’s nothing more I can teach you about making bean paste. It’s up to you now – just do what you want. Have confidence in yourself.’ Tokue’s eyes glistened. ‘You can do it, Sentaro,’ she said.

  22

  Salty dorayaki. It was easy to talk about, but not so simple when it came to actually making them. Sentaro asked his suppliers to get him well-known brands of natural sea salt such as Ako from the Seto Inland Sea or Yanbaru from the Okinawan island of Iejima. But before he could reach a point where the quality of the salt would make any difference, he had to grapple with the problem of exactly where and how to add salt to the dorayaki in order to make a new kind of confectionery – that was the part he couldn’t figure out.

  At first Sentaro tried increasing the amount of salt he mixed into the bean paste. Ordinarily he would add only a pinch to a four-kilogram batch – one gram at the most. He tried increasing it to two grams, then three grams. And something mysterious happened when he did; the salty flavour stood out against the sweetness, clear and fresh – an unexpected blossoming of flavour. The taste was fleeting and not overpowered by sweetness. He found it refreshing. But that was only when he added salt in minute quantities. Once he increased the amount of salt – specifically to three or more grams per four-kilogram batch – the flavour abruptly turned coarse, and lost all subtlety. It was like an over-salty soup that became inedible beyond a certain point – not a taste he could serve in dorayaki.

  No matter how much he thought about how to add salt to the bean mixture, Sentaro could only come up with using the same method as he always had: to cautiously add tiny amounts as he mixed the beans. Not only was that the most he could do, it was, he felt, the only way.

  What should he do then? The obvious answer was to try adding salt to the pancake, so he decided to experiment with the batter. As always, he blended equal amounts of eggs, sugar and soft flour. Then he added some baking powder to leaven, honey and sweet rice wine, and a tiny dash of green tea for flavouring. Next he divided the batter into several bowls, put varying amounts of salt in each, and cooked the pancakes.

  On the day he tried this, the owner happened to drop in on her way back from the doctor’s, just as he had finished the cooking. She looked over the books for the past few days. ‘This is terrible,’ she said, clicking her tongue in disapproval.

  ‘I’m just in the middle of trying something new,’ Sentaro told her.

  The owner usually avoided eating dorayaki because of the sugar level, but her interest was piqued. ‘Let’s see,’ she said, reaching for one.

  Her reaction was immediate. ‘Ugh, it’s salty,’ she spat.

  ‘Because it’s a salty dorayaki.’

  ‘What is this…? It makes you thirsty.’

  ‘I have one that’s less salty.’

  ‘There’s something poor about it.’

  Poor? Sentaro was taken aback by her choice of words. He took a bite of one and chewed on it slowly, carefully assessing the taste.

  ‘Do you think so? I think it’s actually quite good.’

  Sentaro honestly thought that. It was a novel taste. He liked the experience of
tasting salt when he expected sweetness – it was refreshing. But after taking a second and third bite, he began to see what the owner was getting at. Unlike the impression left by the first mouthful, now there was only an unpleasant salty aftertaste. At the same time, the rich, rounded flavour of the pancake faded. The trick was shamelessly exposed.

  ‘I see what you mean,’ Sentaro said after he finished eating it. ‘You don’t feel like eating another one.’ He looked at her.

  ‘It might catch people’s eye. You could try selling it.’ The owner spoke flatly, and to Sentaro she might as well have been saying she disapproved.

  There was no changing the fact, however, that Doraharu was in a tight corner. If they didn’t come up with something new there would be no future.

  ‘As I’ve said many times already, we can’t go on like this. Now is a good time to finish up with dorayaki.’

  This statement went one step further than her usual pronouncements on the subject.

  ‘I hope I feel a lot better about all this by the time that cherry tree blooms,’ she said, pointing through the glass door. ‘What’s your opinion, Sentaro? Don’t you think it’d be better to make a fresh start as an okonomiyaki shop? Or how about yakitori? You’d like it if we could serve alcohol as well, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Nope. Like I said before, I don’t think we should give up on dorayaki.’

  ‘But the reality is you can’t draw customers any more.’

  It was on the tip of Sentaro’s tongue to say that was because of customers’ attitude towards Tokue but now—then he stopped himself and took a deep breath.

  ‘Please, may I ask for your patience just a little longer?’

  ‘My patience…?’

  ‘If you’ve got the leeway to renovate the shop and open a new one, can’t you take a final punt on dorayaki?’

  ‘You’re too much, Sentaro. I mean to say – you didn’t even like dorayaki, did you? I know you’re only at this shop because of your debts. Why on earth have you taken it into your head to pull your finger out now? If we sell okonomiyaki you could serve alcohol too – wouldn’t that be more your taste? I think it’d be much better for you. Why are you being so stubborn about dorayaki now?’

  ‘Well…I—’

  ‘And one more thing. If we’re going to renovate, it has to be now.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Because my savings are running out. If we miss this chance I might have to let the whole business go. Do you understand? Now that would really be a betrayal of my husband. If we don’t do something while I still have the means, we’ll be up to our ears and forced to fold. What would you do, Sentaro?’ The owner paused. ‘With all I have to worry about, you end up proposing…salty dorayaki?’

  ‘Um…’

  She took another bite of her partially eaten dorayaki. ‘It’s even saltier cold! You try it.’

  At her insistence Sentaro took the piece she broke off to offer him, and put it in his mouth. She was right about the flavour changing as it cooled. The saltiness now tasted much stronger than was desirable.

  ‘I appreciate your trying something new. But reality is reality. It’s the end of January now…I have a proposal.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘I will make a decision based on sales at the end of February. If sales grow next month, like before, you can keep on with dorayaki. If not, we give up. An Osaka-style shop might be nice, with okonomiyaki and octopus balls…we can do both, can’t we? Customers can sit at the counter and drink. Average takings per head should go up and…oh, since you’ve already paid back a lot of your debt, I’ll let you off the rest. Whatever you can pay me by the end of February will be enough.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’ve almost paid it all back, you know. I’ll let you off the rest. Let’s do this with good grace, Sentaro. There are times in life when we have to make changes.’

  Sentaro said nothing for a while. ‘All right,’ he said.

  ‘Whatever happens, next month we make a new start. Got it?’

  ‘I understand.’

  The owner put her leftover dorayaki on a plate and thrust it back to him.

  23

  Doraharu

  Dear Tokue,

  How are you? The weather is still so cold and wintry, I hope you are staying warm and haven’t caught any more colds.

  I’m still struggling along, though I did take a hint from what you said last time and immediately started experimenting. I’m sure you can guess what I mean – salty dorayaki!

  At first I tried increasing the amount of salt in the bean paste, but that was a failure. It made me realize, however, that the amount you always put in is exactly right. As it would be! So nothing has changed with the bean paste.

  Then I started thinking about what else I could add to justify calling it a salty dorayaki. Too simple, maybe, but next I tried putting salt in the pancake. This produced some very interesting dorayaki. If you eat it while it’s still warm the flavour is like nothing you’ve ever tasted before, and I thought I might have found the answer. But then after a while the saltiness becomes overpowering. Like a subtle flavouring that gets to be too much. I tried reducing the salt so that wouldn’t happen, but then it becomes so subtle you don’t get that surprise taste with the first bite.

  So I discovered that putting salt in the pancake is difficult too, and came to the conclusion that the answer is not simply dissolving salt into the bean paste mixture or the pancake batter. I think the reason the salty kombu works in the sweet soup we ate is because it acts as an accent on the palate. If it were a salty soup, with a generous amount of salt in it already, then there would be resistance to adding any more.

  So I don’t know. I need to find something that will keep its own texture and flavour, like the salty kombu in sweet soup, but can bring out the taste of the dorayaki at the same time. With things as they are at Doraharu I don’t have that much time to think about it, but I’m trying to practice what I learned from you about Listening, and maybe that will help. I still haven’t given up hope. But sales are still not picking up. At the moment I only make a fresh batch of bean paste once every four days. When I think of how busy we were just six months ago I can hardly believe it.

  Every day I try to open up my mind and listen. The reality is, though, that I don’t hear anything yet.

  I’d like to come and see you again sometime when the weather gets warmer. This time I’ll bring Wakana with me. We can decide then about letting the canary go free.

  Sorry to go on so much about all my problems. But I know it’s no use trying to pretend otherwise with you, so I took the liberty of writing my thoughts.

  I will keep trying and hope that perhaps one day the god of confectionery will whisper words in my ear too.

  Yours sincerely,

  Sentaro Tsujii

  Dear Sentaro

  Please excuse me if I skip the formalities. I’m sorry that my inconsiderate remarks seem to have set you off on a wild quest.

  You are right, however, about salt being a very tricky ingredient to use. It doesn’t matter so much in savoury food, but when you use it in sweet foods it mustn’t be too noticeable. That is an iron rule. It can only be used in minute quantities, which means, as you point out, that it becomes an accent to the flavour. That certainly describes the relationship between sweet soup and salty kombu.

  But you also discovered something very important, which is, I believe, the beauty of the concept. And that is, that sweet soup and salty kombu have nothing in common, but somebody thought to put them together so that people with a sweet tooth and those who do not like sweet things could both eat the soup.

  Likewise, dorayaki are already perfect as they are. But if you think of them in the same way you might come up with something that would go well with them. I’ll give it some thought too.

  I know you may not be able to hear anything now, even if you try, but please don’t give up. I feel sure that one day you will find whatever it is you seek, and that the spark
that leads to it will come from hearing some kind of voice. People’s lives never stay the same colour forever. There are times when the colour of life changes completely.

  I’m nearly at the end of my time, and because of this there are things I know. I had to spend my whole life living with the consequences of Hansen’s disease. Looking back on what life was like when

  I first entered the sanatorium, then ten years later, twenty years later, thirty years later, and now I’m approaching the end, I can see how different the colour of my days were at each stage.

  It was a hard life. That has to be said, and it’s one way of putting it. But as life passed by while shut up in here, I came to understand something. I realized that no matter how much we lost, or however badly we were treated, the fact is we are still human. All we can do is keep on going with our lives, even if we lose limbs, because this is not a fatal illness. In the midst of darkness and a struggle we had no hope of winning, I held on to this one thing – the fact of our humanity – and I was proud of it.

  That’s maybe why I tried to Listen, because I believe that human beings are living creatures with this capability. When I Listened, I sometimes heard things.

  I Listened to the birds that visited Tenshoen, and the insects, trees, grass and flowers. To the wind, rain and light. And to the moon. I believe they all have voices. I can easily spend a whole day Listening to them. When I am in the woods at Tenshoen the whole world is there too. When I hear stars whispering at night I feel part of the eternal flow of time.

  Sentaro, things are difficult for you now because the customers aren’t coming back, are they? You are too kind to say so directly, but my guess is that the bad period that started because of me is not over. The Leprosy Prevention Act doesn’t exist any more but public opinion hasn’t changed all that much, it seems. Don’t let all that stop you from trying to open your ears to the voices all around you. Listen, and keep listening, for the voices that ordinary people can’t hear, and keep making your dorayaki. I am sure that if you do, the future will open out for both you and Doraharu.