Cubism

Choux cube!

When the Professor brought these home, there was a collective gasp, then silence. It was like looking at alien technology. Choux Cube. Of course. Japan, the land of French pastry appropriation, had taken the magical, cumulus cream puff, once so Marie Antoinette voluptuous, and contained it in the strictest 90 degree angles, like a slick Noguchi sculpture. Dang.

The pastry was still airy and tender. Inside, the cream was that alchemical mix of whipped cream and custard. The strawberry had little bits of fruit folded into the filling, and the lightest whiff of berry in the white chocolate glaze. The vanilla had the requisite flecks of bean inside, and actually the best of the glazes for its vanilla fragrance. Turns out, vanilla is all you need to convert me to white chocolate. The chocolate filling was lovely, of course, and not as heavy as you might think. So I think maybe I get minimalism now, because I suddenly want to wear all white and empty my home of everything but a few square pillows and a potted orchid. And boxes and boxes of cream puffs.

Look at them--like little office worker in their cubicles. Except you can eat them.

Little Baum Tree: Cake on a Stick

First, apologies for this blurry photo--my hands tremble in the presence of portable cake. It's not a cake pop, which, while a great idea, is a little to little for me. No, this corndog-esque delight is actually baumkuchen, a German goodie that has made it big in Japan. Usually, it's a big cylindrical thing baked on a kind of turning spit on which layer upon layer of batter is poured. The result is a pound cakey tube that, when sliced, shows its rings like the stump of a felled tree. A delicious, tender and rich stump that you want to have with a cup of tea.

Factory fun!

The miniature baumkuchen are baked in this crazy oven. They turn and rotate up and down, which is mesmerizing when you are standing on line in a cloud of buttery aroma. The chocolate ones are great, too. If you're like me, you'll peel and eat the layers as you go--every one has that brown-edge-of-the-pound-cake flavor.

The shop is actually located inside Shinagawa Station. This is how you get people to take mass transportation and leave the car at home. Wait, can cake save the planet? And then there's the package, which I know is speaking directly to me: "Little Baum Tree. A little Baumkuchen made especially for you."

Yes. Yes it is.

They Are Not Playing Around at the New Mitsukoshi

Lurid piles of kimchee and other Korean delights at the new Mitsukoshi

Department store basements in Tokyo are a cornucopia of yumminess from all over--iterations of foreign and Japanese foods spill forth from the stalls, many of which change week to week. The hawkers (upscale hawkers with nice clean aprons, mind you) often ply one with samples on little plates or proffered toothpicks. Mitsukoshi, that famous department store at the main intersection in Ginza, has incredible "depachika" floors, as they are known (depa= department, chika=underground), and may forever ruin your enjoyment of weekend samples of frozen taquitos at Costco. The new Mitsukoshi branch is just around the corner from the original, and is something like a Death Star--not a real planet, but capable of tremendous things.

About those samples: I am powerless before them. Note the little cups of picks in the lower left corner of the kimchee photo. This is a system that relies equally upon honor and an assumed sense of personal shame. Sometimes this stymies me--how many varieties of pickles, or chocolate, or ham, for example, can one nibble at one stall before one is obligated to either purchase something or slink away? Luckily, I have plenty of experience feeding my feelings, so when I get nervous, I just buy something tasty. 

Mom's favorite--satsuma-age--mild, fluffy fish cakes. These here are made with onion and bacon.

More fried goodness: shimeji mushrooms and pumpkin.

And yet, the sample is a double-edged sword. Or toothpick. Because you also need to be strong in the face of samples you do not want. That whole thing about the Japanese being non-aggressive falls apart here. You don't colonize half of Asia without being a little pushy, folks. Once, when snacking my way through a depa-chika with a Canadian friend, I was presented with a stewed grasshopper on a toothpick. The little old lady had jammed the toothpick in my hand saying, "Inago! Oishii!" At that time, I knew oishii meant tasty, but the very important noun before it--not so much. It was almost in my mouth before I realized what it was. I couldn't insult the lady, and I was not about to back down in front of a Canadian. The grasshopper was not bad, after all--something like the small, sharp-shelled shrimp cooked in heavy soy sauce and sugar for new year's--but I didn't feel the need to bring any home.

Italian delicacies, including breaded cutlets and tripe

Ham and cheese rolled up, breaded, and fried. The Professor calls this "haute trailer."

Nothing beats a bag full of depa-chika treats when you don't feel like cooking. It's a game changer, since all the delights you are never going to cook at home (deep frying? whole duck on a hook?) suddenly become options for a weeknight. 

Char-siu pork and roast Chinese duck

Um, those are huge sushi rolls wrapped in plump, succulent, cooked and shelled crab legs.

The gentleman above is working in a plexiglass booth, like a culinary David Blaine, but not creepy. This draws a crowd now and then, since rolling up those massive crab futo-maki is a feat. It's engrossing watching someone truly skilled up close. I once stood in a supermarket with a crowd of housewives watching a whole tuna being filleted with what could only be called a sword. Now that was a show.

A sandwich shop's open-faced display case

Spicy ham and cheese baked in french bread

Over-specialization is not a problem for me. The shop below deals only in sweet potatoes, which are displayed on a bed of hot stones in a glass case. Some are yellow and chestnutty inside, and some, native to Okinawa, are a crazy, bright purple.  They sell them baked, or in the form of puddings, yokkan (blocks of pureed bean or potato cooked with sugar), and tiny, dense cakes that are moist like cheesecake, but even less Atkins friendly.

Yakimo! A high-end display of the baked sweet potatoes often sold from trucks.

Sweet potato confections

When it comes to pastry, French is king in Japan (sorry, Italy and Austria). And like so many things, Japan has taken the refinements and the presentation and run with them, sometimes surpassing the original. (Sorry, France.) The little individual cakes, puddings, and tarts are like jewels under glass. Pretty, pretty, pretty. Who could not feel joy looking at all those little pastel macaroons? Of course they get a Japanese twist, with flavors like green tea and yuzu citron. Watching Sofia Coppola's Marie Antoinette, which was a huge hit with the ladies here, it occurred to me that a life spent eating colorful desserts and trying on endless pairs of shoes might actually be enough to make me happy. In that moment, I knew the depths of my shallowness. Thanks a lot, Sofia.

Meringues! Mont blanc! Strawberries and spongecake!

Let them eat macaroons! You know, the whole "let them eat cake" thing was only mean because she didn't actually come through with the cake. Seriously, a basket of muffins. Something.

Double-cream puffs with whipped cream and airy custard; delicate roll cakes filled with fruit and cream

That Old Chestnut

Candied chestnuts! 

Winter is always the humble chestnut's moment. You can get them hot in a paper bag on a corner in New York or outside the kabuki theater in Ginza. There are cones of marrons glacee in sweet shops, along with the standard montblanc dessert topped with chestnut puree. The Japanese and the French share a serious appreciation for the chestnut, along with, come to think about it, quality handbags and Jean Reno. The yummy marrons above were so creamy and sweet all the way through, but without the slightest stickiness. Table sugar! It makes these dun-colored little morsels sparkle like sugarplums in a storybook, without messing with the richness.

Yaki-kuri wagashi 

This is Japan's spin on things--a wagashi sweet made from roasted chestnut puree. Like its wagashi brethren, it's really down to the pure essence of the nut. You can see how the shape was made by pinching it in fabric to make the creases. Half the fun of these things for me is squinting at them and figuring out how they were formed. The top of this one was torched just a little to give it that charred flavor. Amazing contrast to the sweetness. Plus, I love those little mini-butane torches--it's like you're pulling a teeny-tiny bank job.

Happy Easter!

No relation.

Really, I don't know which one looks more smug. The Peep is contraband from a visitor's suitcase.  The tall one with the tan is a hiyoko, meaning chick, a souvenir sweet I remember well from childhood.  I love the minimalism, the blank expression that, like the Peep and Hello Kitty, conveys unearned superiority. The outside has that brown-crust-of-the-pound-cake flavor, and the inside is white bean.  I just read that there's some supplement made of white bean extract that keeps your glucose level from shooting up, science, science, science, and thus keeps you from getting fat.  So the Japanese are eating it in their goodies, and tossing their heads back, laughing over their low rates of obesity, heart disease, and cancer.  You win this time, Japan.

Homemade butter cookies

Easter is not much of a thing here in Tokyo, which makes it a little tougher to stock up on goodies, but also kind of sets you free.  You can reinvent the holiday free of commercial influence, secular symbolism, even sugar.  Ok, that last part was creepy and I take it back.

Too Pretty to Eat?

The cherry blossoms are just coming into bloom, and the whole country is again in thrall to all things delicate and fleeting. And pink. Like sweets! Today, let's celebrate with old school wagashi. Or should I say ancient school? They go way back--fire, weaving, pottery, dessert. This is a culture with priorities I can respect.

The flower, made by hand from white beans, showed up at a stand in my supermarket. The cherry blossom flavor is so light, and the texture is like a delicate version of marron glace. The little turtle is plain bean, but with a sweet, dark, azuki bean center. Okay, he's not really a sakura item, but check him out with his bad little turtle self! My mother would sometimes come home from work with wagashi sweets like this, little sculptures of rabbits or flowers that she would wrap up in tissues and artfully folded envelopes. I used to hold one in my hand and marvel at it, not wanting to ruin it. Really, my inner conflict lasted two, sometimes three minutes. They were otherworldly--soft, sweet, and utterly pure. Looking back, I am most impressed that Mom made it home on the train without the little rabbit devolving into a primordial lump in her purse. Forget Sally Field's Lifetime movies--that is a mother's love.

Mochi on a stick! A classic in perfect colors for hanami (blossom viewing) and Girl's Day.

Smooth white and red bean in little cake-like dumplings. The little blossom pressed on top is a bit salty and perfumey--I know that sounds like coming home from a night out clubbing, but it's not. I promise.

A birthday shout-out to Ultra-Aimee, by the way! She visited Tokyo during the cherry blossom season and went on what I can only call a mochi bender. Way to turn those wheat allergy lemons into rice dumpling lemonade! You know, in the fat-free-obsessed 90's, you could eat all this stuff without guilt, but this recent wave of carbo-panic has added a dimension of naughtiness that I for one am really enjoying.

Both of these are filled with a smooth, red bean paste. The cherry leaf is preserved with salt, and it has a bit of a tang, as well as that fresh-cut-flower-stem fragrance. I know, I know. The salt sounds wrong. But you love a sea salt caramel, right? Once you get over the fear of weird, it is absolutely the taste of spring.