“Do you know why it’s called otoshibumi?”
I unwrapped the little Japanese cake from its pink-white washi paper, a simple brown and custard-yellow confectionery. It smelled slightly sweet, but like burnt caramel than simple sugar, or a honeyed aroma. I took my small wooden fork and let it sink into the soft, pillowy dessert, and watched it fall apart.
It instantly dissolved on my tongue, like air.
It tasted unexpectedly delicate for such a simple dessert. Made from a mixture of pureed and whipped sweet bean anko and egg yolk, it is steamed under high heat which causes it to crack on top. Creamy, yet light, I instantly wished for another one.
“I apologize, I didn’t even realize it had its own name.” I replied.
I was at a cafe with Yasuharu Mizuhara, the fourth-generation owner of an old Japanese confectionery shop in Ginza, Japan. With a knowing smile, he showed me his untouched cake, and explained, “No, not just an explanation. There’s an entire story.”
Otoshibumi in Japanese roughly translates to “a dropped and crumpled piece of paper”– a seemingly odd name choice for such a delicate dessert. It was actually the creation of the third-generation owner, or Mr. Yasuharu Mizuhara’s father, and it is his legacy to the shop today.
In creating the dessert, he imagined the frustration and self exasperation one feels with budding love. A young man, who falls in love with a woman, writes out a letter to his crush trying to tell her how he feels. He writes many versions, and finally decides upon one, but right before handing it to her he feels embarrassed and crumples it. He drops the balled up note on the ground and leaves it behind, never telling her how he truly feels about her– this abandoned love note, is the otoshibumi.
As the story goes, the anko which dissolves on your tongue is that same feeling of warmth and liking you experience when you have a crush on someone. In this way, wagashi or Japanese confectionery, often has these indirect names which make the customer think about the story behind the dessert.
While I used to think that naming desserts was just an obscure part of the tradition, by giving a name to an unassuming and simple dessert, it transformed the experience of eating it. The fleeting soft sweetness, it suddenly felt like that feeling of unrequited love. It made me realize,
Naming is not an embellishment, it’s the art.
If you enjoyed this story, let me know at kokumura@kakikata.space! I would love to pass along your comment to Mr. Mizuhara as well. In addition, if you have any questions or comments, please don’t hesitate to reach out– I look forward to hearing from you.
Warm regards,
Kaki
