Sweet Bean Paste Read online

  ‘You could lift the pans for me.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so,’ said Sentaro distractedly, looking at Tokue’s hands. She had them clasped in such a way as to hide the gnarled fingers. ‘Can you hold a wooden spoon all right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Excuse me for asking, but what happened to your hands?’

  ‘Ah, my hands.’

  Sentaro noticed they were tightly gripped.

  ‘I had an illness when I was young and this is a side-effect. I know they don’t look so good but I don’t think it’ll be a problem.’

  ‘Well, that’s why all I’m asking is for you to make bean paste. That’s enough.’

  ‘But I really can work here, can’t I?’ Tokue looked at him and smiled. The movement caused the skin on her right cheek to stretch taut, as if there was a hard board concealed underneath. Sentaro wondered if that was what made her eyes appear to be different shapes.

  ‘Yes, you can. What should I call you? Mrs… Miss…’

  ‘Tokue is fine. And what’s your name, young man?’

  ‘Sentaro Tsujii.’

  ‘Sentaro Tsujii? What a lovely name. It sounds like an actor.’

  ‘Hah, I don’t think so. It’s just me…’

  At Tokue’s request Sentaro wrote down the characters for his name on a scrap of paper.

  ‘And what should I call you?’

  ‘Sentaro will do.’

  ‘In that case, Sentaro. Do you make the bean paste here?’

  ‘Err…well—’ Sentaro was suddenly stuck for words. He didn’t know what to say. ‘Ah, to tell the truth, it doesn’t turn out even when I do make it myself. Sometimes it smells burnt.’

  ‘Hmm, yes I see,’ said Tokue, eyeing the pots and cooker with an expression that said she could well understand why.

  Sentaro stood up to serve tea, blocking her gaze at the same time.

  ‘Where’ve you been making it for fifty years? At a confectioner’s shop?’

  ‘I, err…’

  ‘At home?’

  Sentaro didn’t really care where she made it. He didn’t care who she was, either. All that concerned him was if she could make a good-quality, sweet bean paste to draw in the customers and help get him away from this shop as soon as possible.

  ‘Oh, a lot of things happened—it’s a long story,’ she said.

  It was clear to Sentaro that Tokue was not being entirely straight with him, but then he didn’t want to be quizzed about his own past, either. ‘Really, well, I suppose so,’ he replied.

  ‘Do you own this shop, Sentaro?’

  ‘No, it’s more like the extension of a casual job.’

  ‘So there’s someone else. The owner?’

  ‘My former boss used to run the shop and work here. Now his wife owns it.’

  ‘So you’re not really responsible.’

  ‘Not exactly that either.’

  ‘Should I introduce myself to her?’

  ‘She’s not in good health at the moment and sometimes can’t even come by once a week. Another time.’

  Sentaro thought he detected an expression of relief pass over Tokue’s face when she heard that.

  ‘What about your boss?’

  ‘He passed away.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  Sentaro took advantage of the pause in conversation to push a notebook and pen over to Tokue. ‘Okay, lady— err…Tokue, can you write your full name and contact details for me, please?’

  Tokue looked at the paper with a strained expression. ‘My fingers…’ she said hesitatingly.

  Here we go already, Sentaro thought, wanting to look the other way. But after a brief interval Tokue picked up the pen and wrote her name, carefully forming each character stroke by stroke, in the same quirky, distinctive handwriting that Sentaro had previously seen. It took some time for her to complete the task. The writing made a bold impression, penned with such force it left imprints several pages deep.

  ‘What about a phone number? For emergency contact. Don’t you have a mobile phone?’

  ‘I don’t have a telephone. The post will do.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant…’

  ‘It’s all right. I won’t be late. I’m up before the birds.’

  ‘But it’s not…’

  Looking at the address, Sentaro saw she had written the name of a district that was on the outskirts of the city. He had an odd feeling it should mean something to him, but couldn’t say why.

  5

  The second hand moved around the clock.

  Sentaro lay with his hands on the quilt, staring up at the dark ceiling. The whisky he’d drunk as a nightcap had not helped him fall asleep.

  He twisted his head to reach out for the clock next to the pillow and brushed the alarm button with his fingers to check that it was set. Tokue Yoshii was going to come once every two days to make coarse sweet bean paste for him, starting tomorrow morning. He couldn’t very well be late. That’s why he’d gone to bed earlier than usual.

  Who was that old lady?

  Even though he’d made it clear she was coming only to make bean paste, Sentaro still felt uneasy. Tokue sometimes said things that seemed off the mark. Although her deafness could account for it, Sentaro did not think that was the reason. It was not as if she didn’t have her wits about her, and although she smiled mildly enough, he had observed a determined gleam in the back of her eyes. Not to mention the challenging looks she threw him at times.

  After Tokue had written her address Sentaro had revealed how the shop was run. He told her about always buying wholesale bean paste and only beginning preparations two hours before opening.

  ‘Why?’ she had asked loudly. ‘If you want to use freshly made bean paste you need to start before the sun is up.’

  ‘But I can get bean paste brought here with just one phone call.’

  ‘What are you saying?! Bean paste is the soul of dorayaki, boss!’

  ‘Yeah…that’s why I asked you to work here.’

  ‘If you were a customer, would you line up for dorayaki from this shop?’

  ‘Now, look here…well, maybe not.’

  She had given him quite a talking-to. He might be the one in charge, but he could hardly answer back. In the end he agreed to comply with her instructions: they were to begin preparing at six in the morning. Sentaro was to be in the kitchen before then to start boiling the adzuki beans, and Tokue would catch the first bus in order to arrive soon after. He sighed at the thought; this was turning out to be a hassle.

  Sentaro was in his fourth year at Doraharu. He worked hard, with no regular day off, but never once had he risen that early to get to work.

  Why had he taken the old lady on, he wondered ruefully. Had he made a bad decision? This was not what he expected. She was more demanding than first impressions suggested.

  ‘What’ve I done…?’ He was fed up before they’d even started.

  There was also another reason for his sighs. How was he going to tell the shop owner? That was going to be a problem.

  The owner was the wife of Sentaro’s former boss, and since the death of her husband she had developed all kinds of health problems. She did not care to eat dorayaki any more because of the sugar content. Whenever she came to check the books or for some other reason her expression was unfriendly, and though she had always been slightly neurotic, now she was fussier than ever about hygiene. Sentaro had been scolded any number of times about his cleaning methods.

  Once he had taken on a student part-time without consulting her. She had been continually sarcastic about the boy, but when someone reported to her that he was smoking behind the shop, she became livid. Sentaro had received a phone call from her, of course. She’d immediately begun haranguing him about what would happen if the shop started to smell. Next time he wanted to hire somebody, she warned, she would have to be present at the interview.

  Maybe he should keep quiet about Tokue Yoshii for a while. As he tossed and turned, Sentaro decided to do just that. He did
n’t even know yet whether she could actually work with those crippled fingers of hers.

  He rolled onto his back and clicked his tongue in irritation. Now it was the faces of the school girls who hung around his shop that he saw. They always came in a group, occupied the only five seats at the counter, made a lot of noise, and left food scattered about when they left. Just the other day they’d complained about cherry-blossom petals in the dorayaki. Sentaro usually kept the window open, and during cherry-blossom season petals sometimes drifted in, falling into the pancakes as they cooked. Sentaro had apologized when this happened and offered the girl another dorayaki. But that only set the others off. They wouldn’t keep quiet about it and teasingly complained about petals in their own dorayaki. Then one got out her phone and started broadcasting to all her friends that there was free dorayaki.

  What would those kids say if they saw the old lady’s fingers? And what would she say in turn about their outrageous behaviour?

  It was all too much, Sentaro thought. He couldn’t stop tossing and turning.

  ‘Those monkeys, what were they thinking?… Cherry-blossom petals, my foot.’

  Sentaro batted the quilt with his hands, and then reached for the alarm clock once more.

  6

  In the morning Tokue Yoshii was already waiting beneath the cherry tree when Sentaro arrived, slightly late.

  There’re some small cherries,’ she said in reply to Sentaro’s apology, pointing to the treetop above her.

  ‘Did you manage to get a bus?’ he asked, for he was sure there could not be any buses running at this time of day.

  ‘Oh, never mind about that,’ she said and headed for the back door, dodging the question.

  In the kitchen the bowl of adzuki beans that Sentaro had left to soak overnight was waiting on the bench. The beans had swelled to fill the bowl. Every bean sparkled, transforming the atmosphere of the kitchen. Sentaro felt as if he were looking at a living creature rather than food.

  ‘Mm, lovely,’ said Tokue, bringing her face up close to the bowl.

  The adzuki were not from Obihiro or Tamba, or any other area known for quality beans. Average customer-spend at Doraharu put those more expensive adzuki beans out of reach for Sentaro. When he explained that to Tokue, she said that she was happy to try beans from elsewhere. It was a nuisance, but Sentaro contacted a dealer and arranged for a delivery of Canadian beans to start with.

  Sentaro had done the calculations. He estimated that they could use two kilograms of raw beans per batch of bean paste. Soaking the beans overnight would more than double their weight, bringing it to a good four kilograms. After boiling they would simmer in a syrup of granulated sugar, with the amount of sugar to be added calculated at 70 per cent of the weight after soaking. That would bring the total weight of the bean paste to just below seven kilograms. Assuming twenty grams of bean paste for each dorayaki, albeit measured by eye, he estimated that they could make between 330 and 340 dorayaki with each batch. This should last for several days at current rates of consumption, since he never got through all of a five-kilogram batch of the readymade bean paste in one day.

  ‘Before boiling…’ Tokue muttered, carefully examining every bean one by one. ‘Sentaro, did you take a good look at the beans before you put them in to soak?

  ‘Look at what?’

  ‘The beans.’

  Sentaro shook his head.

  ‘I thought so. Not all these beans are suitable.’

  Tokue scooped some out with her bent fingers. She picked out several and spread them out on her palm to show Sentaro. The skin was still hard on some, while others had burst or split.

  ‘You have to check. If they’ve already split it can affect quality. Beans from overseas aren’t always selected carefully.’

  Sentaro thought her handling of the beans was odd. The way she brought her face up close to them, so close it was almost as if she were communicating with them. Even after they had been put into the copper pot to cook, her attitude did not change.

  On the occasions when Sentaro had attempted to make bean paste, he always left the beans on the stove to cook until they were soft. Not Tokue, however; her method was completely different.

  To begin with, she immediately added more water as soon as the water was about to boil. She did this several times, then drained the beans in a strainer and threw away the cooking water. After that she returned them to the pot to soak in fresh lukewarm water; that would remove the bitterness and astringency, she said. Next she stirred them gently with a wooden spatula, taking care not to squash them while letting them simmer thoroughly over a low heat. At every stage in this process Tokue kept her face so close to the beans it was enveloped in steam. What was she looking at, Sentaro wondered. Was she watching for some kind of change? He moved closer to examine the adzuki through the haze of steam but couldn’t see anything significant.

  He watched Tokue holding the wooden spoon with her gammy hands as she scrutinized the beans, observing her side-on. Sentaro hoped that she wasn’t going to require the same level of enthusiasm from him. Just the thought of it made his spirits sink.

  Without quite knowing why, however, Sentaro found himself also drawn to gazing at the beans in the pot. He watched them jiggle about, covered by the water; not a single one lost its shape.

  When there was just a little cooking water left in the pot, Tokue turned off the flame and placed a chopping board on top as a lid. This would steam them she told Sentaro. All these steps were completely new to him.

  ‘It’s all very complicated,’ he blurted out.

  ‘It’s just good hospitality,’ Tokue countered.

  ‘For the customers?’

  ‘No. The beans.’

  ‘The beans?’

  ‘Because they came all the way from Canada. For us.’

  After a few minutes Tokue removed the chopping board. She stared at the adzuki while pouring cold water into the copper pot. They were now at the soaking stage, she told Sentaro. This involved immersing the beans in water, letting them soak for a while, then discarding that water and pouring fresh water in. The process was repeated until the water ran clear. Tokue stared at the beans as she poured. She kept her face up close, stroking them with her fingertips. It looked to Sentaro like she was panning for gold.

  ‘Nobody’s ever worked as hard in this shop before.’

  ‘You have to do it properly or else all the trouble you’ve gone to this far will be wasted.’

  Sentaro could only stare at her, his arms folded across his chest.

  ‘I was wondering – why do you look at them like that?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘What are you looking for when you put your face so close to the beans?’

  ‘I just do all I can for them.’

  ‘All you can?’

  ‘All right, boss, lift this pot for me, please?’

  Sentaro changed places with Tokue and lifted it with both hands. He poured it over the strainer in the sink and the water drained away, revealing the cooked beans.

  ‘Oh…they’re beautiful.’

  Sentaro leaned over for a closer look. These were a far cry from his own attempts; he had to admit that the skill with which they’d been cooked was obvious. Despite all the simmering, every single bean still looked firm and taut, with no wrinkles. Whenever Sentaro had tried to make bean paste, most of the beans were usually split by this stage, with the starch spilling out from their insides. These beans, on the other hand, simply shone – each one in perfect, sparkling order.

  ‘I didn’t know they could cook up like this.’ Sentaro gazed admiringly.

  Tokue shrugged her shoulders and smiled. ‘Cook up? Have you ever really made bean paste before, boss?’

  ‘Ah, well, I tried…but, you know.’

  ‘Well, you’ll have to do some study then.’

  Sentaro did the rest of the work after that. The next task was to make the syrup for sweetening the raw bean paste. He poured two litres of water into the now empty pot and
brought it to the boil. To that he added two and a half kilograms of granulated sugar and dissolved it.

  Tokue stood at his side, explaining the vital points.

  He continued to stir the syrup slowly, even after the granules of sugar had dissolved, so that it would not boil more than necessary. Next he carefully added the prepared beans, paying close attention to the level of heat. Then it was time to blend the beans and syrup.

  ‘This is crucial,’ Tokue told him, ‘because it burns easily. So make sure to keep the tip of the wooden spatula against the bottom of the pan as you stir.’

  This, too, was new to Sentaro. He did as he was told, while Tokue added salt to the pot. She reeled off a stream of detailed instructions:

  ‘If you burn it now it’s ruined.’

  ‘Keep the spatula upright.’

  ‘Make it speedy.’

  ‘Don’t rush.’

  A surprising amount of sweat poured from Sentaro’s brow and the back of his neck as he stood over the hot mixture.

  Nevertheless, he realized that Tokue was indeed right. Whenever Sentaro had tried to make bean paste, this was the point at which he always failed. Once blended with the sugar, the bean paste tended to burn easily on the bottom, but if he tried to avoid this by turning the flame low, it took longer and the quality suffered proportionately. In order to make bean paste that had a pleasing texture in the mouth and still looked good to the eye, it was necessary to maintain a certain temperature to reduce the moisture. But to do this without burning, he was discovering, you had to make bold movements with the wooden spatula at the right time.

  Sentaro wiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his shirt while manipulating the spatula. And then, when he least expected it, ‘That’s enough now. Turn the gas off,’ Tokue instructed.

  ‘But it’s still runny.’

  ‘It’s just right. Timing’s important here.’

  ‘Hang on…This—’

  The substance in the copper pot was still too soft to be called bean paste. Sentaro might not be skilled at making sweet bean paste, but he knew what consistency it should be for making dorayaki. If he tried to sandwich this between the pancakes it would just run out the sides. He did as Tokue instructed though, and kept stirring with the spatula after the heat was turned off. As he did so, the runny paste gradually began to take on the right quality. Tokue spread a cloth over the chopping board.