Y・Tパラディーソ
I went shopping in the Asakusa area and then had some freshly made soba noodles at a soba restaurant. After feeling a bit unsatisfied, I wandered around and came across a shop with a sign that said "Fukuda Mochi." I was drawn to the shop, where they were displaying inari sushi and steamed buns in the showcase. Inside the shop, an elderly lady who seemed to be the owner and a woman of the same age were preparing something behind the counter. I opened the glass window and said, "Hey lady, one Fukuda Mochi please." In this area, I tend to speak like the old men in rakugo stories. "Just one?" she asked. "Yes," I replied. "Do you need a bag?" she asked. "No, I'll eat it right away, while walking," I said. "Then I'll hand it to you... that'll be 180 yen," she said. "Around here, do they call bean daifuku 'Fukuda Mochi'?" I asked. "That's what we call it. We got the name from Prime Minister Fukuda. We didn't want to just use 'Fukuda', so we changed it to 'Fukuda'. "I see, that's interesting," I replied. "We use locally sourced mochi rice from Gunma," she said. "Oh, I see. You're quite particular about it," I said. "Well, it's delicious, so give it a try. Make sure to dust off the powder," she said. "I will, thank you." The Fukuda Mochi was carefully wrapped in paper wrapping and generously coated with powder to prevent sticking. I lightly brushed off the powder around the mochi as instructed and took a bite. It was so delicious! The chewiness of the mochi rice and the stretchiness in my mouth were exquisite. The red bean paste had the traditional sweetness, different from the modern milder versions. I usually don't like traditional Japanese sweets, but I love bean daifuku. It was a lucky find at the old-fashioned Inari Sushi & Dumpling shop in the backstreets of Asakusa. Enjoying my mochi, I continued my stroll through the nostalgic neighborhood.