Pounding Mochi

“Gacha-gacha-gacha,” our monstrously heavy, and equally ancient front door rattles on its metal track, quickly followed by the whoosh of the wood and glass shoji inner front door.  From the energy burst of the opening and the splash of hand washing, I know it’s Tadaaki, coming in for breakfast after collecting the early morning eggs.  As he bangs brass against iron, I hear him hefting the antique stockpot onto our stove.  He sparks the flame and the soft hum of the hood fan revs up.  Christmas has come and gone, and now shogatsu (Japanese New Year) has arrived.   I’m glad it’s Tadaaki’s turn to be in charge because I have no more energy left and burrow deeper into my down covers staving off the inevitable.

Shogatsu is traditionally a family time, though that has been waning in recent years as families disperse to far cities.  But our family still follows most of the traditional practices. 

Each year on the 29^th of December, Tadaaki washes the organic glutinous rice called mochi gome that we will pound the next day.  This year Tadaaki plans to pound eight batches of mochi, so has eight pails of rice to wash and soak.  Each pail holds three kilos of rice that he has bought from our grower friend, Suka-san.  A couple years ago, Tadaaki discovered an antique rice washer upstairs in my collection of flea market finds and was excited to put it to use.  The guy I bought it from said it was an ice cream maker. I doubted that, but was attracted by the fine craftsmanship of the old wooden bucket and the low price (sad but typical).  Tadaaki soaks the rice overnight and the next morning we kick off shogatsu with a half-day of mochi making (mochi tsuki).

 Every year, we do mochi tsuki outside in the garden and by some stroke of luck, that day almost always dawns sunny.  Tadaaki wraps a pail of soaked mochi gome in a muslin cloth, puts the muslin bundle into a bamboo-steaming basket with a lid, and places it in an iron pot full of boiling water set over a wood burning fire. The glutinous rice steams for about an hour, then is plucked out of the steamer and dumped into a one meter “square,” hollowed out tree stump (usu) that Tadaaki has soaked over night.  Tadaaki’s mother prepares a bucket of cold water next to the usu for dipping in the mallet or hands before touching the sticky rice.  First Tadaaki circles the usu, smashing the rice grains with an oversized wooden mallet.  Then he wields the mallet high above his head and pounds the mass with a series of distinctively satisfying “thumps.”  The untutored tend toward squelchy, weak burps as their mallet lands on the rice.  (They probably don’t reach far enough over their head to really get the necessary leverage.)  One person pounds and another person dips his hand in the cold water, then folds the rice "dough" over itself in one quick movement in between the mallet contacting with the rice (almost like kneading bread). We invite a dozen or so friends and everyone gets a turn at pounding the mochi.  In the past, Tadaaki and his brothers worked up a sweat, but now that the kids are getting bigger, and friends have gotten more skillful, so the mallet gets passed around and mochi tsuki is truly a community event.  

 As soon as each batch of mochi is pounded, we must work quickly before it cools to an unpliable mass.  We smooth the hot mochi into half moon-shaped dumplings called kagami mochi that will be stacked up and offered to the house gods.  Tadaaki continues to pinch off misshapen globs of mochi, as we flatten them into rough circles and stretch them around a ball of anko (simmered organic azuki beans smashed with organic sugar and a little sea salt). As more batches of mochi are pounded out, I take my turn at rolling the mochi into a flat rectangle slab.  The mochi is much less temperamental than piecrust and just needs a firm, even hand.  Tadaaki’s mother used to roll the mochi out on the hall floor that opens up to the garden but in recent years Tadaaki drags out Christopher’s ping-pong table for the operation.  Once the mochi is rolled out and well powdered with potato starch, Tadaaki flips the several centimeter thick rectangle slabs onto a wooden board to dry for a couple days before cutting. 

 During the holidays we have a lot of food.  A lot.  I deal with the Christmas food, but Tadaaki’s in charge of the Japanese New Year stuff.  And every year the mochi squares start to mold before they get stuck in the freezer.  Last year, Tadaaki had (what he thought was) the brilliant idea of smoothing the hot mochi into heavy-duty plastic pickle bags to deter the mold that tends to form a few days after the mochi is fully dried. I tried to dissuade him, but he would not be budged.  Air-drying creates a delicate semi-dried crust, silky smooth from the potato starch and cool to the touch.  The gooey plastic-wrapped version just couldn’t compare.  The mochi inside the blue-lettered (unattractive) bags looked unappetizing (and was).  And in the end, Tadaaki’s “innovative” method didn’t really solve the problem of storing the mochi.

We ended up with a huge slab of mochi not cut up (so unusable) and impossible to put in the freezer (too unwieldy) and this huge slab of mochi sat in the larder (eventually molding).  I tried to reason with my very stubborn husband, but he was puffed up like a little boy about his clever new method.  Last year, I let him run with it, despite finally having to throw out the mochi that sat in the larder for a couple months.  But at the end of shogatsu this year, I enlisted Christopher’s support.  The plastic-encased mochi made me gag and I had had enough.  The air-drying process is essential to create a wicked surface against which the pounded rice will push off and puff up when broiled.  Without that surface, the broiled mochi dipped in soy sauce, then wrapped in nori is unpleasantly gummy (and Christopher agreed).  I think we’re going back to the rolling and air-drying next year.  Small victories.  Life is all about those small victories.

 At lunchtime Tadaaki’s brings out the steaming pot of kenchinjiru.  We ladle the soup out into handmade pottery bowls and Tadaaki pops a couple hot globs of mochi into each.  The mochi melts to a warm, gooey (but tasty) mass.  Definitely an aquired texture.

 Tadaaki squeezes off more freshly pounded mochi mounds into the grated purple daikon he is growing this year.  Purple.  I’ve never seen this variety and am captivated by the vibrant lavender against my antique gray pottery bowl.  Colors are one of the things I love best about Japan.  Sometimes vibrant, sometimes earthy, but always rich in hue and nuanced in texture.  I drizzle organic soy sauce over the daikon before greedily scooping a large spoonful or two onto my plate.  But every year, it is the natto mochi I crave.  Organic fermented soybeans I have aerated vigorously with chopsticks to promote the characteristic threads of natto “slime,” seasoned with a hot mustard paste and organic soy sauce.  The blandly, subtle hot mochi contrasts nicely with the fermented natto, making it slightly addicting (for natto aficionados).

 This year some of my oldest friends have come and we fall easily back on familiar topics.  I uncork the stopper of Harigaya-san’s homemade lager and pour a glass.  Life couldn’t get any better and this is one of my favorites days of the year:  no responsibility, the warm winter sun and talking leisurely with friends.  Sometimes it’s nice not to be in charge.

 

Comments

[Rodney Fong]

The art of mochi pounding for New Year's is slowly dying out, as families start to lose touch with the old ways. I remember my best friend used to tell me that they would all gather around to pound mochi on New Year's Day. I was always invited to come, but never did, having been up way too late on New Year's Eve. And slowly he stopped going, and then the family stopped doing it. There are still some families that do, but there are less and less. Soon it will be Chinese New Year (this year on Feb. 14). Our family used to celebrate it modestly with a family gathering. I am going to be out of town that weekend, so even our family is going to part with a family gathering this year. Even though I've felt that Hawaii is a cross between Asian and American cultures, it is slowly becoming mostly American. Your description brings mochi pounding to life and makes me realize what I missed out on. One thing I didn't miss is natto mochi, or natto anything, for that matter. I can't even be near someone who is eating it, and that is something my wife even agrees with me, although I also don't enjoy the smell of koko, like takuan and such. Thanks for another great piece.

[Sonndapond]

Twenty-four kilos of mochi?! Ah yes, men and their grand ideas for festive celebrations. If the culinary aspects were a film, they'd only do epics. Fond frustrations... you know I can relate. Your post depicts a life rich with tradition, familial and friendly sharing, closeness to nature and objects of beauty. Am nurturing a definite case of ceramic envy -the lavender daikon, snow white mochi globes and dried-blood red of the natto (is that what it is?) look specular against the speckled grey bowl. Lovely rhythm to piece in contrast between opening and closing paragraphs: all hard yang energy of your husband's clanking around in the kitchen as he starts the preparations, fading to soft yin as you end the day relaxing over a homemade drink in the company of old friends.

[Claire]

Nancy, what a wonderful post! I know of mochi, but have never seen the process of making it. It was fascinating. I love that you're keeping the tradition for your family and friends, it's so easy to let them slip away as we get swept away in our modern lives. The photos are so evocative, I think it was a day I would of liked to be a part of! Thanks for sharing it.

[Dirk L. Archibold-Chester]

It's good that you and your husband are so passionate about food that you argue about the methods. I think you are both good sports.

Dirk

[Nancy Singleton Hachisu]

Rodney: When I went back East to visit my mother before coming to Japan, I was struck by how little remained of our old American things as we often went to auctions that summer. But I also saw a resurgence of farmers' markets back then in Vermont and felt some comfort. It is so easy to lose those parts of life that make up the heart of our culture. In Japan, people are using mochi-making machines, or even powder. But there is nothing that compares to the hand pounded stuff, especially if it is made from local organic glutinous rice (wow). Funny about the natto. I never cared for it in the U.S. and thought those natto rolls looked disgusting (oozing out the top with the strands everywhere). But it is a flavor I love now. Especially the small beans. I guess I didn't have a good shot as the poor natto never made it on the blog. And interesting about takuan because I find that to be an even stronger flavor. Though perhaps the crispy element is more pleasant than natto's slime.

Sonnda: Another poetic response. Thanks. I do love that grey and purple shot. The bowl is one of my favorites and thought it appropriate for showing off the daikon's unusual color this year. The red colored liquid is actually soy sauce. Natto are small brown fermented soy beans. I'll try to add a photo, though I'm traveling now and don't have a lot of personal time. I'm anxious to get back to reading the FBC blogs and figuring out my twitter routine. Tried my tequila before we left and thought it went down quite nicely, indeed. Brought me back to the balmy nights in Ixtapa.

Claire: I think mochi is quite difficult to conceptualize until you see the process. Especially since most mochi in the states is sold in dried squares. I never got the chance to try that but should just for comparison's sake. And yes, communal days are so satisfying--especially outside. There is a casual element that is missing in Christmas & Thanksgiving (but maybe that's because I don't do well giving over control of the sit down dinner food).

Dirk: Nice to have you. I checked your site and liked the graphics and your review of that Japanese restaurant in London. I'm traveling with some little preschool kids but will send them home tomorrow. I'm looking forward to looking more into your site. Thanks for reading.

Nancy

[Mora Chartrand-Grant]

Nancy, I was remiss to compliment you on this terrific post about mochi. Linda and I have enjoyed fresh mochi both in Japan and stateside with friends who have a Zojirushi mochi maker. But there's nothing better than mochi made the way you and your family and friends do. Anzen, a small, local Japanese market in NE Portland gets fresh mochi every Thursday, something I just learned. Looks like we'll be heading over there soon! I'm curious...do you ever make mochi with grated cheese on top? Mocheez is served at Chef Naoko Moore's Bento Cafe here in Portland; she brushes it with shoyu shortly before removing it from the grill. It's such a fun treat as a side dish to one of her seasonal salads and a bowl of miso shiro.

[Nancy Singleton Hachisu]

Mora: Thanks for the tip about Anzen. I'll pass it on to nephew, Patrick, a shojin ryori aficionado. Interesting about Chef Naoko's cheese natto. What kind of cheese does she use? It's hard to imagine cheese, soy sauce and nori. Nancy

[Stacie Pierce]

So glad I found this post Nancy. I can't wait to try this out and do it correctly! It was great seeing you here again in Berkeley. I'll look forward to the next time. Stacie

[Nancy Singleton Hachisu]

Stacie: Sorry, I really need to make it easier to find things on the blog. That's high on the list once I get home. Wouldn't it be great if I could convince my husband to come to California to do a big Mochi Pounding event? Keep me posted on how your mochi comes out. The desserts have been outstanding this trip and the one Sunday was beyond belief. Thanks so much. Nancy