Mochi is glutinous rice, pounded into sticky balls and squares that form the base for both sweet and savory treats. Like its grainier cousin, rice, the mochi has no distinct flavor of its own, which makes it wonderfully versatile. You can buy them in an abundance of forms from fresh confectioneries (popularly sold as a sweet with a creme, strawberry, or green tea flavor filling) to hard little puck-shaped disks, dried, and shrink wrapped in their individual packages.
I purchased the pucks (depicted above) as a cooking experiment. The dried mochi is likewise surprisingly versatile, as one can boil, grill, bake, or fry it depending on how it will ultimately be served. In its dried form, it has the look and consistency of concrete, and does not even remotely resemble a food product. But they are sold everywhere in the supermarkets, so I knew it was edible. And because it was mochi, I knew it could be delicious; it just had to be deconstructed it from its indurate form. Traditionally, they are hand-pounded and then served rather immediately:
Alas we have no human-sized mortal and pestle to hand pound. So with the encouragement of the GP, with the pucks I went. Inspired by my all-time fav, tempura mochi in kare udon (Japanese curry udon stew), I planned to recreate the dish without the oily oppression of tempura (although I love tempura, I fear my pancreas may not). The tempura mochi is often served in a square shape, battered and deep fried and then served in all of its chewy, oily goodness in a hearty (unlikely vegetarian) Japanese curry stock with udon noodles. Divine! I wanted to try my hand at a healthier version that skips the deep frying in favor of the grill. In addition, I wanted to try out my shichirin, or little Edo-esque table-top personal grill. Benridesuyo!
To grill it correctly on the shichirin, one must flip and flip it because there is no way (or at least I have no idea how) to control the heat from the grill. The first two blackened quickly. Too quickly. For its size, the table top Edo packs a lot of punch and as I watched the flames leap precariously beyond the grates, I began to doubt the wisdom of using it in a tatami-laden room. Fortunately, the GP was on standby and quickly assumed his station as sous-chef. Ideally, the mochi will crisp to a golden brown (not unlike a marshmallow over the campfire), and puff up like a rice puff.
It also should retain the chewy, glutinous consistency on the inside. Ours turned out pretty well for our first attempt. After the first few mochi fatalities (not total losses because they were consumed), the GP developed a decent technique. Under his sage command, the mochis puffed beautifully, with a delicate golden hue on the outside, while retaining its signature toothiness on the inside. We ate ours with vegetable and potato kare, sans udon.
Mochis are also excellent as a confectionery and make wonderful omiyage (souvenirs) for friends back home. Kyoto is famous for yatsuhashi, a raw mochi, pounded into thin opaque triangles filled with sweet red bean and cinnamon. In our recent trip to Kyoto, we obtained the seasonal specialty of strawberry cinnamon yatsuhashi (below) and for our neighbor we brought her the sakura cinnamon yatsuhashi. Hands down delicious.
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