Higashi III

Kingyo Higashi
Nara no Kikuya

Thanks to a kitchen moth infestation, I've been rooting around in my cupboards and making lots of highly unappetizing discoveries. One exception to that grim trend was discovering a little box of sweets that I brought back from Japan nearly two years ago and then lost among my drygoods. In it I found these tiny higashi, dry sweets made of a very special sugar called wasambon that has been pressed into a carved wooden confectionery mold, or kashigata.

Their long shelf life is one reason that higashi are so prized, and these little goldfish didn't disappoint. Not only were they non-moth-eaten, they were fresh and sweet and a perfect texture, if perhaps a little faded. They also brought back welcome memories of my visits to Kikuya, an ancient confectionery shop in a suburb of Nara, and to Okada Seitō-Sho, a farm and factory in rural Shikoku that is Japan's last producer of wasambon.

Rakugan

Day twenty-three: Rakugan / 落雁

Like higashi, rakugan are dry sweets that have been pressed into a shaped mold. Although the two terms are sometimes used interchangably, my understanding is that rakugan contain a much higher proportion of starch than higashi, which are often pure sugar. Today, rakugan also tend to be far larger than higashi, although this hasn't always been the case.

The name "rakugan" describes the sweet's original 17th century form, when the pale, powdery blocks were sprinkled with a few black sesame seeds, thought to resemble a flock of geese in flight. Later that century, confectioners began to use carved wooden molds based on those used in China and Korea and the repetoire of rakugan shapes expanded.

These molds, known as kashigata (confectionery form) or kigata (wooden mold), are among my favorite objects. I just spent a very happy day at the International Christian University's Hachiro Yuasa Memorial Museum photographing the large number of kashigata included in the museum's folk art collection. As a woodcarver, I can get so utterly wrapped up in the finely detailed craftsmanship of such objects that I forget their larger purpose. Fortunately, on my way home from the museum I passed a sweet shop selling large, pastel-tinted, lotus-shaped rakugan. It was like looking up from examing a fossil to find a live version of the same animal watching me from the windowsill.

Or perhaps "live version" isn't quite right, for rakugan like the one above aren't really meant for the living. This is the week of the year when the Japanese honor their ancestors at a festival called Obon; while sweets are often given as offerings at temples and home altars, sweets shaped like the lotus, a Buddhist symbol of rebirth, are especially appropriate at this time of year. When I took my rakugan lotus up to the cashier she carefully explained that it was "only for display".

Unfortunately, kashigata themselves are also, increasingly, "only for display". Old molds are often impractically large and if they are used at all, it is only for ceremonial purposes. There are a handful of carvers who can still produce the smaller molds used to make higashi, and it has long been my own "run away to the circus" dream to study with one of them, but with each passing year my chances dwindle. When I recently spotted a display of contemporary kashigata another Tokyo museum I was so excited that I held my breath as I examined the accompanying photos and short biographies of the carvers who made them.

I practically skipped downstairs to ask the napping attendant for more information about these men. He stifled a yawn and grunted an answer: "Shinda-yo".

This was an expression I remembered from watching the Beat Takeshi gorefest Battle Royale without subtitles: dead.

But we were talking about more than one person here. Surely they couldn't all be...?

"All of them."

But what about the kashigata carving industry, which must once have thrived in this area?

"Dame. Owarimashita."

No more. Finished.

My sense of loss was absurd but very real. I certainly wasn't related to these men, but I desperately wish that I had been able to at least meet them. And I'm certainly no Buddhist, but I've set this lovely rakugan out on a plate and I'll leave it there for the week of Obon, just in case.

An antique lotus kashigata, split and mended.

A stack of lotus rakugan on a home altar.

Higashi

Day seventeen: Higashi / 干菓子
Mu-an at Happōen, ¥860 for tea and sweets

Happōen garden is a little oasis in urban Meguro. The garden’s name means “beautiful from any angle”, but it is perhaps loveliest seen from the low-lying koi pond at its center. With tree-covered hills rising steeply around the pond and skyscrapers looming behind the trees, sitting in the pavilion at the water’s edge feels like sitting at the bottom of a green bowl with a concrete rim.

As views go, looking out at the garden over a cup of whipped matcha in the Mu-an teahouse is a close second. Decorated with stripped and rough-hewn woods and soft green and ochre paint, the tearoom seems like a natural extension of the world seen through the wide picture windows.

Alongside the matcha, a kimono-clad hostess serves a small tray of seasonal sweets. On this occasion, my friend Yoshimi and I enjoyed higashi, “dry” sweets of sugar and flour that are pressed into a carved wooden mold. Although higashi have a relatively long shelf life and are suitable year round, the pink morning glory and the green pods of edamame beans are specific to the summer season.

Special wasambon sugar gives higashi their delicate flavor and soft texture. Farmers in Tokushima prefecture harvest a low-yield Chinese sugar cane, then subject it to a laborious process that includes hand washing the sugar four times in order to remove the molasses. Wasambon production has been designated as one of Japan’s “Important Cultural Properties.”