the mochi diary
(to be)
..1..
meridith's grandmother used to make mochi ..2..
the supermarket kind came second. red ..3..
the summer that i taught people how ..4..
most likely, tokyo fish market still
and store it in crisp ziploc bags in the
freezer. on gray fog days after school,
or warm july evenings after baseball in
the park we would take out two of those
frozen stone rounds, stick them in blue
porcelain bowls in the microwave, douse
them in soy and munch, pulling the pale
chewiness into impossibly long strands,
and sharing glances across the table as
we licked the rice and salt tips of our
fingers. so it was that i fell in love.
plastic wrapper, health-foody look to
it. a brown flecked square to be cut
and baked. like pillsbury cookies, but
mochi! yikes. so i was skeptical (at
first). eventually, it was the chewiness
that won me over. of course. and the
package suggested the puffly rectangles
be stuffed with toasted almonds & honey
which revolutionized everything. warmth
clinging to your tongue, sinking straight
on down to your intestinal tract like a
well-planted peach pit. yum. but i do
suddenly understand why it might be
considered, em, an acquired taste.
to fit their backpacks and devised
elaborate commentary on the merits
of each kind of sleeping bag, i also
discovered that tokyo fish market on
san pablo sold frozen, probably home
made mochi, right up the street from
my work. $1.95 for six pieces in a
saran-wrapped bundle. tasted enough
like meridith's grandmother's that one
bite would send me back into a state
of deep childhoodlike peace, a mochi-
induced stupor of sorts. it is not
just a rice-based product, i tell you;
it's a drug, straight up.
sells their form of it. sadly, i'm
a whole 3000 miles away from that
particular source. and my search
for something comparable in these
midatlantic parts has brought to my
attention a *new* form of mochi to
fill my dreams with salaciousness.
the sweet red bean kind, eaten fresh
and soft. like an earlobe.