Anpan (あんぱん)

Anpan looks like a bakery secret because the filling disappears inside the dough. Don't be fooled. The whole bun turns on two plain things: a soft, patient dough and anko, sweet azuki paste, that is firm enough to wrap without leaking.

The old Ginza version rose on sakadane, a rice and koji ferment often called sake yeast. At home, I give you a small sake-kōji preferment for aroma, then a little baker's yeast for steadiness. That is a sensible stand-in, not a costume. It keeps the bun tender and faintly fragrant without asking you to nurse a ferment for days like a monk with a thermometer.

The one detail to watch is the seal. Flatten the dough thicker in the center and thinner at the edge, set the anko in the middle, then gather and pinch until no seam shows. If the edge is thick, you get a heavy knot underneath. If the seal is weak, the paste escapes in the oven. Keep the filling modest, leave the bun room to rise, and the result is honmono in spirit: bread made to meet tea, not to shout over it.