Dorayaki (どら焼き)

Dorayaki looks like a shop confection, which makes people stand too straight before they begin. Relax your shoulders. It is two small honey-sweetened cakes and a spoonful of azuki anko, the red bean paste that carries the whole middle of the thing.

The detail that decides it is the pan heat. Too hot, and the cakes darken before the inside sets. Too cool, and they dry out while you wait. We want a steady, modest heat so the surface browns evenly and the crumb stays tender enough to press around the anko without cracking.

Rest the batter before you cook it. That pause lets the flour hydrate and the bubbles settle, so each round pours smoothly and rises without a wild crown. The honey is not there to be fancy. It gives the cakes their gentle perfume and the soft chew that makes dorayaki dorayaki.

This is everyday wagashi, a sweet to set beside tea, not a monument. Make the anko good, keep the cakes small, and don't overfill them. Leave a little restraint at the edge, and the sandwich closes neatly, which is more elegant than any amount of showing off.