Kintsuba (きんつば, griddled azuki cakes)

Kintsuba looks like the sort of sweet that requires a confectioner's sleeve full of secrets. It doesn't. The cake is mostly anko, the sweet azuki bean paste, standing almost alone. That is its charm and its warning.

The one detail that decides it is firmness. Soft anko makes a slumped square and a troubled cook. Cook the paste until it holds a path when stirred, chill it until it cuts cleanly, then give it only the thinnest skin of batter. The batter isn't a pancake jacket. It's a quiet seal, cooked face by face until matte, so the bean inside stays the subject.

This is a sweet for tea, not a showpiece. In wagashi, Japanese confectionery, restraint does half the work: one cube, one cup of tea, a little empty space on the plate. Use good azuki and don't bury it under perfume or color. Honmono often has the manners of plain food, which is convenient for the cook and mildly disappointing for anyone hoping to make life more dramatic.