making dango!

Home cooking is fulfilling, nutritious, and cost effective.

At least, that’s what all the research Bex had done online had told her. Of course, logically, it makes sense to her that making things wholesale would be the best way to save money. But the sheer numbers that seemed to be shaved off just by cooking made it… very appealing. Time is money, sure, but more importantly, money is money.

So, Bex has been on a small journey to compile a list of the foods that she simply can’t live without and designing a lesson plan around cooking these foods. Taking actual classes with some random chef could not be ruled a worthy investment just yet, especially with some of the prices they were asking.

But she had seen something interesting when looking around; something that wasn’t exactly a cooking class but could absolutely be utilized as one. Dan, from the Dan’s Dango, was looking for an apprentice and was giving lessons in order to find the perfect one. Bex had zero interest in becoming a mochi maker, much less an apprentice, but this opportunity was mouth-watering. She had eaten more than her fair share of dango, and knew she would be learning from the best of the best here.

Bex shows up to her scheduled meeting with her best ‘can-do-attitude’ expression. The ideal student and apprentice, obviously. She runs a thumb over the broken edge of her horn, squares her shoulders back, and  makes her way over to the pavilion and small table Dan is sitting at. 

Dan seems deep in thought, examining a bag of rice flour sitting next to him. The table in front of him has an array of bowls, measuring cups, and a small hot plate. It’s very precisely laid out, and Bex tries to identify each element as quickly as she can. She doesn’t know that much about Dan, but he had always seemed a bit grumpy when she came to buy mochi or dango. The last thing she wants is to get kicked out in the middle of a dango lesson. 

She kneels on the other side of the table, putting her hands on her knees. 

“Good morning,” she says pleasantly. “I’m Bex-”

“I know who you are. You signed up.” Dan says gruffly and picks up the rice flour he was examining. “You’re going to make Matcha Dango. I’ll give you the instructions, and you follow them.”

Bex shuts her mouth, and nods. Alright, it’s going to be that sort of lesson. Annoying, but he is the expert here. She’ll just pretend she’s reading instructions off some website instead of being told what to do, that’ll make it more tolerable. “Very well.”

“Use the scale. Mix 150 grams of the glutinous rice flour with 12 grams of the matcha powder and 2 tablespoons of sugar.” Dan instructs, sitting back. He leans on his hammer beside him, despite the fact that Bex is sure this recipe is hammer-less.

She scans the ingredients on the table. It looks like there’s three separate bags of flour, each labeled separately, as well as a small bowl of matcha. She picks up the bag of rice flour Dan was looking at as she came in, and scans the label on it. It’s rice flour, sure enough. But then why are there several other bags?

She takes a look at the other bags, comparing them. Out of the three bags, only one of them was labeled glutinous. Was this some sort of a test? Probably. Ruling out the people who didn’t keep track of the ingredients they needed to know. 

She measures out the 150 grams, and then picks up the matcha. A quick scan of the table assures her there’s no tricks here, and she weighs 12 grams into her mixing bowl. The tablespoons of sugar are easy as well, and she mixes it all together with one of the whisks sitting at the side of the table. 

Dan doesn’t seem phased by her picking the correct flour, but he does raise an eyebrow at the whisk usage. Is she supposed to use something? It’s just dry ingredients, so Bex puts aside that skepticism to just focus on making it well-mixed. When it looks uniform, she sets the whisk to the side and looks back up at Dan.

“Now, add in 120 milliliters of water,” Dan says. “You’ll need to knead the dough until it’s the correct consistency.” 

Great, and no clarification on what the ‘correct consistency’ could be. But she knows the concept of kneading and generally what dough is, so she’ll give it her best swing. She mixes in the water, using the whisk until it begins clumping together. Then she switches over to her hands, working it together.
Before too long, it’s coming together into what she would pretty confidently say is dough. It’s uniform, and her hands are only starting to be a little sore. She looks up at Dan and cocks an eyebrow expectantly. 

“That will work. Put a pot of water on the hotplate to boil and a bowl of ice water to the side. Then, you may roll it out into a long cylinder.”

She ‘may’ do that? Bex shoves aside the instinct to roll her eyes at that. She’s been granted to roll dough into a big cylinder, hooray! Either way, she busies herself putting water on to boil and taking ice out of the cooler to add to a bowl of water. She sort of wishes she brought a notepad to make notes on, but the instructions were simple enough so far. It seemed vaguely intuitive, past the exact measurements. 

Having set the water to boil, she rolls out the dough into a cylinder. Taking initiative, she begins to look around on the table for some sort of dough-dividing implement. At this point, she knows that this cylinder is going to get turned into dough balls, so… next step is going to be dividing them.

Dan ignores her brandishing a wooden spatula, and instructs anyways. “Divide the dough evenly, and roll them into correctly sized dango balls.”

This guy loves telling her to do things correctly… Well, the dough looks good so far, so she does have to give him credit so far. And the dango at his store is really good…

She keeps that dango in mind as she divides the dough, trying to keep the portions similar. Rolling them into balls is relatively easy work, though she does hate to get her hands even slightly sticky. 

The water has begun to boil, and Dan clears his throat as Bex finishes the last dango ball. “Next, cook them until they rise to the surface. Then, remove them and put them in the ice bath.”

Bex gets to work. She plops each dango ball into the boiling water, ignoring the splash of boiling water on her hands. She sits back then, keeping one eye on the pot. 

“Where did you learn to make dango, then?” She asks, hoping to give her tutor a chance to say more than a few sentences as they sit here. “Or did you perfect it on your own? You seem to know it very well.” Flattery, of course. Always a useful tool. Especially useful to deploy if you’re speaking to a Pride bun.

“I learned from my mentor,” he says. “But I have perfected the recipe on my own time. It’s not my best dish, but I do not believe anyone in Burrowgatory can do it better.”

“Having eaten some of your dango,” Bex simpers, “I would absolutely agree.” 

Dan looks Bex over with a calculating eye, as if trying to gauge sincerity. He seemingly gauges incorrectly, because he gives an approving nod and seems to puff up his chest a bit. 

Before Bex can continue down her path of trying to get more free food out of thi, she sees the dango begin to rise to the surface of her pot. Quickly, she selects a small mesh strainer to scoop them out and into the cold water. They look tasty already, and Bex can feel her mouth watering. 

“They are almost complete now,” Dan says. He places a small amount of bamboo dango sticks on the table in front of Bex. “You just have to present them.”

Well, she knows how dango are supposed to look. She gives them a few moments more in the ice bath, and begins skewering the dango onto the stick. Three to a stick, slid to the very edge. They definitely don’t look as good as Dan’s typically do, a slight deformity to some of the dango balls. They feel similar though, and they do smell just as good. She manages to make four sticks of dango, and she places them evenly on the empty plate.

“How did I do?” she asks, looking over at Dan. Truth be told, she really just wanted to eat one of them herself. But she presumes her teacher will want to have the first bite (and the final say).

She’s proven correct when Dan reaches over to grab one, taking a large bite out of the top-most dango. He chews, considering.

“Hmm. The shape is off, and the consistency could be better,” Dan critiques. “They weren’t perfectly divided, and you could have left them in the ice bath a little longer.”

Bex bites her lip from saying anything, hoping there’s a continuation of the evaluation.

“But…” he says. “Overall, it was acceptable. You measured adequately, followed the instructions well, and created something that is undoubtedly dango. You may have the remaining sticks. Meet me for the next step in the lesson in the next few weeks.”

He doesn’t move, but it’s clear that she’s dismissed. 

“Oh! Thank you, Dan, it means a lot coming from you,” she says as she gathers up her dango sticks and quickly stands. She wasn’t expecting additional lessons, but if they’re as easy as this one she’s got it in the bag. She can pretend to have some sort of grand respect for anyone if it gets her free food and free food lessons. “I’ll see you next time, then.”

As she leaves, she takes a big bite out of one of her dangos. 

She has no clue what he was talking about. This is clearly the best dango she’s ever eaten. It tastes like hard work, effort, and some damn good matcha.