damn good dango

“Well, I just had to try the real thing again,” Bex says, inflecting as much admiring wonder into her voice as she could. “I’ve been thinking about what I could have done wrong when I made mine and trying to figure out just what I could do to get it like yours…”

Dan gives a single solemn nod, as if this was perfectly understandable. “So you came back for further guidance.”

Bex nods and hams up the hero-worship look in her eyes. “If you’d be willing, I mean… I’ve tried a few times, and I just can’t figure out what I’m missing.”

“Very well,” Dan says, and moves over to open the door to the sweets workshop in the back. “I will show you how an expert does it.”

She nods and simpers accordingly, then follows Dan back through the door.

Fucking score. The heist was going excellently so far. 

To be honest, it had been a bit of an impulsive idea. She had passed by the dango store on her way back from working the bar and smelled the heavenly smell of fresh fruit and dough. It was tempting enough to pull her in, even if she didn’t budget in excessive spending on sweets this month.

 It had only been a week or so since Dan had guided her through making her own dango, and he hadn’t called her back for the next step just yet. But she remembered just how susceptible he seemed to a little bit of flattery, and concocted the plan that was currently working. If she made it seem like she hadn’t been able to sleep over her subpar dango skills, the bun would feel the urge to show just how skilled his guiding hand will be. And that, she presumes, will get her a free dango or two. All she has to do is pretend Dan was on par with Murmur in creation, in the realm of sugary treats.

And to be honest, it wasn’t like she was lying that much. Dan did make some damn good dango and mochi. Good enough to do some ego-fluffing for.

Dan snags several things off the shelves as they walk back through his workshop towards the small table they were sat at last time. He nods towards a small sitting pillow, and Bex dutifully sits criss-cross on it. 

“Last time, you made matcha dango. I will be making peach dango, as it requires more work to integrate the flavors,” Dan sets several various containers and bowls on the table. He slides the hot plate to the side and puts a pot of water on to boil. “Pay attention to the timings.”

Bex, keeping that wide-eyed admiration going, nods and scoots a little closer. Oh, fuck yeah. She loves peach dango. Her mouth waters a bit as Dan uncaps a jar of orange liquid that smells heavily of peaches. Does this guy make his own peach extract? That does make sense, with how dedicated he was to his craft. 

“First, I incorporate the dough,” Dan instructs, effortlessly weighing out and measuring all of the initial ingredients. “You did not knead it enough last time, and that was one of your failings.” He kneads with remarkable efficiency, at one points switching to kneading with only hand to grab a small tub of water. “You also did not set the dango sticks to soak, which decreases the likelihood of deformation in the skewering process.”

She bites her tongue at that one, wanting to retort something about how ‘You literally didn’t tell me to do that, and you were instructing me’, but pushing that down. The peaches, Bex, think about the peaches.

Dan tests the dough after a while of kneading in silence, and finds it’s acceptable. In a flash, it’s been rolled into a log and split into even pieces. “Now, to make it peach dango. You must add the peach flavoring. Knead it till it’s consistent, and then divide each ball into two pieces; one third and another of two thirds.”

“Wow,” Bex says, stretching out the word longer than it needs to go on. “You must have done this so many times.”

“Yes,” he replies gruffly, though it does look like he took the compliment gladly. “For the best results, you must incorporate the peach into the dough and the center. Place a small piece of fresh peach in the center of the two-thirds dough, and fold it in gently.”

Despite his large hands, Dan’s fingers fly dexterously as they embed the small peach piece in the center of the larger portion. Like a baby bun swaddled in a blanket, the peach is secured. Then he uses the remaining dough to cover over the seam, and rolls it back into a ball.

“With this, the entire dango experience stays consistent in sharp and strong flavor.” Dan says, beginning to fly even faster with his extract adding and rolling. It seems he had slowed down on the first one to let Bex see because all subsequent dango balls were made in the blink of an eye. Almost as if on a clock, the pot of water finishes boiling. He scoops them up, and quickly submerges all of them. Bex isn’t even really faking her awe at this point, seeing the speed of which he works.

In the minutes it takes to boil, Dan begins clearing his workspace. 

“What would you say is the most important thing about dango?” Bex asks, wanting to fill the silence (and increase the chance Dan will associate her with a chance to talk about what he’s passionate about).

“Perfection.” Dan says flatly. 

“Perfection?” Bex asks, though she does get it. In any avenue of your life, it’s important to chase everything being exactly as it should be. She does it for her own ventures. 

“In order for your dango to be the best it can be, you must ensure you don’t falter at any step,” Dan elaborates. “Anything that goes wrong is something that should be corrected, and with skill you can achieve something greater than perfection. But the starting line must be perfection, or you are not holding yourself up to a high enough standard.”

“... greater than perfection,” Bex muses. An interesting concept. Only being better than the best you can be. The concept does intrigue her, though she’s sure she will never dedicate herself to the cooking craft like that. 

“Yes. That is what makes my dango better than all else.” Dan says, and then turns towards the water just as the dango begin to rise to the surface. They’re there for seconds before he’s scooped them out and deposited them to the ice water. 

He leaves them there for a few moments as he removes the dango sticks from the water, flicking them slightly to disperse a little of the water. Like he told her last time, he leaves them in the cold water for longer than she did. Then, effortlessly, he skewers three perfectly shaped dango balls onto each skewer. He holds one out to Bex, and she takes it.

Bex resists the urge to immediately just eat the whole thing. No, if she wants to score herself more than one of these things, she has to make this a whole production. She rotates it around in her hand, examining every detail. She runs a finger along the top of the dango stick, like she’s calculating exact distances. She presses a fingertip into the side of the dango lightly, testing its texture.  She compares the texture of two of the dango balls, and nods as if in thought.

Then, finally, she takes a bite into the top dango ball. She chews thoughtfully, trying not to give into the instinct of gulping it down as fast as possible. She hums in thought.

Finally, at the end of this whole production, she swallows and looks back up to Dan. He’s watching her with a look that tells her that it had gone over extremely well. Bex is such a perfect student when she’s trying very very hard to play the part. 

“I see…” she says. “The consistency is very different than mine was, and I can tell the flavoring is spread out much more evenly…”

“Indeed.” Dan says. There’s a few more dango sticks on the table, and Bex wants them very badly. 

“Are all of them the same consistency and size?” She asks, trying to play up the innocence so that the question doesn’t sound like an accusation.

“Yes, of course,” Dan says. “Here, look.” 

He picks up the precious dango, and spreads them out in front of him like a hand of cards. Bex leans in, staring. They do seem to be all perfectly uniform, all smelling strongly of delicious peach. Bex reaches a hand out, and Dan hands her two to look at.

She does the whole song and dance again, though cuts it a bit sort as to not wear out the welcome of it. Still, she’s left holding three peach dango in one hand. To distract from the fact she’s definitely going to walk out with all of these, she points towards the peachy jar on the table with her empty hand.

“Did you make that yourself? The peach flavor is so distinct, even before you get into the peach in the middle.”

“I create my own peach flavoring with only the best peaches,” Dan pulls the jar closer to him, opening it up. “You can distill the flavor down if you soak several batches of peaches in high proof alcohol, changing the fruit out. I get a fair amount of my distilled ingredients through this. I would suggest starting something like that yourself, if you plan to walk this path.”

“That’s a great idea,” Bex nods, knowing she is absolutely not going to bother with that. “Thank you very much for this lesson, Dan. I feel like I’ve seen so many errors I made the first time, and will be able to find how to fix them as I continue to grow…”

Dan nods approvingly and stand up. Another clear instruction to vacate his space, Bex knows. However, as he begins to head back over to the front of the store, Bex can’t resist. She swipes the remaining sticks of dango. Three would simply not be enough.

She waves a simpering goodbye at the front of the store, and then quickly departs the store.

Within seconds of her getting out of eyesight, she eats two of them. It’s a miracle she didn’t snap the sticks with her teeth.

It’s some damn good dango.