mochi madness

The mochi Bex had eaten an abundance of before attending her second (technically third) lesson with Dan was not helping her here.

She lifts the hammer up with as much strength as she has, slamming it down with a heavy swing. Dan is sitting across from her in front of the basin. He’s seemingly unafraid of accidentally being hit in the head with the mochi hammer, which Bex commends his bravery for. She’s not weak, of course, but this is a very strenuous activity. She’s only been doing this for a few minutes, and she already feels her arms complaining. Her stomach isn’t quite settled either.

Dan reaches into the basin, and folds the steamed glutinous rice in on itself once. He does it slowly, like he’s adjusting pace with her molasses slow mochi-pounding. He then sits back, looking back at her expectantly. 

“So,” she says, as she hefts the mochi hammer to her shoulder again. It seemed to be more successful when she let gravity do a fair bit of the work, so that was her plan. “How long do you normally pound mochi for?”

Her mentor is still unmoving, as if she has to earn the right to ask that question. She uses that burst of indignancy to slam the mochi hammer down onto the dough, and then she reels it right back up to do it again. Finally, with another burst of strength, she does another quick hit.

Dan nods for her to pause, and reaches over to fold the mochi. “Until it is completely smooth. And perfect.”

Bex heaves the hammer back up to her shoulder and thinks about how much mochi she could shove into her pockets and flee with before Dan got up to stop her. She could probably grab some dango sticks on the way out, and then she just had to never ever come by this store ever again. Never have a delicious perfectly pounded bit of mochi again. But at least she wouldn’t have to swing this hammer for the next seventeen hours, or whatever it meant for her jagged rhythm of mochi-pounding to get to perfect.

Really, she thinks as she slams the mochi hammer down again, this is the least fun pounding she’s ever done. Maybe she should go do more of that instead of making mochi. 

That snicker of a thought keeps her through the next six or seven back and forths between her and Dan. Every one to three hammer swings the bun reaches over to fold over the dough, making sure it’s evenly worked. At least, as evenly as he can do with a beginning. 

He has this perpetual look of disappointment, or at least, what Bex interprets as disappointment. She doesn’t quite know what he expected, looking for a new mochi apprentice off the random streets and letting the people whose only skill is flattery continue to get through the ranks. 

Bex is strong, yeah. She’s been in scraps before, defending herself well. Got the scars and the life to prove it. But none of that strength is carefully honed in order to swing a big mochi hammer up and down into a basin. That really wasn’t what she’s specced into. Like, she bets she could probably beat Dan in a footrace. He doesn’t skip leg day, clearly, but he probably just didn’t run as much as she did. That doesn’t mean she’s putting him in a marathon and judging him for being behind her!

Clump. Clump. Clump. She brings the hammer down three more times with some difficulties. 

The whole marathon thing is not a particularly fair metaphor, and Bex does realize that. She did come here, after all, under the impression she would learn how to cook some good home cooked food she could save money from not buying. And the dango lessons were exactly that; a great lesson to show her a quick, easy, and cheap snack. She had actually made dango a few times since then, to the delight of Memmy. But this? Yeah, she’s just going to continue buying mochi from him.

Which means, it’s probably for the best she doesn’t try to steal a bunch of shit and run. The best thing she can do is just get through this lesson and hope if Dan gives another, it’s for some easier stuff. Though, Bex isn’t entirely sure that Dan does anything else. He’s too busy being ‘perfect’ with his dango and mochi. 

Dan seems perfectly content to let Bex sit here and stir with her thoughts, completely silent. Not the type of bun to fill a room with conversation by any means. 

It’s truly too long before he speaks up, in between the clump-clump-clump of the hammer and his folding the mochi. It feels like it’s been hours to Bex, and her muscles are twitching.

“You have reached an acceptable consistency,” Dan says. He stands, taking the mochi dough up in his hands. It’s sticky, but he manages to keep it rolled enough for it to not be an issue. He strides over to the sheet tray, and pieces out an exact amount to roll into a mochi ball.

“Create 32 of these,” he says, then offers out the dough in his arms. Bex looks at the dough and does not want to take it.

But she does, breaking off the small pieces to the best of her ability and rolling them as close as she can to the same shapes. It takes far longer than it normally would, her arms sluggish from strain. Eventually she gets it though, and parts the last bit of dough into two sections.

Dan steps forward, forcing her to back out of the way. She sticks out her tongue childishly behind his back as he evaluates her work. She quickly goes back to that look of admiration before he turns back around to evaluate.

“This is… okay. For your first try,” Dan says. He pokes one of the mochi, comparing it with another next to it. “There is still much to be improved. The texture would be better if you could have hit it for longer, and more evenly. The division of this is also pedestrian, with several key errors.”

“Of course,” says Bex, hiding all the rage and tiredness in her voice. “Thank you for your wise and experienced guidance.”

“Yes,” Dan says, like it was expected that she give him that thanks. “I will re-portion and perfect this batch of dough before it’s served in my store. However, before you leave, you may select one type of mochi to take home and study. This will give you a better idea on how the ideal and perfect piece of mochi is shaped, perceived, and eaten.”

Bex visibly lights up. Despite her complaining about overeating only a half hour before, the idea of mochi after hard work… well, you wouldn’t see that getting a complaint. She gives more empty-hearted praise and hustles off to get her free mochi.

As she walks home with mochi in her mouth, she begins to forget about those sore arms and just think about how else she could get free mochi.

Was all that mochi-pounding really that bad?