Passing on Tradition

“It’s been nearly a month, Lio.” Dan was less than amused by the man’s tardiness.

Lio scratched the base of his ear awkwardly. “Sorry about that. Work’s had me busy up to my ears. I’m here now, though! Ready for my next lesson.”

Dan hummed. “How much dango have you made recently?”

“Platters after plates,” Lio said. He reached up and began wrapping his hair up to keep it out of the way. “I’m ready to start pounding when you are.”

He chuckled at the way Dan deadpanned at his joke, but he turned to face Lio anyway. “You’ve brought your mallet?”

“Of course!” Lio replied, lifting it up and spinning it in his hand. “Gotten better at this whole pounding thing. My clients seem to be enjoying the newly gained upper body strength as well.”

“Unsurprising,” Dan replied. “I’ve already taught you how to make mochi. Have you been experimenting with it?”

Lio grinned. “When I have the time,” he admitted. “Judah’s been throwing more parties these days, so I haven’t had the time to get much practice in other than making plain mochi. Simple fillings and basic shapes. Nothing fancy.”

“Since you’ve been practising, let’s begin. We’ll start with adding colour to the rice.”

“Oh, right!” Lio beamed. “Since I’ve been doing plain mochi, colours haven’t been that much of an importance. Let’s do it.”

Dan nodded. “All we need to do is make the powder for the colour using fruit and then add it to the mochi as we pound it.

“Right. Sounds simple enough.” It wasn’t all that different than adding flavour and colouring to dango. “Mortar and pestle the fruit until you have a fine powder, or use the juice.” Simple.

“Since you know how to do that already, we’ll use some of the colour powder I already have.” Dan grabbed a couple of bottles. “To colour the mochi, you simply add it to the rice before pounding. It’s the same with adding extra flavouring to your mochi dough.”

“So,” Lio walked to the usu and readied himself, “am I pounding or mixing?”

“Seems as though you’re ready to pound, so that’s what you’re welcome to do,” Dan said.

Lio nodded and took his stance, kine in hand. “Ready when you are,” he said.

Dan chuckled softly, dumped rice into the mortar, then one of the colours, and began their rhythm.

One—two—pound—knead—one—two. Until the rice was done, just as before, Dan threw in more rice once the first batch was done, and they switched places. One—two—pound—knead.

“You’ve gotten better,” Dan praised when they were finished pounding the second batch. “Still a little slow with kneading. Though, I suppose that would be typical when you’re doing it alone.”

“Everything is a little slower when you’re doing it alone.” Lio winked at Dan, and the man tiredly rolled his eyes.

With the second batch of dough pounded and ready, Dan set up the mochi station. “You observed me last time since you had noodle arms—”

“Did you read my mind or something last time? I don’t remember mentioning that my arms felt like overcooked noodles.”

Dan raised an eyebrow. “It was merely an observation. Now,” he began separating the dough, “ready your mochi, and I’ll teach you how to shape it.”

‘Note to self,’ Lio thought, ‘don’t interrupt Dan while he’s talking. Got it.’ “All right, I’m fairly okay making normal mochi balls, but I’d like to steer a little further from dango balls.”

“We’ll begin with something simple. How to properly fill the mochi.”

Lio cocked his head slightly. “That is simple,” he said. “Roll it out and—”

Dan interrupted, “Place the filling inside the sectioned mochi before folding and pinching to dough together.”

“Right,” Lio said, “that’s what I was getting to.”

“Good,” Dan eyed him for a moment, “as long as you weren’t trying to fill it like a cream-filled donut.”

Lio snerked. “I would never. I am your apprentice, my dear Dan. I would never shame you in such a fashion. I may be good at cream filling people but I would never do such a thing to a pastry less it called for it.” He feigned offence, which seemed to get at least a mild smile of amusement from his teacher.

“Pinch.”

Lio did as he was told. He powdered the dough and then helped roll it out before sectioning it into squares. After that, he placed the filling Dan had set out for them—roses, he thought—in the centre of the mochi and began pinching the ends to seal it. He worked the mochi in his hand until the seam was nearly invisible, sat it on the provided tray, and then picked up another.

“You’re doing well,” Dan commended. “After this, I’m afraid I’ll have nothing more to teach you.”

Lio smiled. “I’m still allowed to come take some lessons, right? Just to refresh my memory? Or learn some new techniques?”

Dan feigned a sigh, “You are still my pupil, and I do appreciate those who wish to learn the tradition.”

“Traditions are meant to be passed on,” Lio said.

“Will you pass it on?” Dan eyed Lio closely.

Lio cocked an ear. “Pass it on to who exactly?”

Dan didn’t answer. He only turned to his shelves and retrieved some candy roses and pedals. “Let us finish decorating these so that you may share them with your friends.”

“Sure,” Lio said, still curious about what Dan was talking about.

They had a couple dozen pink flowery mochis by the time they were finished. Dan was quiet as he boxed them up. Lio joined him, and when they ran out of mochi to pack, Dan slid a few boxes to him. “Take these. You’ve worked hard.”

“See you next time, Dan,” Lio said with a grin. Dan nodded and waved him off.

Lio grabbed his mochi and kine and headed off, pleased to finally finish his lessons with Dan, though he’d miss their time together. He still wondered, though, what did Dan mean about passing on the tradition? He stopped and paused momentarily, wracking his brain on the possibilities. When he came up with nothing, he shook his head and continued home.