Fascination of Ankoあんこ 魅惑の甘美

Azuki beans have been eaten in Japan since ancient times. Full of nutrients like dietary fiber and polyphenol, the beans were once used to prevent and treat disease, and because red was thought to ward off evil, they featured in religious rituals as well. Azuki beans are the main ingredient in anko, red bean paste made by boiling the beans in sugared water, and anko itself is indispensable to wagashi, Japanese sweets. From the refined confections of the tea ceremony expressing the seasons to the highly popular manju and ohagi to ice cream, pastries, and high-energy snacks, anko abounds. Here we explore the appeal of this simple yet profound food.

Despite being deeply rooted in the culinary life of Japan, there is a great deal not known about anko’s origin and history. “Anko is mainly made from azuki beans, water, sugar and salt ― that's it ― though how it is boiled and prepared varies with the confectioner” says Sanmi Kan who has published a book on anko. “Preparation methods were closely guarded secrets ― ‘better to steal than to learn’ is an old adage of artisanal culture ― so there are few extant documents on anko despite it being such a common food.”

Anko was once a general term for fillings that went between rice or flour crusts. It is generally believed that in the Kamakura period (1185-1333) Zen monks returning from China brought back a monastic breakfast tradition that was the precursor of manju and yokan. The yokan brought from ancient China was a type of mutton soup, but Japan’s Zen monks were forbidden from eating meat, so they used azuki beans to make a vegetable dish and this gradually transformed into a soup-less yokan. Manju’s development was similar; azuki beans were used as a meat substitute.

The sweet anko we know today first became popular in the late Edo period (1603-1868). Sugar, both imported and domestically produced, became widely available, and this spurred the development of a culture of sweets, which spread rapidly to commoners as well. Anko was made in almost every home; it was near and dear to people’s hearts.

Various bean varieties can be used to make anko, including common beans and green peas, but azuki beans are standard. Anko goes by different names depending on how it is prepared. Tsubuan is made by boiling azuki beans without crushing them and then mixing in sugar; tsubushian, by boiling the beans until they break down without losing their skins and then adding a sweetener; koshian, by first making namaan by boiling azuki beans, removing the skins, and rinsing in water and then adding sugared water and kneading; and ogura-an by boiling a large azuki variety called dainagon in sugared water and mixing with koshian.

Some things are best done slowly. “Have the lazybones boil the azuki beans,” the proverb goes, because when someone lazy boils the beans at a nice, leisurely pace while keeping an eye on the flame, they turn out perfectly. The tsubuan boiled by master confectioners have a beautiful shape with the skin intact, the taste of azuki extract with a faint bitterness, and a wonderful texture.

At the same time, their koshian has a unique glossy luster and a smooth, fine-grained texture. The textures and the flavors differ, but the skill of a confectioner shows through in which anko is used in what sweets, whether it is wrapped in sticky mochi rice or sandwiched between crusts, for example; individuality is key.

Kan believes the appeal of Western confections lies in their savory aroma, which arises from mixing an oil, like butter, into a batter of flour, eggs and sugar and then baking relatively quickly. By contrast, Japanese sweets are made by slowly boiling azuki beans, mochi rice or some other bean or rice variety without adding an oil. This is reminiscent of Japanese food in general, and the effect on the body is gentle, which for Kan is the charm of Japanese sweets.

“To get acquainted with anko,” Kan says, “I suggest finding a confectioner or restaurant to call home and eating its sweets for a year. Azuki, too, has its seasons, and the new crop harvested in autumn of each year has skin as thin as a baby’s fingernail and a bright, vivid color; the beans are soft and the aroma heavenly. In the summer, the color darkens as if tanned in the sun. The sweets on offer also change with the season. You learn the basics much better than if you were to go here and there sampling the greatest hits; you become more sensitive to variations in flavor and can tell the difference when eating anko from some other place.

Anko is part and parcel of life in Japan and has been eaten for generations. There is something nostalgic, something comforting about the flavor, which may be why anko has been so loved for so long.

Men, women, boys, girls, people of all ages love taiyaki, the typical anko snack in the shape of a fish. Wakaba, a confectionary near Yotsuya Station in Tokyo, serves up taiyaki cakes made with tsubuan stuffed from head to tail in an aromatic crust. Hugely popular, the establishment sells as many as 3,000 a day.

The secret of its anko is in how the salt balances out the crust’s sweetness. Taiyaki are typically made a bunch at a time sandwiched between two iron plates, but Wakaba grills theirs one at a time in a fish-shaped mold. In popular parlance, the former are known as farmed and the latter, wild.

“The anko and the batter change depending on the weather,” says manager Takuma Ito. “The fish’s face and the color after it’s grilled also differ depending on the confectioner. We live in a social media age, so along with the flavor we focus on making the taiyaki look great as well.”

When Wakaba was established in 1953 as a candy shop, taiyaki was sold alongside the other sweets. The price is still entirely reasonable at 210 yen per piece, though there are also efforts being made to further raise the quality and turn the common taiyaki into a luxury ‘fish.’

Japanese sweets that revel in anko make a great gift or souvenir, and kintsuba is at the head of the list. Tokutaro opened its doors in 1903 behind Asakusa Kannon Temple, where much of the jumbled ambiance of old Tokyo remains, and its kintsuba is a standard gift in the geisha district. The sweets can be eaten in three bites, a good size for geisha who need to keep their hands clean.

A soft and delicate anko is made by boiling azuki beans and thickening with agar. The anko is then coated, but not by dipping it directly; rather, the coating is ladled and applied one surface at a time. The sweets are then lined up on a copper plate, which has good thermal efficiency, and expertly grilled. The lavender tsubushian dressed up in a thin coating seems sweet, though not much sugar is used, and the flavors of the azuki beans can be enjoyed in all their naturalness. “We coat the surface of the anko very lightly,” says fourth-generation owner Yukito Masuda.

“It’s the same as regular food: the ingredients are key. We boil azuki beans with quality strictly managed, so just adding sugar makes them incredibly delicious. Kintsuba is so simple, you just can’t fake it. Like a soy sauce ramen with a good broth, I’m delighted when people want to eat our kintsuba again and again.”

Anko is in a range of sweets with rich and enchanting flavors that inspire repeat consumption. Here we look at even more examples.

Sasama is a Japanese sweets confectionary in the Surugadai area of Tokyo’s Jinbocho district, known for its used bookshops. There are many publishers in the area as well, and Sasama’s Matsuba-Monaka has long been given as a gift to writers. The Nobel Prize winner Yasunari Kawabata and novelist Jiro Osaragi were said to be fans. The shamisen-shaped wafers decorated with a pine needle design are made one by one by master confectioners and filled with anko. Though delicate, there are no cracks or chipping; the wheat-brown wafers are dignified and beautiful. “We want you to enjoy the anko,” says shop owner Yoshihiko Sasama, “so we make the wafer as soft as possible.” The anko is the star, and the unwavering pride of this famous establishment.

The storefront of Matsushimaya in the Sengakuji area is lined with lovely daifuku sweets. “From first to last, it’s all about the ingredients. Mediocre ingredients only produce mediocre flavor,” the humble confectioner tells us. Matsushimaya prefers large, high-quality azuki beans grown in Tokachi, Hokkaido and uses them to make its tsubushian. “We don’t mind if the beans break down when they’re boiled. No matter how long they’re boiled, some beans are hard, others brown easily; they all have their own personalities. Taking the time to boil them though brings out their flavor. That’s pretty much all I do.” Every day, without exception, the confectioner encourages the beans to boil into delicious anko. Its ideal is daifuku that a grandparent might fix for their grandchildren.

Kikuya in Omotesando makes mizu-yokan with a deep, purplish color, smooth texture, and refined azuki bean aroma that wafts up through your nose. The shop makes around ten varieties of anko for different sweets, but the mizu-yokan is the only one inherited from the previous generation. “That’s the only one I’m confident in,” the owner says flatly.

The beans are boiled while stirring the water over and over and skimming off the scum; they are handled and tasted to check the hardness and texture. “I make adjustments every day depending on the weather, but boiling anko is a matter of intuition and experience. What’s important is the proportion of sugar and amount of heat; you have to stay focused. The beans can’t be too hard or too soft; they have to be a little sharp in the Tokyo style.” Kikuya keeps its approach to mizu-yokan pure; they are only available when fresh cherry tree leaves are in season.

In the fall, Mitsubachi in the Yushima district, the inventor of ogura ice cream, serves a sweet bean porridge called oshiruko. The shop uses large dainagon azuki beans from Hokkaido, examining them by hand and selecting only the best beans. “Some of them have little holes from bugs,” the owner Yuko Shimada says, “so we go through them one at a time.” The shop’s three types of oshiruko are all made from scratch. Zenzai is tsubuan with millet dumplings; Inaka Shiruko, a tsubushian porridge with rice dumplings; and Gozen Shiruko, a smooth koshian porridge also with rice dumplings. Oshiruko has a gentle sweetness, a saltiness and an azuki bean flavor, a simple, healthy sweet that has been loved for ages.

Anko, loved by so many, is also a reflection of the district where it is made. The more of it one eats, the deeper one’s appreciation becomes, and anko never fails to charm.