Gâteau roulé matcha et azuki

The thing that happens when you buy a big pouch of anko (Japanese sweetened red bean paste) to make strawberry daifuku is that you’re likely to run out of rice flour long before you use up all the azuki paste.

I assume it keeps for weeks if well wrapped, but I didn’t want to let it sit in the fridge for too long (shelf space is in short supply), so I tried to think up ways to use it. A quick brainstorm led me to the gâteaux roulés (cake rolls, a.k.a. jelly rolls or Swiss rolls) that my mother makes and sometimes garnishes with crème de marron, sweetened chestnut paste, which I’ve always felt is a close cousin to anko, texture- and flavor-wise. And since the pairing of green tea and red bean is always successful, perhaps I could flavor the cake with a little matcha*?

Alhough I have stood by my mother (and held my breath) as she deftly rolled up layers of sponge cake, this was my first time actually making a cake roll of my own.

I opted to make the cake component (la génoise) butterless, using almond butter instead, and I cut the red bean paste with about a third of its weight in yogurt, to make the filling easier to spread and less intensely sweet.

Alhough I have stood by my mother (and held my breath) as she deftly rolled up layers of sponge cake, this was my first time actually making a cake roll of my own, and I was rather pleased with how it turned out: I did bake my génoise a tad too long, which resulted in crisp edges that I should probably have trimmed, but the heart of the cake was moist and tender, and the balance of flavors was just right. Not to mention, I was tickled to notice that each cut slice drew the hiragana character の (no), a feature few cakes can boast.

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This is part of a series on French idiomatic expressions that relate to the culinary world. Browse the list of idioms featured so far.

This week’s idiom is, “Raisonner comme une casserole.”

Literally translated as, “reasoning like a saucepan,” it means demonstrating poor logic, formulating arguments that are evidently flawed. It is a colloquial expression that should only be used in informal conversation.

Example: “Ce n’est pas la peine d’essayer de discuter avec lui, il raisonne comme une casserole.” “It’s not worth trying to talk to him, he reasons like a saucepan.”

Listen to the idiom and example read aloud:

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This is part of a series on French idiomatic expressions that relate to food. Browse the list of idioms featured so far.

This week’s idiom is, “Le ver est dans le fruit.”

Literally translated as, “the worm is in the fruit,” it means that the damage is done, that a situation is inherently faulty, and that it’s impossible or too late to do anything about it. It can also be used humorously, to comment with mock fatalism on the way a situation is turning, or is bound to turn.

Example: “Ils ont beau essayer de lutter contre la corruption, le ver est dans le fruit.” “Try as they might to fight corruption, the worm is in the fruit.”

Listen to the idiom and example read aloud:

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A few weeks ago, my friend Estérelle and I attended a mochi cooking class held at La Cocotte, a lovely little cookbook shop in Paris.

Before we go any further, I think a semantics note is in order: strictly speaking, mochi is the name of a Japanese preparation of steamed glutinous rice that is pounded to form a sticky paste*. Mochi can be boiled, steamed, grilled, baked, or fried, and because it doesn’t have much inherent flavor, it is usually eaten with sweet or savory accompaniments. Although mochi is traditionally pounded from freshly cooked rice, modern home cooks are more likely to buy it ready-made at the store, or make it from rice flour.

I’m here to tell you that the glow and bounce of a freshly-made daifuku is plenty worth your trouble.

So that’s what mochi is, but it seems that many people outside of Japan use this term when they really mean daifuku mochi (or daifuku for short), which are soft mochi dumplings stuffed with a sweet filling, such as red bean paste (anko) or white bean paste (shiroan), served at room temperature and enjoyed as an afternoon treat (rather than a dessert).

I myself only recently learned the difference. When I first tasted (and took a shine to) daifuku in California years ago — we got them from our local Nijiya market — I thought of them as mochi, and kept calling them that until the afore-mentioned cooking class taught me otherwise.

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