Oishiness is Moving

I'm on the move, and Oishiness is getting a new home as well, the better to document my travels. I'm getting tired of writing just about food, so the new site has categories for other interests as well. For the next few months, posts are going to be travel-heavy, though I'll still be sure to document any particularly tasty cakes I encounter, too - naturally! Visit oishiness.wordpress.com to keep up to date with my continuing adventures...

Large or Small, Same Price

Maybe you've heard the story about the American who goes to Japan and sees a vending machine selling Cokes in a large size and a small size, both for the same price. He buys the larger one - of course - because it's better value for money. His Japanese friend buys the smaller one. The American is incredulous. "Don't you feel like you're wasting money when you could get more soda for the same price?" he asks. His friend is surprised at the question. "But it's a waste of soda to buy more than I want to drink." This is supposed to illustrate something about the difference between the American and Japanese value system. I'd always considered it an urban legend, because usually, small drinks in vending machines cost about 30 yen less than large ones and I'd never seen large and small ones being sold for the same price. Until now.

Same product, same machine, same price, whether you choose 500 millilitres or 310. It's water, not soda (I noticed that the Pocari Sweat sports drink, which also came in a large and a small version in this machine, was 150 yen for the large and 120 for the small size). But maybe there's something to that story, after all... Now I just have to figure out what point it's supposed to be making.

Japanese Salads

On the day of my move, I had effectively run myself out of food and sold all my dishes, so breakfast was a banana, elevenses was a persimmon, and by one-thirty my house was fairly clean and I was starving. As usual, starvation made me absolutely incapable of deciding what I wanted to eat, so I wandered around the prepared foods section of the supermarket for ages before I finally settled on some thickly-sliced bread and these four salads. What I really wanted was egg salad, which was naturally not available, but anything creamy was a sufficient substitute.
Though traditional Japanese vegetable dishes are pretty plan, usually just boiled in broth or maybe stewed with ground sesame, the introduction of mayonnaise to the home cook's arsenal has spawned an array of east-meets-west side dishes. Potato salad and egg salad, ever popular as sandwich fillings as well as on their own, are the most common, but the macaroni salad at the top left in the first photo is also classic. It includes bits of cabbage, cucumber, carrot, and (of course!) corn. The gobo salad, above and at the bottom left in the first salad, is a creation harkening back to the traditional gobo dish, kinpira, a spicy salad of matchstick burdock (gobo), carrots, and lotus root (renkon). Here, everything you'd expect in kinpira is present, but there's also a creamy sesame dressing holding it all together and nicely contrasting the spiciness.

The macaroni salad came in a more-stylish-than-usual plastic tray designed to look like newsprint. At first glance, I thought it was English, but if you look closely you'll see that in fact the words are nonsense. I wonder who had the job of typing it up!

As for the other salads, the tofu one was unexciting, but the pumpkin one was a terrible disappointment. It had chickeny undertones, even though there was no sign of any meat in the ingredients list. I took a bite or two, but threw the rest away. No reason to mar the memory of my beloved kabocha.

Last Cakes at Sadaharu Aoki

Whenever I go to Tokyo Midtown, I make a point of swinging by the Sadaharu Aoki shop window. Just looking at the brightly colored, whimsically adorned cakes and pastries always gives me a little jolt of happiness. Though I don't buy cake every time I pass by, I have managed to try almost every type of cake they have, so when I went there last week for the last time, the choice was easy - I just got the only two flavors I had never bought before. One of them, pictured above, was a seasonal special combining chestnut, hazelnut, and chocolate with lemon, a surprising combination. I wasn't thrilled with the chestnut-chocolate combination the last time I encountered it, but the hazelnuts, a natural chocolate partner, pulled it together here. I'm still not sure about the lemon, though I didn't mind it terribly. The texture combination was interesting, as well: a crumbly hazelnut crust, a layer of slightly crunchy chestnut-hazelnut cream, chocolate mouse and very thin lemon gel in alternating layers, and the thin, black, syrupy chocolate coating that contrasts so beautifully with the vivid colors in many of Sadaharu Aoki's desserts. The ends were crunchy with crushed hazelnuts and cocoa nibs, and the candied chestnuts and hazelnuts on top were delicious.

The other cake I'd never had before was the plainest of the line-up (which explains why it had never enticed me enough to buy it). It's a simple cheesecake, very light and fluffy, and an entirely different species from the heavy American-style version. Its crust and the cookie on top were hazelnut, but not as intense as in the first cake. Spread across the top was a very thin but intensely lemony jelly glaze, not a bit out of place here. Though not as visually exciting as its neighbors in the pastry case, the minimalist design of squares and shades of beige, crowned by that single narrow black curve of chocolate, is still very appealing, and the simplicity of its three synchronous flavors was perfectly satisfying.

Home Roppongi

It seems to be a law of dining out that the best places are the hardest to find. Every city guidebook will tell you to avoid restaurants catering to tourists around the major sightseeing areas, but unless you have local friends or good luck it can be hard to hit upon the dark alley that will yield the hidden treasure you're seeking. Home is one of those impossible-to-discover gems. It's an organic restaurant with an eco-chic, trendy-traditional vibe, which here means lots of polished wood, potted and hanging plants, long counters rather than individual tables, and unmatched pottery dishes with individual character. It's tucked away on a side street a good distance from any subway station, and occupies the third and fourth floors of a nondescript building. Though I passed nearby it every day on my way to work, I never would have known it was there if not for a friend's introduction.
Home offers a lunch set including their organic salad bar, pictured at the top, plus a choice of the day's special or several regular items. A few days ago, the special was the omurice above, which my friend ordered. Omurice is one of those delightful Japanese adaptations of western food: a soft, fluffy omelette wrapped around rice flavored with ketchup and other ingredients, all doused with some sort of sauce. The one above had bits of chicken stir fried with the rice, and an alfredo-like cheesy cream sauce.
I had the natto-jiru lunch, a vegetarian option that's always on the menu, though the ingredients of the soup and the pickles in the long rectangular relish tray do change slightly from time to time. The soup is a broth made with natto, the infamous fermented soybeans of deeply savory, slightly funky flavor. Natto is much lauded for its healthful qualities but loathed by most foreigners and many Japanese as well. It's an acquired taste, but not all that different from smelly cheese, and I quite like it. Besides natto, the soup also contains bite-sized pieces of firm tofu, strips of flat, fried tofu (aburage), sliced scallions, and mushrooms. The pickles, from left to right, are radish, sour plum (umeboshi), and chrysanthemum petals. The petals had a soapy, leafy taste, exactly what you'd expect from the flowers' scent, and they were the only part of my lunch that I left unfinished.

The salad bar is just as coolly minimalist as the decor - just a few rustically cut types of organic vegetables set out in glass bowls and labelled with their provenance. Though you end up with something more like a plate of crudites to be enjoyed with the three very good dressing options rather than a normal salad, the vegetables are wonderfully fresh and flavorful, without any of the wilting lettuce or canned items all too common on salad bars elsewhere. The plate above contains a spicy ruffled dark green leaf, maybe radish or wasabi (I forgot to read the label), mild, juicy pieces of raw cabbage, and rough-hewn cucumber and carrot sticks.

Home

Minato-ku, Roppongi 3-17-2

Cosmo Roppongi 3F

3-6459-1330

Fruit by Post

After all these years of walking past fancy gift fruit shops, today I became the recipient of a box of gift fruit myself! A friend had warned me to expect a present in the mail, but she didn't give me any clue as to what it might be. I was surprised by the size and weight of the box the delivery man handed me, but when I had signed for it and taken it inside, I noticed the "kudamono" label. Fruit! I immediately reached for my camera.
Beneath the pretty gift wrap, in a bright green heavy cardboard box and swaddled in layers of bubble wrap, protective foam, and color-coordinated gauze, were three persimmons! Here in Japan, persimmons are probably the quintessential fall fruit, even more so than pears and apples. Their season is so short, and their bright orange skin and flesh so reminiscent of autumn leaves, that they're ideal for summoning Proustian images of crisp mornings, early sunsets, and chilly evenings. The longer, heart-shaped, bitter type of persimmon is hung in strings to dry for months, but these squat, pumpkin-shaped Fuyugaki are sweet and perfect for eating fresh. Some people peel them and cut them into dainty bite-sized pieces, served with a toothpick or, more elegantly, with a tiny dessert fork. I like to eat them out of hand, nibbling through the tough skin and taking care to keep the soft inside from bursting into juiciness on my chin.
My gift box came with a lengthy description of the history, geography, distinctive points, and taste of the Fuyugaki variety of persimmon. I'm not sure if all this is necessary to enjoy the fruit, but it does add to the impression of their being something of great value. I would be interested in seeing the descriptive note that comes with that square watermelon...

My Last Lunch (Probably) in Ark Hills

Ark Hills, the complex of housing, offices, shops, and restaurants near the office where I worked until last Friday, is the first place I lived in Tokyo, and the first area with which I felt familiar. It's nicely laid out and upscale, frequented by lots of foreigners and businesspeople who live and work nearby. The restaurants, most serving non-Japanese cuisine, change at a fairly rapid pace, and there are only a few that have been there the entire two years I've been coming to them. Randy, where I went with a friend from my old office for what will probably be my last ever lunch in Ark Hills, is the third cafe to occupy the site at the top of the hill across from the rest of the complex. It's billed as "Beverly Hills/Tokyo" but I can't find any evidence online that such a place exists in Beverly Hills, USA. However, it's a very pleasant restaurant - the ambience inside is cozy, there's a wide terrace for seasonal outdoor seating, and the menu, though short, is diverse and tasty. Also, it boasts a large display case of cakes and sweets in front - always a good sign!
My friend ordered the salad lunch, which comes with a small bowl of soup (there was a choice of minestrone or the daily special, sweet potato), a plate of bread, and three types of jam. The salad was abundant and colorful, with all kinds of tender baby vegetables strewn across the lettuce leaves - I noticed sugar snap peas, asparagus, steamed broccoli, cauliflower, and carrots. Considering how difficult it can sometimes be to find vegetables (not to mention vegetarian options) when eating out, Randy is a real oasis.
My choice was the mushroom curry, a baking-hot pottery bowl containing a Japanese-style curried stew of shimeji, shiitake, button, and maybe eringi mushrooms as well, with rice at the bottom and cheese melted on top. It came with a small side salad. Japanese curry is sweet, thick, and just barely spiced with the warm flavor of curry powder, and it soaks deliciously into rice. The combination of mushrooms, cheese, and rice, is something I often make for myself, and this dish was perfect for a cloudy, slightly chilly fall day. Though the bowl looked small, it was very filling, and I ended up having to pass on the delicious-looking cakes, after all. Even though I won't likely have another chance to visit Randy, I hope it manages to stay in business longer than its predecessors at this location.
Randy

Minato-ku, Roppongi 1-3-37

Ark Hills Annex

3-3568-2888

Autumn Cakes at Petit Decorer

It's been a while since I went to Petit Decorer, the tiny patisserie at the end of my street, and as I have to pass the window and smile at the girl behind the counter every night on my way home from work, I was starting to feel guilty. Also, I'd noticed that there were a number of new cakes that I hadn't had a chance to try yet, so I could no longer excuse my failure to support my local pastry chef by reasoning that I'd already bought everything they sell at least once. I was tempted to go with my old favorite, the Mont Blanc, or the Tiramisu Roll Cake, both of which Petit Decorer does very well, but in the interests of keeping it interesting, I compromised on the new-for-fall Kuri Roll Cake instead. Like the Mont Blanc, it's a combination of whipped cream, white cake, and chestnut cream, with chunks of candied chestnuts inside the roll and an irresistibly glittery cut-out chocolate chestnut on top. I also got the chocolate millefeuille, which is just like the vanilla version except that it contains chocolate custard inside and has a snazzy diagonally-dribbled topping of melted chocolate, which strikes me as vaguely Halloween-appropriate. There's something about fall that triggers sweets-consumption - the cooler weather, the trick-or-treating associations, the harvest season bounty. These cakes fit the bill.

Petit Decorer

Minami-azabu 1-4-21

http://decorer.jp

Ikura-Maguro-Don Lunch at Matsuba Sushi

Ikura, or salmon roe, is one of my favorite Japanese foods. It's also one of my favorite Russian foods, and one of the few Russian words I have no problem remembering or pronouncing, since it's basically the same as in Japanese: ikra. Russians spread it on toast, because it is, after all, caviar - though the eggs are much bigger, and thus differently textured, than ordinary caviar. Japanese mostly eat it on rice, either on sushi or in a rice bowl, or donburi. I love the bright red-orange color of ikura and the way each egg bursts saltily on the tongue, and I think the best rice-bowl combo is the parent-and-child oyakodon of silky-smooth salmon sashimi and bouncy ikura. But when I had lunch at Matsuba Sushi the other day and saw that the daily special was a maguro (tuna) and ikura don, I didn't even have to look at the rest of the menu.
Like many other Japanese restaurants, Matsuba Sushi offers lunch specials consisting of the main dish plus a few extras included in the price. Here, it's miso soup and a chawanmushi. Literally "steamed tea cup," chawanmushi is an egg custard with assorted goodies, usually shrimp or vegetables, buried inside. This one was very simple, containing just a ginko nut and a shrimp, plus the mitsuba leaves on top. The miso soup was also plain, with just a bit of wakame seaweed floating in the cloudy broth. But with a big rice bowl covered with tuna, ikura, and a few slices of pickled daikon radish and ginger, I didn't really need anything fancy on the side.

Matsuba Sushi

Minato-ku, Roppongi 1-6-1

Izumi Garden Tower, 2F

3-3568-6653

TGI Friday's, Roppongi

TGI Friday's was never on my list of must-go restaurants, either in the US or in Tokyo, but when a friend half-jokingly suggested it, I was on board right away. It's always fun to see how American culture gets reinterpreted by and for the Japanese, and Friday's didn't disappoint. From the waiters in cowboy bandannas to the overstuffed red vinyl booth benches, the atmosphere was about as stereotypically American as you can get. The water came in huge, ice-filled glasses, a striped straw sticking up the middle. The menu offered a perplexingly boundless choice of heart-unhealthy fare. But Americans know that when faced with options, someone's got to be the decider, and that someone is us.
So decide we did, first on a shared appetizer of fried macaroni and cheese. I don't know if this reflects badly on my patriotism, but I had never heard of this particular poison, despite the fact that it would have fit in seamlessly on the Southern menus and cafeteria lines of my Alabama childhood. Don't ask me how mac and cheese can be turned into fried cubes - but apparently it can. They were greasily delicious.
Just because this was TGI Friday's doesn't mean everything on the menu was as American as fried mac and cheese, though. As soon as I saw that they had mentaiko spaghetti, I knew what I was having for lunch. The creamy sauce of spicy pink fish-roe, the big pile of shredded nori and daikon radish sprouts, and the long strands of pasta are a killer combination that I only wish was available on the Friday's menu back home. As the placemat says: The Taste of Texas. The Passion of Mexico. Just where mentaiko spaghetti fits into that ethos I'm not sure, but I definitely enjoyed it.

TGI Friday's

Roppongi 3-12-6

3-5412-7555

and other locations across Japan

Organic House

Last week I wrote about getting a 250 cc cup of soup for 610 yen, which I considered something of a scam. I'm not sure why but 610 yen doesn't seem all that much at other restaurants I frequent for lunch - most have a set lunch menu that runs an average of 900 yen, and while it does include more than soup, it's still kind of a lot considering what you get. Yet for some reason I never feel ripped off. I think it's just something about soup...
By weight, I guess Organic House is just as bad a scam as Soup Stock Tokyo - or worse, considering that 218 g is a bit less than 250 cc (at least I think it is). But at Organic House you can get a whole variety of salads, cold and hot dishes, and even soups from the buffet line, and it's all organic, too! It's easy to pile up your plate and come in well above 218 g, of course, which hikes up the price. Both photos below cost me a little more than the one at the top.
Though everything I've tried on the Organic House buffet has been pretty good, they don't change the options very often, making it a little boring to eat there every day. The spinach with ground sesame seeds, a common Japanese dish that's jarringly sweet, is good, as are the pickles and the fried fish with eggplants and grated radish. The salmon, below, is from the hot line, and is a bit dry and sweet. While most of the dishes are at least vaguely Japanese, they do have a few Italianesque offerings, such as the boiled egg and cherry tomato salad with a green mayonnaise sauce reminiscent of pesto and the pumpkin sprinkled with almonds, raisins, and a mysterious white drizzle that might well be mayo again.
The takeaway boxes are available in a variety of sizes. This is the mid-size option, but there's a smaller box as well as a large, circular one. You can buy rice (white or white mixed with brown) on the side, as well as your choice of soup (miso, meat, or pumpkin). In addition to takeaway, there are also artily curved plastic plates you can use to eat in the cafe. It seems like a popular place, and though it only opened a few months ago it looks like it might hold out for a long tenure in this location.

Organic House

Akasaka 1-12-32

Ark Mori Bldg. 1F

3-3583-3931

and other locations around Tokyo

Fruity Vegan Coffee Cake

I'm moving in 25 days, so the race is on to eat up everything in my cupboards before I go. When I left Nashville, I remember Yuri and I did our best to finish two half-finished half-gallons of ice cream, sitting on the wall to wall carpet in the furniture-less room, using plastic spoons. Fortunately I have much less food left over this time around, but what I do have is jars and jars of different flavors of honey and jam, as well as some baking staples and a monster bag of raisins.
What I'll do with the raisins I have yet to figure out, but most of my flour, white sugar, and olive oil were conveniently dispatched by this vegan coffee cake. As I used water and the liquid from the preserves rather than the soy milk specified in the original recipe, it turned out more pastry than cakelike, something like a superthick fruit cobbler. Not that that's really a problem. It's extremely moist, rich, and sweet, and even cut into small squares each piece is quite filling. The flavor of the olive oil is subtle, but it's definitely there, giving the cake a little exotic je ne sais quois. Any flavor of preserves, jam, or fresh or dried fruit would probably do just as well, but dates or the figs I use probably go especially well with the olive oil. I'd try making it again to use up some of those raisins... but I've sold my cake pan and oven.
Recipe:

2.5 cups flour

1/2 cup sugar

1 tsp baking powder

3/4 tsp salt

2/3 cup olive oil

2/3 cup syrup from fruit preserves

1/2 cup water

2 tsp vinegar (or lemon juice)

2 tsp vanilla

1 jar fruit preserves (approx. 2 cups)

2-3 tablespoons brown sugar, for sprinkling

Preheat oven to 180C/350 F. Line a baking dish with foil. The smaller the dish, the taller your cake will turn out. I used a 9 x 9 square dish, and the batter rose in the oven to fill it perfectly.

Sift dry ingredients together in a large bowl, mixing well. In another bowl or measuring cup, stir together liquid ingredients. Add liquid to dry and stir to make a thick batter. Pour half the batter into the prepared dish. Spoon the fruit preserves evenly over the batter. Pour the remaining batter on top of the fruit and sprinkle with the brown sugar. Bake for 80-100 minutes, or until a tester comes out clean. You may need to tent with foil to prevent the top becoming too brown.

Soup Stock Tokyo

Tokyo is reputed to be one of the most expensive cities in the world. I don't usually notice that it is, apart from the appalling exchange rate (about 82 yen to the dollar) and the occasional melon worth its weight in gold. Fruit boutiques, though, seem to belong to that planet also occupied by Louis Vuitton and Porche, where stratospheric prices are justified by the product's status and craftsmanship. Could a humble cup of soup ever aspire to be part of that world?
Well, I'm not saying 610 yen for 250 milliliters of vegetable soup is quite in the same category as a thousand-dollar wallet... but if I thought I could get away with a soup cafe that charged that kind of price in the US, I'd be opening one tomorrow. Soup Stock Tokyo serves nothing but soup, rice, bread, and Japanese-style curry, and the cheapest item on the menu is this "R" for regular sized cup of soup, on its own. Add bread or rice to make a lunch set, and the price goes up to 760 yen. You can also choose two soups in an even smaller size, plus rice, to make a 900 yen set. Considering that soup, rice, and bread are some of the cheapest things to make (soup kitchens, anyone?) this seems like highway robbery. Yet the shop is always crowded and today, an admittedly soup-friendly cold and rainy one, there was a line out the door.
One reason for its popularity might be that it's a healthy alternative for people who eat out every day; each type of soup has its calorie content clearly posted and none of them is terribly high. The paper cups actually have a mark on the inside showing the level to which they're to be filled, so you know you aren't exceeding the small serving size. There's a variety of soup flavors, as shown on the website, and the selection changes daily so even if you ate here every day you wouldn't get bored. I chose the vegetarian minestrone, and it was served with a few fresh basil leaves sprinkled on top. The soup was full of chunky pieces of bell pepper and onion, and had a smooth texture that might have come from some kind of added carbohydrate, though there were none of the usual minestrone suspects of noodles or whole beans. With a piece of my homemade bread, it was a light but tasty lunch - though I still don't think the price is justified.
Soup Stock Tokyo

Locations around the Tokyo area

No-Knead Bread

I know that I'm way behind to be blogging about no-knead bread in the fall of 2010. The phenomenon peaked a few years back, and I was there, making no-knead bread along with every single other reader of Mark Bittman's article in the New York Times. I didn't have a blog then, and to tell the truth I wasn't that thrilled with the result. The rustically misshapen loaf didn't taste so different from the other breads I made, and as I've always enjoyed kneading, there seemed to be no good reason to give it up. However, here in Tokyo I don't have a good place to knead, so when I received a package of Kawakami Farm's home-grown wheat flour, I decided to give no-knead bread a second chance.

No-knead bread is a simple recipe and a simple preparation, as you'd expect from a column by The Minimalist. The original recipe calls for 3 cups of flour and 1 5/8 cups water, a teaspoon of salt, and a quarter teaspoon of instant yeast, which are all stirred together and left to ferment for 18 hours. I didn't follow the recipe exactly, but tried to stick with the ratio of flour to water. I accidentally added sugar, thinking it was salt, so my bread had a teaspoon of both. And as I wasn't sure whether my yeast was instant or not, I put in about half a teaspoon instead of a quarter. The photo above shows what it looked like once I'd stirred it all up: a wet, loose batter. I let it sit at room temperature until I went to bed, about three hours later, at which point it looked like this:
Clearly, the yeast was working. I started to worry that it would rise too quickly and maybe even overflow the bowl if I left it out all night. I've often let dough rise in the fridge so I felt more comfortable doing that than following the instructions meant for dough made with half the amount of yeast I'd used (sugar also makes yeast work harder). Into the fridge it went. The next morning, it had big bubbles and was thicker:
When I stirred it, it clung to the sides of the bowl with tenacious strands of gluten. This is what normally happens through kneading, but according to the no-knead theory, 18 hours of rising will accomplish the same thing.
After stirring it down, I divided the dough in half, to bake part today and let the rest stay in the fridge another day or so to develop more gluten and flavor. It was very sticky and difficult to separate, and the bit of flour I sprinkled on my hands to cut down on the gooeyness didn't do a bit of good. But I managed to get it into separate bowls. The green one went back into the refrigerator; the pink one stayed out at room temperature to await its date with the oven.

Two hours later, it had risen all the way up to the rim of the bowl:

To bake, Mark Bittman advises preheating both your oven and your cast-iron casserole at 450 F. My little convection oven only goes up to 220 C, and I'm not sure that's hot enough. In any case, I put my cast iron pot inside and cooked it for ten minutes, then took it out, sloshed some olive oil around in the bottom, and plopped in the dough. It didn't make a nice sizzling sound, so maybe the pot wasn't hot enough - but in any case, I covered it, baked for ten minutes, uncovered it, and baked for another 30 minutes. It did develop a rustic crack and a nice golden crust...
...but the loaf remained disappointingly flat.

Still, there were plenty of air bubbles inside, and the texture was chewy and moist, not at all like the dense hockey-puck loaves I used to make when I first started baking as a teenager. The nutty taste of the wheat was delicious, and perfectly complemented by a thin smear of butter and my homemade grape jelly. I'm curious to try baking the second half of the dough in a few days - I wonder if it will rise any higher, or if this high-liquid no-knead dough in my convection oven is always going to be on the short side?

Giotto's Monts Blanc

A sure sign that fall is here is the proliferation of Mont Blanc cakes in the pastry shops. Although the chestnut-flavored Mont Blanc is, like the strawberry cake, a perennial feature on any self-respecting Japanese cake display, chestnuts are as emblematic of autumn as strawberries are of spring, and the emphasis changes with the season. Some patisseries will add a special, limited-edition Mont Blanc to the lineup, alongside the one they sell all year around, and there are often a few shiny peeled chestnuts, with the spiny husks alongside, resting on the counter above the cakes for additional appeal. A popular way to shake things up is to substitute sweet potato cream for chestnut in the spaghetti-like swirl that is the classic Mont Blanc's distinguishing feature, and you'll find purple-skinned sweet potatoes, or artistic depictions of them at least, adorning those pastry counters.
Giotto is one of the fancy patisseries in the basement of Mitsukoshi that likes to have it both ways. The Mont Blanc they sell all year round is a sleek variation on the normal chestnut-cream nest, a rocketship-shaped tower of straightened piping, with a cookie jauntily sticking out the side. On the inside, the usual white cake with rum-flavored whipped cream is set atop a circle of vanilla-bean-specked custard pudding, and there's a layer of candied chestnuts between cake and cream. The outer piping of buttercream is made from two different varieties of French chestnuts, and is almost as tasty as peanut butter.

Giotto's fancy seasonal variation is the Gin-yose Mont Blanc, which employes not only chestnuts and sweet potatoes but chocolate as well. In the attempt to please every possible taste, it loses the cohesion that any pastry needs to succeed, but I must admit that each disparate element is delicious on its own. The triangles of chocolate and plain pastry are buttery and crisp, the gold-flecked candied chestnuts are moist and rich, the sweet potato cream is earthy, the whipped cream is smooth. The most memorable part of this cake, however, was the chocolate royaltine cookies sandwiching the cream at its base. Not your average butter-and-flour cookie, these are made of tiny specks of caramelized hazelnut wafers baked in a paper thin circle, then dipped in a thin coating of milk chocolate. I have never had anything like it - impossibly crisp, despite the cream, exploding with texture and nutty flavor, the royaltine is a discovery worth all the other elements of this unusual take on the Mont Blanc.

Giotto

Nihonbashi Mitsukoshi

Basement 1st Floor

03-3231-6289

and other locations in Japan