Sake Sakura

We made an opera cake consisting of white sponge soaked in pink syrup, cherry blossom-flavored butter cream, and cherry blossom-flavored white bean paste. That may sound odd if you are not used to the idea of beans in dessert, but it was beautifully in line with the theme, I assure you.

Also pictured, though not recommended, was a mousse of soft tofu and cherry blossom honey. The mousse itself was delicious, but our decision to serve it with a paper straw inside of a painted egg left it with a musky, off note. Never serve anything in a goose egg.

Purely for decoration, we adorned some branches from a local cherry tree with little puffs of cotton candy.

Since cherry blossom has a subtle flavor, I wanted to stay true to its subtlety, and let it speak for itself. I prepared a lightly sweetened white tea, and stirred in some preserved cherry blossom powder. The powder is sweet, salty, and dusty pink.

The flavor of the tea itself was softer, even, than the sake and the cherry blossom, so I steeped it to a richer extraction than I would if I were drinking it on its own. I then stirred in preserved cherry blossom powder and simple syrup according to my desire.

Cherry Blossom Tea
1 oz of unobjectionable sake

2 oz of white tea, seasoned with preserved cherry blossom

The tiniest dash of simple syrup.

Looking back on this, it’s sort of ridiculous to call simply for “sake” and “white tea.” Each of these contains a universe of complexity unto itself, but this is also why the simplification is necessary. I think you could pair sake with tea, but tracking those two ingredients down, finding a variant of each that doesn’t clash, and blending them together (warm, of all things!) presents a challenge of connoisseurship for which I am unable to equip you.

The tea here was intended as a foil to the much richer cake that it accompanied. In concert with the other ingredients, it was a pleasant harmony. On its own, it might have been a bit lackluster.

Cheers.