Sweet Beans: All About Adzuki

Drawn in by the scent of sweet pancakes sizzling between two iron plates, much like the nostalgic aroma of waffle cones in the ice cream parlors of my youth, I had no idea that this would be my first encounter with adzuki beans. I was in Japan for the first time, bearing more sweet teeth than a shark, and all I knew was that this captivating treat needed to be mine. Emerging from the hot press shaped like a rotund fish, everything about this indescribable flavor was a mystery. It wasn’t until long afterward that I discovered the leguminous truth. Given my impossibly picky nature at that time, it’s probably for the best.

Adzuki beans, often referred to as sweet red beans, aren’t called that for nothing. Though they’re traditionally boiled in a sugar syrup to enhance that aspect, wagashi (Japanese sweets) would be nothing without them. As one of the most ancient of legumes, they’ve played a crucial role in the development of society itself. We’re just so lucky that at this point in history, we can simply indulge in both the sweet and savory results.

A Bean With a Dream: A Brief History of Adzuki

The earliest ancestors of adzuki beans may have originated some 50,000 years ago in the foothills of the Himalayas, though they certainly didn’t look like the legume we know and love today. Domesticated adzuki beans can trace their lineage back over 10,000 years, first cultivated in Japan, eventually taking root across all of East Asia. They were one of the first crops subjected to selective breeding, long before the term GMO was bandied about, naturally favoring longer pods with fewer seeds and more consistent coloring.

Aside from their obvious culinary prowess as a foundational ingredient in macrobiotic cookery and modern pantries, they were revered as having magical powers. In both Korean and Japanese folklore, adzuki beans were believed to ward off evil spirits. Their vibrant red color symbolized protection and vitality. For centuries, they’ve been used not only in celebratory sweets like mochi, yokan, and dorayaki (more on that later), but also in temple offerings and new year dishes. Most notably, sekihan, a sticky rice steamed with adzuki, is a traditional harbinger of good luck.

Their name tells a story of accuracy, if not creativity. “Adzuki” comes from a Romanized spelling of the Japanese “azuki” (小豆), which roughly translates to “small bean.” In Chinese, they’re known as “hong dou” (红豆), AKA “red bean” Then, in Vietnamese, they’re called “đậu đỏ;” you guessed it, “red bean.”

What Do Adzuki Beans Taste Like?

Imagine the nutty, creamy softness of chestnuts, the mild sweetness of cooked oats, and the subtly tannic depth of black tea. Adzuki beans have a gentle, earthy flavor, with a surprising natural sweetness that lends itself to desserts. In fact, it wasn’t until my late teens that I even considered using them in any savory preparations.

Texturally, they’re supple but structured. They hold their shape, when a whole bean is desired, while just as easily blending into a silky-smooth puree. You can often find red bean paste (anko) canned with added sugar, which is either completely smooth or left slightly chunky, for making traditional sweets.

Anko

Nutrition For Days

Don’t let their diminutive size fool you; adzuki beans are compact nutritional powerhouses. Exceptionally high in protein and fiber, they’re low fat and high complex carbs, ideal for sustained energy. They’re rich in magnesium, potassium, iron, and zinc, along with proanthocyanidins, which are the same antioxidants found in red wine and berries. Because they’re smaller and less starchy than other beans, many find adzuki easier to digest.

In traditional Chinese medicine, they’re even used as a tonic for the kidneys and bladder, believed to balance yin energy and support circulation.

Macrobiotic principles, which draw from Buddhist philosophy and traditional Eastern medicine, consider adzuki beans to be uniquely balanced. Gentle, grounding, and nourishing, they’re considered the most warming of all beans, and thus, ideal for healing and gaining strength.

Unlike other beans, which can be heavy, gassy, or overly yin (cold and expansive), adzuki are seen as the most energetically balanced legume.

Zenzai

How to Cook Adzuki Beans

Though rarely sold in cans as whole, unsweetened beans, dry adzuki beans are remarkably cooperative. They’re one of the only beans that don’t require pre-soaking no matter the cooking method.

Always start by picking through to remove any stones or shriveled beans. Rinse and drain thoroughly. Use 1 part beans to 4 parts water, and save the salt until after they’re cooked. Macrobiotic cookery suggests adding kombu to the pot, much as you would bay leaves, to improve digestibility, add umami, and minerals like iodine, calcium, and magnesium.

  • Stove Top Method: In a large pot over medium heat, bring to a boil, reduce to low, and simmer uncovered for 40 – 60 minutes.
  • Pressure Cooker: Seal and cook over high pressure for 20 minutes. Allow for a natural release.

They’re done when soft but not split. Drain well and salt to taste.

  • Adzuki beans are also a wonderful candidate for sprouting! Soak for 8 – 12 hours, rinse twice daily, and in 3–4 days, you’ll have crisp, fresh sprouts with a sweet crunch, perfect for grain bowls, wraps, or salads.

IMG_1693 どら焼き dorayaki (wiggle 3D, look at the original size)

How to Use Adzuki Beans

Adzuki beans walk seamlessly between all worlds. Sweet, savory, rustic, refined; there’s a place for them at every table. Given how deeply rooted they are in many time-honored foodways, it’s difficult to compile every possible serving suggestion, or even hone it down to the best hits.

That said, I feel its my duty to at least try.

Japanese Dishes

  • Daifuku (Mochi): Perhaps the most iconic of all, these chewy pounded rice cakes are filled with sweetened adzuki paste (anko.)
  • Dorayaki: Two fluffy pancakes sandwich anko filling in the middle.
  • Yokan: Elegant, sliceable jellied anko made with agar. Firm, refined, and best served chilled with green tea.
  • Zenzai / Oshiruko: Warm red bean soup with mochi dumplings (dango). Soft, sweet, and soul-soothing on cold days.
  • Anmitsu / Mitsumame: Colorful agar cubes, fruits, and anko drizzled with kuromitsu (black sugar syrup), sometimes topped with ice cream for a summertime treat.
  • Taiyaki: Fish-shaped cakes filled with anko. Perfect for a portable treat, they’re closely associated with festivals and street fairs.

  • Manju: Dense steamed or baked buns filled with anko. They can simply be round or shaped like animals, such as birds, leaves, rabbits, and even Totoro!
  • Sekihan: Sticky glutinous rice steamed with adzuki beans, lightly salted. A celebratory dish for birthdays, weddings, and milestones, it symbolizes happiness and good fortune.
  • Amanatto: Candied beans that are lightly dried and coated in sugar, meant for snacking.

Chinese Dishes

  • Hong Dou Tang (紅豆湯): A classic dessert soup made with adzuki beans, often simmered with dried tangerine peel, lotus seeds, or barley. Served warm in the winter or chilled in the summer, it’s comforting, cleansing, and deeply nostalgic.
  • Red Bean Baozi (豆沙包): Soft, pillowy steamed buns filled with sweetened red bean paste. Commonly eaten for breakfast or dim sum, these are pure comfort food—lightly sweet, tender, and portable.
  • Mooncakes: In Mid-Autumn Festival, mooncakes come in many flavors. Sweet red bean paste is a common option, sometimes enriched with lotus seeds or jujubes for added complexity.
  • Red Bean Rice Cake (年糕): Similar to baked mochi, these glutinous rice cakes are studded with whole red beans and are a popular New Year treat, symbolizing luck and prosperity.
  • Red Bean Tangyuan: Chewy glutinous rice dumplings filled with sweet bean paste, served in a clear ginger syrup. Eaten during the Lantern Festival, these symbolize reunion and warmth.

[VIDEO] CÁCH LÀM CHÈ BA MÀU (CHÈ THẬP CẨM) – THREE-COLOR DESSERT

Vietnamese Dishes

  • Chè Đậu Đỏ / Chè Đậu Đen: Adzuki beans simmered with coconut milk and sugar, often served over crushed ice in the summer or warm with sticky rice in the winter.
  • Bánh Rán / Bánh Cam: Crisp, golden sesame-coated rice balls that have been deep-fried, sometimes smothered in a sticky sugar syrup, and filled with smooth red bean paste. Slightly chewy, deeply satisfying, and often found at street stalls.
  • Chè Ba Màu: Often described as “three layer pudding,” these colorful parfaits stack up adzuki bean and mung bean pastes, pandan jelly, and sweet coconut sauce. They’re served icy cold and are extremely popular when it’s hot out.

Modern & Fusion Dishes

  • Red Bean Ice Cream: Popular across Asia and beyond, adzuki bean ice cream has a creamy base with soft bean bits—earthy, sweet, and beautifully unexpected.
  • Adzuki Bean Mousse: Both elegant and earthy, adzuki bean mousse blends the creamy richness of a classic chocolate or vanilla mousse with the subtle sweetness and grounded depth of adzuki beans. It can be the main attraction, or part of a more complex dessert.
  • Smoothies & Lattes: Cooked adzuki beans can instantly pump up the protein and satiating factor for blended drinks.
  • Adzuki Brownies: Forget black bean brownies. Mashed adzuki beans mix seamlessly into batters, adding a nutty depth that plays surprisingly well with chocolate, while creating an uncanny fudge-like texture.
  • Meatless Burgers: Swap in adzuki for any of your favorite bean-based burger patties.
  • Wontons or Dumplings: Especially well-suited as filling for gyoza, AKA pot stickers, whole, mashed, or chopped beans are right at home wrapped up in dumpling skin.
  • Adzuki Hummus and Bean Dip: Anything chickpeas can do, adzuki can, too. It’s especially fun to play with the flavor palate to lean into its Asian origin by incorporating sesame oil, tamari, or a hint of ginger.
  • Spread on Toast: Anko makes a nutritious and tasty substitute for sugary fruit jams. For that matter, it’s just as satisfying in peanut butter sandwiches, or spread on bananas for a quick snack.
  • Soups, Stews, Curry, and Chili: Since adzuki beans hold up so well under pressure, they’re ideal for any simmered savory dish where you want your beans to stay intact.

Adzuki Beans: Past, Present, and Forever

It’s easy to overlook something as small and quiet as an adzuki bean. They’ve been around for thousands of years, unbothered by passing trends. They’ve touched countless lives, found themselves boiled, mashed, candied, fermented, steamed, and simmered, showing up in ceremonial meals and weekday soups. They’ve crossed borders and cultures, changed shape and form, and still managed to stay distinctive, true to form.

In a world where ingredients are constantly being rebranded and revitalized, adzuki beans are steady. They adapt, but they don’t ask for attention. When you cook with them, you’re not just following a recipe. You’re continuing something that began long before you, and will likely continue long after. Everyone should be so fortunate to have adzuki beans in their pantry.

Egged On

Does anyone else have definitively different algorithms across platforms? Facebook seems to think I’m a complete Japanophile, never failing to remind me about sakura season and tips for packing bento boxes, while Instagram (though also owned by Facebook) feeds me a steady diet of gloom, doom, and horrid AI atrocities.

Though it’s been quite some time since I last visited Japan and have little hope of returning anytime soon, you can guess where I’d rather waste my time. Indulging in a bit of mindless scrolling before bed, I came across a very unremarkable video, no longer than 10 seconds at most, highlighting one more piece of evidence that “Japan is living in 2050.” Lo and behold, shelf stable packets of tamago kake sauce to squeeze over rice. Astounding.

Flipping through countless similar, forgettable contributions to this digital wasteland, I quickly moved on. For some reason though, the idea stuck with me. Tamago kake gohan, the most basic dish of hot rice topped with raw egg, could still be easier to make. To me, a lover of all things vegan egg-related, I was secretly captivated. I wanted to recreate this simple pleasure but got caught up in the complications of making a spherified vegan egg yolk, which is diametrically opposed to the elementary nature of the meal. If the egg could just be sauce, since it just gets broken up and stirred into the rice anyway, that changes things.

Dozens if not hundreds of recipes for vegan yolks are floating about on the web at this point, so if mine doesn’t strike your fancy, go off on a Google adventure and take your pick. My point here is that while a perfect golden dome, capable of bursting into unctuous, eggy sauce would look more impressive at first serving, the results are the same: it’s delicious. As someone prone to overthinking, it’s exhausting chasing the best, most perfect, most beautiful, most creative of everything. Tamago kake gohan should require zero thinking.

It’s not pretty and won’t get any likes on social media. I’m okay with that. I’ll make a big batch of egg sauce and rice, pack them separately in the fridge, and have easy food all week. Plus, all you have to do is add tofu for an instant scramble, if you’re more in the mood for that. Additional toppings are optional, but recommended, especially if you eat this frequently, to prevent palate fatigue. It’s good, maybe even great, though not enough to catapult me into 2050. Thank god for that.

Continue reading “Egged On”

Crunch Time: The Supreme Crunchwraps of Austin, TX

For a food icon that set off a craze, inspired innumerable imitators, and changed the very definition of “Mexican” food, the original Crunchwrap Supreme from Taco Bell is a bit of a let down. In how many other instances is the original perpetually surpassed by copycats?

Don’t get me wrong, it will always have a place in the fast food pantheon, especially for having a naturally vegan alternative baked right into the menu. On a long road trip into No Where, America, or when all reasonable establishments have turned in for the night, it’s the absolute height of culinary accomplishments. While paying homage to its legacy, I want to say how much better its become after chefs took notice, and took things into their own hands.

Humble Beginnings

The Crunchwrap Supreme saw a short but meteoric rise to fame right out of the gate. Unveiled as a limited release in 2005, it soon became a permanent staple the following year. A testament to the ingenuity of the Taco Bell creatives, it’s nothing more than the same ingredients (tortillas, lettuce, tomatoes, etc.) repackaged in a novel way to make the eating experience feel brand new.

The vegetarian Black Bean Crunchwrap Supreme was soon to follow, swapping the questionable “ground beef” for beans, which is instantly veganized by the request to make it “fresco style,” AKA, replacing cheese, queso, and sour cream with pico de gallo.

Universal Appeal

Folded into a flat hexagon rather than being rolled like a burrito, the Crunchwrap is all about textural contrast. Grilled layers of tortilla encase a hard tostada shell, creating the signature crunch in the center, flanked by a smattering of legumes and reasonably fresh vegetables. Designed to be doused in hot sauces to taste, it’s anything you want it to be. Unchallenging, comforting in its familiarity, yet different enough to prevent palate fatigue, that winning combination catapulted it to legendary status in no time.

While a potentially game-changing fully plant-based edition was announced by Taco Bell this summer, featuring actual meatless grounds for protein and dairy-free nacho sauce, it was short lived, both in access and overall lifespan. Only a few lucky cities were blessed with this limited entree, unlikely to return or see a wider release. 

Modern Innovations

There will always be a place in my heart for the classic, especially on a budget. However, the next generation of artisan Crunchwraps are what have cemented the humble assembly as a cult classic. While the list of vegan hits is short and savory here in Austin, Texas, across the city, you’ll find indie takes that push the format into bold, brilliant new territory.

Best Vegan Crunchwraps in Austin, Texas


The Vegan Nom

Having made their name as the premier 100% vegan taco truck, I should have known that The Vegan Nom would knock this Tex-Mex legend out of the park, and out of several other parks without stopping. Due to the outdoor nature of the establishment and the absolutely punishing summer heat, their Crunchwrap Supreme was the last one I grabbed on my quest, and was unequivocally my favorite. Resoundingly crunchy, inside and out thanks to an immaculate sear, it’s densely packed with well-seasoned beefless grounds, both shredded vegan cheese and queso, avocado, the standard fleet of fresh veggies, and sour cream. Don’t forget to drench it in jalapeño aioli, which is daintily served on the side but quickly ended up smeared all over my hands, face, pants, shirt, and car. Yes, I did attempt to drink it straight, too.

Revolution Vegan Kitchen

Staking their claim as the #1 rival to Taco Bell, Revolution Vegan Kitchen has strategically titled their entry to the field as a Munch Wrap to avoid potential litigation. If the execs of Yum! Brands got their hands on one of these, they’d be so blown away by the rival that they might just forget to send the cease-and-desist. Everything on this beautiful behemoth is made from scratch, right down to the unbelievably gooey cheese and meaty TVP grounds. That attention to detail and refusal of shortcuts coalesces into a completely grease-less, fresh, and flavorful bundle that still hits all the right notes of nostalgic indulgence.

Mission Burger Co.

It feels like a minor crime to bypass the burgers at Mission Burger Co., but laws don’t apply when we’re talking about The Crunchwrap. This thing is the stuff of legends, absolutely loaded with steaming hot Impossible carne asada. This one is easily the meatiest build on this list, making it exceptionally hearty, satisfying, and downright juicy. Queso, guacamole, and sour cream make it a downright decadent bundle of joy. Expertly griddled on the outside, it’s a marvel of modern engineering that the lettuce stays fresh and crisp inside. Every individual layer could stand alone, full-bodied and well-seasoned, and work just as well together in concert.

Taco Pegaso

Crafted by chef Leslie Durso for a newly introduced vegan menu at Taco Pegaso, the Plant-Based Crunch Wrap was absolutely the standout dish of the whole bill of fare. For one, it’s actually crunchy, corn tostada standing tall in the center despite the weight of multiple sauces bearing down. Abbot’s chorizo plays a starring role for the protein, bringing in a meaty heft and piquant seasoning. You’ve got all the staples to back it up with beans, rice, queso, sour cream, and crisp veggies to lighten the load. Remarkably well-contained, this is one of the cleanest, most structurally sound Crunchwraps I’ve plowed through. As someone liable to end up with half a burrito in their lap on a good day, that’s saying something.

Eldorado Cafe

When you want to spice things up, the Vegan Crunchwrap Supreme from Eldorado Cafe is the thing for you. This one has a real bite from pickled jalapenos, spicy salsa, and homemade chorizo. Their refried black beans are honestly my favorite part; I could eat a big bowl of them, ungarnished, like soup. Local brand Credo queso steps up to provide that gooey, cheesy factor that makes it feel like an indulgence. Granted, it also skews the assembly to err on the wetter side, making it eat more like a sloppy, misshapen burrito than anything else. The crunch is not in the room with us, no matter how good the flavors are.

Wrapping Things Up

What began as a bit of food science and psychology has become a cultural touchstone. The Crunchwrap endures because it adapts, making itself at home amidst the high brow, the low brow, and everything in between. It’s just as likely to show up on a curated vegan menu as it is in a crumpled drive-thru bag. In a city like Austin, where food is both statement and sustenance, the Crunchwrap looms large in our imaginations and on our plates alike, though it lasts longer in the former than on the latter.

Lentils, Through a Different Lens

Some people judge the credibility of a Mediterranean restaurant by its falafel. Others decide its merits based on the hummus. Personally, I decide whether or not its worth a revisit after trying the soup.

Lentil soup, Turkish lentil soup, red lentil soup; whatever subtle variant it goes by on the menu, it should be relatively the same thing: a hot stew redolent of cumin and coriander, onions and garlic, made from red lentils stewed so hard that they simply give up on their corporeal form. There’s no blending needed to create the moderately thick, naturally creamy texture. Hopefully, a small wedge of lemon will come on the side for that final punch of acid, if the kitchen really knows what they’re doing.

Does anyone else order it? Rarely does it seem to grace the tables, other than my own. I don’t care if its made weeks or days or even months in advance, preserved in an icy tomb of a freezer, so long as it comes out steaming and comforting as ever. Yes, it’s simple, as the most difficult dishes are. There’s nowhere to hide mistakes.

I crave it terribly, all year round, despite the equally terrible heat bearing down most of the year. Typically it’s worth the pain (and sweat), but there’s no need to suffer. I’ve recently started taking the matter into my own hands, translating those essential elements into a chilled salad format. Best of all, this rendition cuts the cooking time down into almost nothing, since red lentils soften at the drop of a hat. In fact, that becomes the biggest challenge when you flip the script; instead of simmering them into nothingness, it takes greater finesse to cook them so lightly, that they remain intact.

Sure, I’ll fancy it up a bit with more substantial, forkable vegetables, like a genuine bean salad should be, while staying true to its roots. In the winter, it would be wonderful to take those same tomatoes, bell peppers, and swap in diced carrots, roast them, and serve the whole thing warm instead. That’s an idea to file away for now, as the heat rages on. These days, it’s an absolute delight tucked inside tender pita bread, wrapped up in lavash, or simply served in a generous bowl, always thoroughly chilled.

Yes, soup season is eternal, but so is salad season. There’s no reason why we can’t have both.

Continue reading “Lentils, Through a Different Lens”