Tofu Wasn't What I Expected
first impressions + the tofu recipe you need to try
Dear Sensei,
I almost skipped class that day.
“October 14, 2003: Tofu Day” The words of the syllabus stared at me.
So far, I had enjoyed these deep dives into the fundamentals of Japanese cuisine. Each lesson not only helped me grasp new nuances but also saved me from going hungry as my money ran dangerously low. Despite my rumbling stomach, nothing felt appetizing about a day dedicated to tofu.
As had been my tradition for every day of sushi school, I had devoured the reading assignment. I knew tofu so well, I could have recited its origins, how it’s made, textures, and the exact grammatical moment when tofu becomes dofu. I knew practically everything—except one minor detail. I didn’t know how it tasted.
Like sushi, tofu had never been on my weekly food rotation. If tofu was available in our grocery store, it never graced our shopping cart. In small town Mississippi, tofu wasn’t something you mentioned in polite Southern food society. Tofu was something you heard about on TV or associated with the devout disciples of sprouts and wheatgrass.
The thought of it was so uninspiring that I flipped through our textbook (Japanese Cooking: A Simple Art by Shizuo Tsuji), hoping to find some clue, some glimmer of hope that tofu had special merits in flavor. I reread a recipe for Agedashi Dofu. Tsuji-san described the dish as follows: “The ingredients are very simple and there is no new twist to the deep-frying technique, but the flavor is sophisticated.” That told me nothing.
In class, I watched my classmates light up, Sensei, as you placed a few prepared dishes in front of us. Some pointed eagerly, recalling each dish fondly. But before we even had a chance to sample them, you placed a jiggly block in your palm and with a swift motion of your Western knife, cut it into perfect cubes. Then, you placed a cube in each of our hands.
Everyone else eagerly plopped it into their mouths.
I must have hesitated too long because you stared at me over the top of your thick black glasses. I raised the cube to my mouth. Would it be rubbery? Taste like a wet kitchen sponge? Smell weird? I closed my eyes and prayed, Please don’t make me gag. I already stood out in class—the last thing I needed was to be branded a culinary heretic for failing the tofu test.
I braced myself for the worst—only to discover that tofu wasn’t just edible, it was delightful. That plain, unseasoned bite practically melted in my mouth. It was creamy, delicate, and lusciously custardy. As we made our way through each tofu dish that day, I was struck by how the flavors complemented the tofu rather than forced it to be something it wasn’t. This was tofu for the sake of tofu, and that was a very good thing.
And when we finally did get to Agedashi Dofu, breaking through a crispy exterior and watching the thin sauce slide across the custardy center of the tofu was an unexpected delight. Tsuji-san was right. Served with nothing more than freshly grated ginger and chopped scallions, this dish was the definition of sophistication on a tiny plate.
So, Sensei, I came to class that day prepared to endure tofu, not enjoy it. But I learned that we often resist simplicity—flavoring, disguising, and twisting things until they’re unrecognizable. Maybe we do it out of habit or out of fear that simple won’t be enough. But sometimes, food doesn’t need reinvention. Sometimes, it just needs to be itself.
Ingredient Spotlight: Silken Tofu
If I had to pick only one kind of tofu, it would be silken. Of all the tofu varieties, silken tofu shines brightest for me in texture, flavor, and versatility. It is smooth and custardy, and is just as comfortable in a bowl of miso soup as it is in a dessert. But if I’m being honest, I usually just enjoy it straight from the package with a little soy sauce and sesame oil.
Getting silken tofu out of its package in one piece can feel like a delicate operation. For some dishes, that softness is exactly what makes it perfect. For others, pressing it adds a bit of much needed structure. And when adding it to soup, the best way to keep it intact is to skip the cutting board altogether—just hold the block in one hand and slice directly into the pot or bowl with a sharp knife. The less you handle it, the better.
In the U.S., silken tofu is often sold in shelf-stable boxes, making it easy to keep on hand for whenever inspiration strikes. Unlike the water-packed tofu in the refrigerated section, these boxes don’t need refrigeration until opened—just one more reason silken tofu is my favorite.
Silken Tofu Tips
For Cold Dishes or Soups: No pressing needed—just drain and use straight from the package!
For Agedashi Dofu or Frying: Gently press it between paper towels or wrap it in a clean kitchen towel for 10–15 minutes to remove excess moisture.
For Egg Substitute in Baking: Silken tofu adds moisture and structure, making it ideal for cakes, muffins, and pancakes. ¼ cup (about 60g) blended silken tofu = 1 egg
Agedashi Dofu
Agedashi Dofu* might seem like a humble dish, but its simplicity is what makes it special. A barely there, crispy crust, a silky interior, a light dashi-based sauce—each plays a part in creating the perfect balance.
It’s the kind of dish that embodies Japanese culinary philosophy, where texture and subtle seasoning create a sophisticated end result. The beauty of Agedashi Dofu is that it’s neither complicated nor showy, but somehow, it never fails to feel like something special.
*The transition from "tofu" to "dofu" happens when tofu is part of a compound word. Of course, there are always exceptions—like when my publisher decided that '“Age Dashi Tofu” just looked better in my first cookbook, Sushi Secrets.
UPCOMING EVENT: Free Cooking Class!
Join me and Chef Adam Sobel of Cinnamon Snail for a free live-streamed Vegan Bento Box Cooking Class on Sunday, March 30th! I hope to see you there.
Fried tofu with pork: https://panlasangpinoy.com/filipino-foodpork-fried-tofu-tokwat-baboy-recipe/
Taho: https://kitchenconfidante.com/homemade-taho-recipe