The Perfect Parfait

Even though we call them parfaits, there is actually a huge variety. This time, I thought I would represent the Showa era and remembered the first time I ever ate a parfait. My hometown is a rural town in Gifu Prefecture, but when I was in elementary school, a coffee shop opened nearby, and my family went there together. That memory of being treated to my first parfait is my earliest experience with them.

In the parfaits back then, underneath the ice cream and whipped cream, there was a rather garish green sauce—I think it was meant to be melon. Even something like that felt like a bit of a luxury to an elementary school student in the Showa era.

As a cake designer, I create various sweets, focusing on custom-made cakes for weddings and manufacturer showcases. On the other hand, as an arts educator, I also engage in activities that nurture children's creativity through making sweets.

Speaking of my childhood memories of parfaits, they had cornflakes at the bottom with whipped cream and vanilla ice cream on top. They were drizzled with chocolate sauce, which I think is the classic old-fashioned parfait, but at the time, I had an image of them as sweets from a dream world.

Recently, parfaits made by pastry chefs have been attracting a lot of attention. Just the other day, I was curious about the parfait by Yusuke Aoki, the executive pastry chef at Four Seasons Hotel Tokyo at Otemachi, so I went to try it.

I usually write as a food essayist, do audio streaming, serve as the representative of a sweets brand, and am involved in food-related projects in various ways. Among them, the parfait is one of the most difficult foods for me.

I'd like to ask Professor Kunieda, the etymology of 'parfait' (French) is the same as the English word 'perfect,' isn't it?

That's right. In English, a parfait is 'perfect.'

Despite that, I've always felt that there are actually very few things that can truly be called a 'perfect' parfait.

This is because, even though a parfait has a lot of volume, its life as a food is incredibly short. A parfait has an aspect of 'momentary art,' and as time passes, it turns into something like a soggy swamp...

Certainly, that beauty and the volume that feels almost impossible to finish are characteristics of the parfait.

I wonder what exactly is 'perfect' about that (laughs). On the other hand, as Ms. Ota mentioned, there is also a delicate world where pastry chefs go through trial and error as if threading a needle. When I have a parfait made by a pastry chef, I feel that a parfait is indeed a food worth showing off, where creators compete in their craftsmanship. I also like going to eat pastry chefs' parfaits, and one that sticks in my memory is 'EMME' in Omotesando.

The sweets at EMME are very popular, aren't they?

EMME is a shop run by a female pastry chef named Miya Enmeiji. What's amazing about her is that she performs various analyses for each menu item and finishes the sweets based on those.

Ms. Enmeiji says her ideal is a 'drinkable parfait' that can be eaten smoothly even after a meal, and for that, temperature and moisture content are important. On one hand, it's interesting that you can taste the creator's vision in a parfait.

But on the other hand, there's also the world of classical parfaits with things like Pocky sticking out of them. When I see those in rural coffee shops, I get excited and end up ordering them. Like, 'Wow, why is there a Pocky sticking out?' (laughs). The fact that you can enjoy them from various perspectives is what makes parfaits fun.

If there's a Pocky sticking out, it feels like a good deal just for that.

I wonder what that magic is all about.

I mentioned that the origin of the Japanese parfait is the French 'parfait,' but if you order a 'parfait' at a restaurant in France, the parfait we know won't come out. The parfait rooted in Japan and the French parfait are fundamentally different things.

If you order a parfait in France, a sweet like a glacé comes out, doesn't it?

It's like an ice cream cake. However, even that isn't a menu item you see every day in French restaurants.

A friend living in Paris said it's something that appears on cafe menus when summer comes.

That's right. It's not quite a sorbet, but it's a cold dessert eaten during the hot season.

I have an image of French parfaits being fruit with something like crème anglaise poured over it.

Actually, what is closer to a Japanese parfait is something called a 'coupe,' which is served as a dessert.

By the way, in a French-French dictionary, 'dessert' is defined as 'a sweet thing served at the end of a meal,' but what's interesting is that it says 'after the cheese.' It even specifically notes 'in France' next to 'after the cheese.' When I learned this, I thought it was a fascinating definition.

That's interesting. It means you have to eat in a proper order. The act of eating only dessert would be a departure from etiquette, wouldn't it?

That's right. The word 'dessert' carries the meaning of 'something served at the end of a meal.' So, French people don't usually go out specifically to eat a parfait; it's generally served as a dessert. When they want to eat a parfait, they go to a restaurant, enjoy a meal, and finally order a coupe as dessert.

The coupe eaten in France is a dessert like an American sundae with lots of ice cream piled up. Compared to that, I feel that the Japanese parfait is a unique thing that also incorporates a characteristically Japanese worldview.

Japanese people are very good at incorporating seasonal scenes into sweets. I feel like the Japanese parfait was born by adding a Japanese-style approach to the French parfait or the American sundae.

The world of Japanese sweets often focuses on the four seasons. Is it part of Japanese sweets culture to delicately add a sense of the season?

Certainly, even with wagashi (Japanese sweets), I've been told that the cross-section of a walnut kneaded into mochi is 'a crow flying in the dawn sky.' It makes me think humans are truly creatures of imagination, but does that kind of culture exist in France too?

I feel there aren't as many menus that are as conscious of the four seasons as in Japan. Of course, it's a country rich in fruit, so figs and strawberries are often eaten as seasonal fruits, but I think it's rare to specifically weave the four seasons into the cuisine itself.

For today, I went to eat a parfait at the Yamanoue Hotel in Ochanomizu, and since it's now September, the menu had changed to an autumn one using chestnuts. That kind of thematic approach isn't very common in France.

I really resonated with Ms. Ota's comment that the Japanese parfait has a different worldview from the American sundae. This is because sundaes are arranged horizontally, aren't they?

Exactly.

Parfaits use a vertical glass. I think that's also very important. In a sense, there's a structure that doesn't leave freedom to the eater, or rather, it has a self-centered aspect in a good way.

I have a theory that shortcakes definitely taste better when eaten from the 'back' (laughs), and sundaes allow that kind of freedom for the eater, but with a parfait, you have no choice but to eat from the top. The parfait glass has a function of 'binding the eater.' I wondered if that's exactly why it's easy to create.

The parfait glass also supports the creator. For things without a container like cakes or puddings, you have to make sure they maintain their shape when the mold is removed, so the texture is determined to some extent. However, with a parfait, because there is a glass, you can put in both hard and soft things, and you can use sauces or olive oil, so in that sense, it's easy to make.

Since it's also based on the premise of being eaten immediately, you can include things that are okay to melt.

Yes, you can also include ice cream.

A parfait really is momentary art.

Ms. Ota, how do you get inspiration when making parfaits or sweets?

In my case, I usually have something I want to make first and work toward that, so I sometimes get inspiration from things completely unrelated to food, like works of art.

Parfaits are like fashion in that they have 'modes,' and cuisine is also a world where trends change quickly. There are times when salty flavors are preferred, times when sweets gain popularity, or when soft textures become a boom. I often create while keeping trend changes in the back of my mind and combining them with my sources of inspiration.

I often feel that the experience of eating food is very raw, but compared to fashion, which is chosen based on the sensation against the skin or the silhouette when worn, taste is something you feel by putting it directly into your mouth. When starchy things enter, they gelatinize and create a smooth texture, and some ingredients fizz when mixed with saliva.

Furthermore, in the case of a parfait, there's visual beauty and an entertainment element like digging through it, and there's an amazing quality where various senses intersect and enter the body. Since you can also combine mode-like sensibilities like fashion, I think there's certainly a power that seeks something perfect.

The experience of eating a parfait has something more than just having a meal.

Yusuke Aoki's parfait was filled with figs, but since the surface was caramelized (a cooking method where sugar is heated to create browning and aroma), it had a crispy and fragrant texture at first. But underneath, it's still raw fig, so the taste changes as you eat.

What surprised me was that it contained balsamic vinegar. Mr. Aoki's delicate attention to detail was infused into the flavor and texture.

So a faint acidity was added with balsamic vinegar.

It's an unexpected combination, but by 'marrying' (harmonizing multiple flavors) with the sweetness of the fig in the mouth, it becomes incredibly delicious. I was truly surprised that he created it while thinking that far ahead about the change in taste when they come together in the mouth.

A parfait is truly a food with a high volume of information.

I have two ways of eating sweets: one is when I want to enjoy the creator's vision like Ms. Ota. At those times, I concentrate on receiving various pieces of information, so if I'm tired, I can't eat a parfait.

On the other hand, when I'm tired and want to be healed, I want to eat sweets with a limited number of flavors, like cream puffs or puddings. Simple things have the merit of being able to be eaten on one's own terms. My way of eating changes completely depending on the 'personality' of the sweet.

Related to the topic of taste, there is an interesting description in Flaubert's 'Madame Bovary' where a character is shocked by ice cream.

The protagonist, a woman named Emma, marries a doctor. Emma is a romantic woman who had the illusion that her dreams would come true through marriage. However, after getting married, she begins to feel that something is wrong. Eventually, an aristocrat treated by her husband invites the two of them to a party, and at that event, Emma tastes ice cream. At that moment, the sensation, coldness, and sweetness of the ice cream entering her mouth—just as Ms. Ota described—make her feel ecstatic. This becomes a very important scene at the beginning of the story, and by eating the ice cream, Emma realizes that this is the kind of world she was seeking. By touching the ice-cream-like world of the aristocrats, she becomes disillusioned with reality, and from there, her downfall begins...

That's scary, but it sounds interesting.

I really like this scene that sensually depicts 'sweetness,' and I always remember it when I eat something sweet.

Certainly, sweetness is a bit of a frightening world. Taste is different for every person and cannot be shared.

Salt is a necessity for humans, but sugar is a luxury, isn't it? It's not something absolutely necessary for living, and in fact, it can sometimes ruin a person.

It's said that sugar was also a display of wealth. I've heard that court sweets were meant to boast the hegemony of an empire the sweeter they were, and after all, sweet things feel like the 'extraterritorial rights' of food. I was raised being told not to play with food, but there's nothing you can play with more than sweet things.

That's true.

Some pastry chefs say, 'Life is salty, but I'd be happy if I could create something that makes life feel sweet just for that moment.' Sweet things have an idealistic side, showing us dreams and allowing us to escape from reality, like in 'Madame Bovary.' But Madame Bovary eventually falls apart, so there's also that kind of fear.

So Emma came to understand the reality she was placed in.

When you go to enjoy a pastry chef's creation, Hirano-san, do you have expectations beyond just tasting the parfait—such as discovering the creator's personality or connecting with their charm?

That's right. Going to eat a parfait is closer to having an omakase full-course meal; it's the opposite of ordering what you want to eat at a casual diner. It feels like savoring everything—the person's creations, their philosophy, and their personality—as a single story.

I have those same expectations, and at the same time, it feels like going on a culinary adventure. I'm looking for new encounters—experiencing changes like acidity following sweetness is an adventure for me. It also feels like reliving the pastry chef's own journey.

So there is the joy of discovering unexpected pairings and the creator's own sense of taste.

I find myself anticipating unknown experiences that happen inside my mouth and within my body.

So you go seeking an experience where your sense of taste is expanded.

"Expansion of taste"—that's a great expression.

I tend to fall in love with people who provide surprising food experiences. But it's also something you can't fully receive unless you're full of energy yourself. When I eat a parfait, I really want to concentrate. I don't want to talk about romance or gossip.

So you eat in silence?

It might be close to wanting to confront that story. I'm interested in how much of a narrative is packed into a single parfait.

For example, something from an old-fashioned coffee shop like a chocolate banana parfait feels like it only has the "introduction" of a four-part story (laughs). In contrast, a parfait carefully thought out by a pastry chef has a flow: after tasting the fruitiness in the "introduction," the ice cream comes in the "development," then herbs or some incredible worldview enters in the "twist," followed by how they wrap up the "conclusion." How much of that narrative structure they include varies completely depending on the pastry chef.

I go to eat parfaits alone, but how about you two?

I get a bit intimidated. I get nervous ordering a parfait by myself.

That's cute.

Are you okay with it, Hirano-san?

I'm generally fine with it.

To me, a parfait feels very special and requires courage. Because of the volume, it's not something I do on the side; it's more like, "Today, I am going to eat a parfait!" and then heading out.

I'm sure some people go for a girls' night out vibe, but in those cases, the conversation becomes the main focus, doesn't it? Kunieda-sensei, what is your state of mind when you go to the Yamanoue Hotel to eat a parfait?

I love the luxurious space surrounded by fine furnishings at the Coffee Parlor Hilltop in the Yamanoue Hotel. Eating a parfait in a place like that makes me feel like today is truly a good day.

I used to serve as a French assistant at Athénée Français in Ochanomizu. At that time, there was a senior colleague who would take me out for drinks after work. Occasionally, they would take me to the bar at the Yamanoue Hotel at the end of the night, and since then, I've gone back every once in a while to savor that atmosphere. On those days, without exaggeration, it feels like I'm dreaming.

The Coffee Parlor Hilltop menu has a Pudding à la Mode, doesn't it?

That Pudding à la Mode contains not only ice cream, whipped cream, and fruit, but also a swan-shaped cream puff. I had never seen a Pudding à la Mode like that before, so I was as shocked as when I first saw Marie Antoinette with a hairstyle that had a ship on top (laughs).

Is topping it with a swan cream puff also a part of Showa-era culture?

Both Pudding à la Mode and parfaits have a kind of charm that comes from their excessiveness.

There's something about the swan cream puff that makes you feel like, "You didn't have to go that far."

I wonder where that spirit of hospitality comes from.

I heard there is a sweet of yours called the "Zero-Gravity Parfait," Ota-san. What kind of creation is it?

The Zero-Gravity Parfait uses a visual effect where, by placing a lid on the parfait glass, the world looks divided between top and bottom when viewed from the side. To express the idea of having no concept of up or down, I placed a biscuit on the rim of the glass and decorated both the top and bottom with cream. The inside of the glass is hollow, creating an image where the cream looks like a reflection in water.

The key point is using meringue for the cream, which allows the bottom cream to maintain its shape for a long time without falling. While whipped cream melts and falls depending on the temperature over time, meringue—which is 90% protein—has the characteristic of maintaining its shape indefinitely, and it will stay in that form for five or six hours even when plated upside down. It's a parfait I created because I wanted to convey the interesting qualities of meringue.

Even if I wanted to eat it, I wouldn't be able to bring myself to break the biscuit.

Meringue also acts like an adhesive, so using the same principle, you can even attach smaller cakes to it. Then, the small cakes stick in an upside-down state, creating a world where the top-bottom relationship inside the glass becomes even more confusing. That's what I turned into a parfait with the name "Zero-Gravity."

The zero-gravity appearance is one thing, but it's also interesting how the fact that the shape doesn't change expresses a sense of transcending time.

I'm glad to hear you say that. I thought it would be more visually interesting to make good use of the space.

Just as there's the term "cross-section appeal" for cakes, parfaits also have the joy of seeing the cross-section. I thought that creating a void there would result in something visually intriguing.

The way the cross-section is shown also has commonalities with how ingredients are handled. For example, figs have a beautiful visual on the sliced surface, so I think a lot about how to display them inside the parfait glass.

Seeing the layers feels very erotic, doesn't it? (laughs)

Cakes are covered in cream, so the surprise comes after you cut them, but parfaits are served with the inside visible, so the plating is crucial.

For someone who actually makes sweets, is the cross-section of a parfait indeed a key point?

Yes. I want to consider the cross-section and the height first and foremost. Pudding à la Mode is a horizontal world, where it might look more beautiful to plate it abundantly—to the point where redcurrants or grapes hang down from the glass—but the basis of a parfait is a vertical world, so I think about building it structurally while looking at the height.

Do you ever draw sketches before you start making a sweet?

I do. In the case of a parfait, I calculate quite a bit at the same time as drawing. I draw while thinking about things like: up to what height should I put this material, where in the cross-section do I want to change it into a pattern, or if I don't change the flavor at this timing, it will probably feel too heavy on the stomach.

How does the final completed form come into view for you?

In the case of a parfait, since it's made by combining various materials like cream, sorbet, and jelly for the bottom layer, there's first a process of completing each one. I combine them in the order I want people to eat them and finally plate them. Within that, I feel it's complete when the main flavor is established.

When making a fig parfait, if the caramelized fig on top is the part I want to convey most, the work of making it is mostly over once the caramelization itself is done. Plating is the presentation—combining the things I've made in order and finishing it off with fine adjustments while looking at the overall balance. For a parfait, the main element is really the key.

I'm sorry to bring up the Showa era again, but I love figs, and that's because I grew up in an all-you-can-eat environment as a child. There was a fig tree in the field of the house where I was born, and my old-fashioned grandmother had a policy that the first fig was for the youngest grandchild to eat.

Back then, we ate figs by peeling them, and the taste and texture were so fresh. There are also varieties that can be eaten as they are, which I recently learned are being used in parfaits and such.

Don't figs have a taste that makes you feel like you're about to "get lost"? For me, it's a precarious taste that makes me lose my sense of place, or for a moment, makes me forget where I am. When figs are in a parfait or paired with prosciutto, it's so mysterious and delicious that I'm like, "What should I do!" Ota-san, do you like figs?

I love them! But as you say, there might be a feeling of "Where am I?" when the fruit crumbles and melts in your mouth. Visually, they are very seductive and picturesque fruits, aren't they? They are a mysterious ingredient that also goes well with acidity like balsamic vinegar.

Fruit is a staple in parfaits, but the expression of the plating changes significantly depending on it. The expression is completely different between a green-themed parfait using Shine Muscat and a chocolate-themed parfait with bananas.

Shine Muscat parfaits are also something that started trending recently.

Unlike Muscat of Alexandria, which you have to peel, you can eat Shine Muscat as it is, right? I heard that because of that, the distribution volume of Shine Muscat has increased tremendously. Apparently, even though there are other delicious varieties in terms of flavor, consumption has grown massively because of that convenience.

I love the parfaits at Royal Host.

What kind of parfaits do they have at Royal Host?

My favorite is the "Strawberry Brûlée Parfait." The top is crunchy, and below that is a layer of brûlée. I'm happy that Royal Host's sweets menu changes with the seasons, like having a chestnut fair in the fall.

They certainly have many seasonal sweets.

Yes, the "Strawberry Brûlée Parfait" is a spring menu item, and its level of perfection is truly incredible.

It's fun to tap the caramelized part at the very top with a spoon, and the brûlée layer below it has nuts and diced bananas, giving it a slightly different character. A little further down is whipped cream, and then vanilla ice cream appears at the bottom, but there's a strawberry sorbet in there too.

It's important that this sorbet makes it very refreshing with its fruitiness and crispness, and finally, strawberry compote comes out. That part also has a lot of fruit flavor and tartness, making it easy to eat until the very end. I think it's really well thought out.

That sounds delicious.

It's amazing that you've memorized the layers (laughs). Since we're online today, I was listening while looking at my browser, and I was surprised because your explanation was exactly like the photo.

I'm happy when I find good parfaits like that out in the world, not just those made by pastry chefs.

This parfait is perfect (laughs).

After all, the use of the top part of the glass is one key point; the visual impression differs depending on whether the ingredients go above that surface. The "Strawberry Brûlée Parfait" caramelizes that area, but some creators use thin biscuits. I felt once again that the visual interest of a parfait is doubled by the expression of the cross-section.

The expression of a parfait is truly an inexhaustible world, with various ways of looking at it, much like a kaleidoscope.

By the way, family restaurants do exist in France to some extent. You can, of course, eat parfaits there. In my experience, they serve banana splits—which I believe originate from America—and McDonald's has sundaes and parfaits.

However, since family restaurants and fast-food chains often use English for their product names, when it comes to something uniquely French, it is still more common to enjoy it as a dessert at the end of a meal in a restaurant.

What about the parfaits of the Showa era, which Ms. Hirano earlier described as having only the "introduction" of the traditional four-part narrative structure (laughs)? Ms. Hirano, do you ever go into those kinds of coffee shops?

Showa-style parfaits have a certain sense of security, don't they? I love going to old-school coffee shops, and while you certainly can't expect perfection, there are moments where, for example, if I order pancakes, the old man running the shop says, "Pancakes, right," disappears into the kitchen, and a moment later, you hear the "ding" of a microwave (laughs).

Then, a microwaved pancake that has absorbed extra moisture comes out, perhaps topped with a mysterious blue sauce, and I find that incredibly endearing. There is a way of engaging with parfaits that isn't just about seeking deliciousness.

In those kinds of coffee shops, just having chocolate sauce on ice cream makes you happy, doesn't it? It's the kind of thing where you can be satisfied with that, not just limited to parfaits.

When I think of Showa-era parfaits, I have a strong impression of the whipped cream. Unlike today's crème chantilly, the whipped cream back then was a bit airy and crumbly. I have an image of parfaits and coffee as a set, where you might put that whipped cream into the coffee you ordered to make it a Vienna coffee.

I mentioned earlier that the closest thing to a Japanese parfait might be a coupe, but hearing this now reminds me of one more thing. In France, there is a dessert where crème chantilly is placed on top of ice cream. When it's on coffee ice cream, it's called a "Café Liégeois," and if it's chocolate ice cream, it's a "Chocolat Liégeois."

"Liégeois" refers to the Belgian city of Liège, and "Café Liégeois" was originally "Vienna Coffee." This is because during World War I, Austria was an enemy of France, so menu names containing "Vienna" were changed to "Liège."

Before that, Vienna coffee was called "Café Viennois," but there is a history of changing Viennois (Vienna) to Liégeois (Liège), leading to it being called "Café Liégeois."

The way of enjoying Vienna coffee that Ms. Ota mentioned is, I think, very close to the French chocolate parfait—what they call "Chocolat Liégeois" or "Café Liégeois."

I see. Perhaps that kind of culture entered Japan after the war and took root in the Showa-era coffee shop culture.

By the way, other desserts topped with whipped cream include "Peach Melba" and "Belle Hélène (Beautiful Helen)." Peach Melba is derived from the name of a singer, and Belle Hélène was named after the title of an operetta written by the composer Jacques Offenbach.

French desserts have a culture of putting a lot of creativity into their naming.

There is also the traditional pastry called "Week-end Citron," isn't there?

That's the cake made with lemons. Is that name in English?

The word "weekend" itself has become established in the French language.

I think the naming is wonderful because it evokes an image of a sweet meant for spending a happy weekend. It's as if the situation and the scenery of eating it come to mind.

After hearing the expression "caramelized figs" earlier, my head is so full of parfaits that I'm practically salivating (laughs).

As Ms. Hirano said, a parfait contains so much information that I've realized once again it's a dessert you eat with all your senses focused. Even before appealing to the sense of taste, it's packed with information that tickles the visual and olfactory senses. An even more incredible experience awaits when you put it in your mouth, and I thought it would be fun to have philosophical discussions while eating something like that.

We should have done this at the Coffee Parlor Hilltop today (laughs).

That sounds lovely. I'd like to make that happen someday.

Let's definitely do it again. I feel like I'm falling deeper and deeper into the parfait rabbit hole.