At our annual bazaar, people look forward to the cultural offerings. Some visit to enjoy delectable Japanese favorites such as karaage chicken and inari sushi.

Among the many featured attractions at its bazaar is a small delicacy that many will attest is a big reason they make the annual trek: Anpan.

An-pan or anpan–a Japanese sweet roll similar to bread filled with red bean paste (“an”), topped with toasted poppy seeds–was first made in 1875 during the Meiji period by a samurai who lost his job with the dissolution of the samurai as a social class. As Japan became increasingly modernized, many samurai began new careers, such as baking.

This luscious item, which fits in the palm of your hand, is a source of affection and attraction at the bazaar, rivaling udon, tuna poke bowls, and, yes, even the illustrious teriyaki chicken. To think, it almost disappeared five years ago.

The creator of Sacramento’s renowned anpan sadly passed away during the worldwide pandemic, while the bazaar was on pause. Not only was Mollie Oto a respected and beloved community leader and owner with her husband, Ted, of Oto’s Marketplace, but she was also the only one who knew all the ingredients of the outer layer of the anpan–the sweet bun.

Like the closely-guarded secret recipes of Coca-Cola and Kentucky Fried Chicken, this version of anpan and its unique bun would not be replicated without a testing regime rivaling Edison's invention of the lightbulb by her niece.

“She told me pretty much how she did it, but I really didn't know exactly how,” said Cynthia Ikami, who now leads the anpan crew at the bazaar. I just knew she used a ‘milk mixture.’ She gave it to me in a big pot and I used it.” She added, no matter how arduous the task of uncovering the secret ingredient, she would persevere. “I wanted to continue her legacy–that's why I wanted to bring this back.”

The full recipe for her anpan with that mysterious component remains unwritten and undisclosed to anyone, even family members. Ikami reverse-engineered through trial and error to decipher and replicate the ingredients as best she could. Using her brother as her taster, she honed in on the elusive, unique taste of the anpan. Maybe not an exact rendition, but close enough to respect and honor Mollie’s memory.

The mochi booth resurfaced in 2024, resembling previous iterations from the pre-COVID era (minus, of course, the significant absence of its founder). Providing the anpan that thousands had coveted for decades wasn’t as easy as looking on YouTube.

Fans of the dessert may not have been able to discern what made this bazaar’s anpan so flavorful; they just knew “something” was unique. No secrets will be divulged here. Suffice it to say, anpan closely resembling that fond memory is back and available at our bazaar.

In addition to anpan, the mochi booth offers an-mochi, kuri manju and multi-colored mochi on a stick. Thanks to the generosity of Osaka-ya, a local mochi store near the temple, which makes and donates the red bean paste, the arduous task of toting 100-pound bags of azuki beans and cooking the “an” is no longer part of the volunteers’ duties.

The genesis of anpan at the Buddhist Church Sacramento harkens back 50 years ago, before finding its home at the bazaar.

During the ‘70s, the Otos and other families supported their children in the Wakaba Band, a stage band sponsored by the Buddhist Church of Sacramento that played at wedding receptions, bazaars and other events. One of the refreshments, sold during intermission at samurai movies screened in the church’s gym to raise funds for music and equipment, was anpan.

Fans of the Wakaba Band from the ‘70s may recall the young musicians included Cindy Kawano, Jeff Adachi, Russell Oto, Michael Oto, Keith Kataoka, Brian Fukui, Jerry Nishizaka, Kerry Kashiwagi, Derrick Adachi and Brian Hatano.

That simple snack, sold along with hot dogs, soda and popcorn during screenings of “Zatoichi” sparked the flash of genius that has become a tradition at Sacramento’s bazaars for over 50 years. Initially offered in a booth with donated traditional baked goods, anpan gained popularity and a following to deserve a dedicated bazaar booth.

Mollie prepped her daughter, Florence Oto-Wong, and niece, Ikami, to take over the booth someday, starting when they were teens. After Mollie’s passing in 2022, Oto-Wong chose to carry on her mom’s work of making the daily assortment of bento at her family’s Oto’s Marketplace, a purveyor of Japanese foods for 65 years.

Ikami leads the mochi booth with a dozen or so women and a few men huddled in a sweltering outdoor kitchen shared with a convection oven and steamer.

Maybe, speculated her daughter, not inheriting the recipe in its entirety was not an oversight. Maybe her mother’s purpose was deeper and inspirational.

“I think the reason she didn’t share the recipe was, she was telling us to ‘do it your way.’ While we might be able to come close to her recipe,” said Oto-Wong, “what we can’t replicate is her passion, dedication and commitment–especially to the church. That’s the lesson I learned. I’m still guided by her example today.”

One tangible remnant of Mollie’s enduring legacy is Grace Hatano, nearly 91 years young, who worked with Mollie as they made anpan for Wakaba’s fundraiser and beyond. Through the years, she was a constant companion, working in the Mochi and More booth at the bazaar and at Oto’s Marketplace during her retirement.

“Day by day, I’m testing myself. I’m surprised I’m still here. I go where I think I need to be doing things and try to stay out of everybody’s way,” said Hatano. She is especially attentive to making sure the basting of the egg mixture that results in the golden hue completely coats each bun.

Another mainstay since the ‘70s, Oto’s sister, Joan Nishikawa, provided a sentiment that is common with many people regarding their loved ones. “Mollie was very open about everything, but nobody thought to ask her about the recipe, because she was always going to be there.”

The enduring tradition that started 50 years ago at those samurai movies attests to the indelible mark left on the community, both by the product and its creator. Many will enjoy anpan at the bazaar, savoring the texture, flavor, and, without knowing, the “secret” ingredient.

No matter the extent of trials, the true missing ingredient, thought to be a milk product, cannot be fully replicated.

That elusive item, in reality, said Oto-Wong, “is my mom’s heart and soul.”

Written by Brian Hatano. Photos courtesy of Florence Oto-Wong and the Buddhist Church of Sacramento archives.

Nikkei West published a version of this article in its July 25 issue.