Manju

Then, replying to Gyowo’s interrogation, he announced that as he had as many manju cakes as he wished for, and as he was no more use in this world, he would not mind dying.

My mother opened a large bag and took out four bottles of beer, some manjus and iced cakes.

Smiling, she pours a cup each for herself and Shiro, goes back to the kitchen, and returns with a plate of manju. Each manju is shaped like a maple leaf. / “These are specialties of Hiroshima. You’ll like them because they don’t have bean paste inside. The outside part is like pancakes. Inside they have chocolate or jam. Try one.” She holds the plate toward me. / I take one of the manju and bite into semisweet chocolate. “This is great.” / Michiyo and Shiro are looking at each other and nodding. See, she likes the manju, they must be thinking to each other.

Madara assumes the form of a chubby, mochi-like cat named Nyanko-sensei who loves to drink sake and eat manju and ebi furai—and pretty much anything else.

Angel hummed, their gaze shifting from him to the plate of manju sitting on the bench.

The cream was thick and complimented the pancake-y batter of the manju perfectly. […] “Manju originated from Chinese mantou, that deep fried bread thing you dip in condensed milk that you can get in Binondo. But this is Japanese. And the Japanese version is made with red bean instead of chocolate or custard.[…]”

They say in Slam Dunk that you need to have self-control to grab rebounds, and the girls exhibited a lack of that: they bought up over half of the manju I made. I could never make enough manju. […] “Well, I know that children can’t be eating that many manju, and grabbing manju off the shelf isn’t exactly the same as grabbing rebounds, so why don’t y'all bring that same tenaciousness to your post-manju workouts?[…]”

It also comes with dessert — seasonal potato manju and fruits anmitsu.