Fugetsu-Do: History Made Delicious

Little Tokyo's oldest shop has sold its elegant mochi during a century of war, hardship and the district's recent renaissance. by Paget Kagy

I felt like a wide-eyed five-year-old loosed in a supermarket candy aisle. But instead of Hershey’s and gummy worms my beady little eyes were darting about a showcase lined with an array of handmade mochi and manju in rainbows of pastel shades.

A tiny old woman rushed to the counter to greet me, her face all crinkled in a wonderfully happy smile. One by one I pointed out the seven lucky mochis I had chosen to go home with me.

“I think that’s it.” I sighed, hoping my smile conveyed something of my regret that, sadly, I was constrained by a caloric budget from indulging the full extent of my sweet yearnings.

With the same happy smile the woman reached above her head and pointed up at the sign that read “8 for $8.80.”

Who can argue with someone that happy? “This one right here,” I said.

Her deft little hands plucked lucky number eight and laid it in the box with my other picks. As I waited for her to dress the box in Japanese-style striped store gift wrap, I glanced around at the aged wooden shelving and weathered floors, little suspecting I was about to sink my teeth into the tenderest morsels derived from a century of Little Tokyo history.

In May of 1903 Seiichi Kito joined thousands of other Japanese immigrants who had been recruited to work on the Pacific Electric Railway. But Seiicho’s dream wasn’t to lay track. By that November he opened a shop on East First Street. Through rain and shine Seiichi delivered his mochi and manju through the downtown streets of what would become L.A.‘s Little Tokyo district.

As the Japanese community grew, so did the demand for Fujetsu-Do’s elegant sweets. Soon Seiicho’s mochi were being enjoyed up and down the coast of Southern California. Family collaboration kept the little mochi shop alive. Every year the Kito family slaved around the clock to fill orders before New Year’s Day.

Roy, the Kitos’s youngest, would eventually take over. The bombing of Pearl Harbor interrupted Roy’s plans to continue the Fugetsu-Do tradition. When Roosevelt signed executive order 9066, the Kito family was forced to liquidate inventory and relocate to the internment camp at Heart Mountain, Wyoming. But that didn’t stop the demand for Roy’s sweets. Once fellow detainees got word of his pastry skills, Roy fell back into the mochi and manju business by taking rice and sugar rations from other internees to craft his famous treats. It was at Heart Mountain that Roy met and married his wife, Kazuko.

Following the war there wasn’t a doubt in the minds of Roy and Kazuko where they would rebuild their lives. The road wasn’t easy. Roy waited tables for 20 cents an hour and for periods the couple was forced to sleep at the Koyasan Temple. But in May 1946, 43 years after his father’s arrival in the US, Roy and Kazuko re-opened Fujetsu-Do on East First Street.

Today, Fujetsu-Do is as much of a family business as it was back in 1903. Brian Kito — the youngest child of Roy and Kazuko — continues to run shop. While thoughts of remodeling have crossed his mind, Brian hesitates.

“Everything I remember about Little Tokyo is gone—except Fugetsu-Do,” a wistful customer of over 30 years remarks. The “old and dated” look (in Brian’s words) of Fujetsu-Do still brings tears to eyes seeing again the days of childhood, relatives long departed and a century of joy, hardship and progress.

Later, I shared my Fugetsu-Do purchases with my family. We were ravished by the delicate shapes, hues and textures of the handshaped pastries. I especially liked the fact that the red bean filling was both abundant and delicately sweetened. They were a refreshing change from the sugar surfeit one normally suffers from a sweet shop visit.