Colorful three-colored dango (mochi balls) on wooden skewers arranged on black lacquered plates with red trim. Each skewer has pink, white, and green mochi balls. — *Our handmade Japanese sweets showcase - tri-colored hanami dango skewers paired with fluffy daifuku mochi and strawberry mochi.*

Look, I'm going to be real with you—a lot of cooking classes for tourists are about as authentic as those "I ❤️ Tokyo" t-shirts sold at the airport. But when my friend Krystyna and I signed up for this mochi-making class through EatWith, I had no idea how legit it would be.

Our instructor, Miyuki, wasn't some random person who learned to make sweets last week on YouTube. She's a proper Certified Nerikiri Art Instructor who's been at this for over a decade. And instead of being herded around like cattle with 50 other tourists, it was just us and a few other travelers in a small kitchen space.

Three women wearing burgundy aprons posing together in a cooking class. One woman is wearing a pink floral kimono-style top, while the others are wearing casual clothes. One is holding what appears to be mochi. — *Our amazing instructor (center) and fellow mochi enthusiast Krystina (left) - the small class size made for a truly personal experience.*

First up: three-colored dango (those mochi balls on skewers you've definitely seen all over Instagram). Let me tell you—they look deceptively simple, but getting the texture right is no joke. Mine looked like they'd been through a natural disaster, while Krystyna's were somehow perfect. Some things never change.

A close-up of traditional Japanese sweets on a black lacquered plate with red trim. — *Traditional tri-colored dango skewers we made during our mochi workshop.*

The strawberry daifuku nearly broke me—a mochi pocket filled with bean paste and fresh strawberry. "Daifuku" means "great luck," which I desperately needed when it came time to cut these babies in half with what was essentially dental floss. I failed spectacularly, with bean paste everywhere. Zero shame.

What I love about experiences like this versus being shuttled around on a tour bus is that you're actually getting your hands dirty, not just passively consuming culture through a camera lens. There's nothing like the tactile memory of working with your hands to make you feel connected to a place.

A person in a pink floral kimono and white gloves working with a clear bowl containing white powder, likely rice flour for making mochi. — *Our instructor demonstrating the proper technique for mixing the mochi flour.*

We finished by savoring our creations with proper matcha tea. That bitter-sweet combo hits different when you've made it yourself and understand the centuries of tradition behind it.

While the big tourist sites in Tokyo are worth seeing, it's these small, hands-on experiences that stick with you long after you've forgotten which temple was which. And isn't that the whole point? Finding those moments that shift how you see the world—and yourself.

Next time you're traveling solo and feeling weird about diving into the local culture, remember: sometimes the most transformative experiences come with flour-covered hands and at least one embarrassing kitchen fail.