The other highlight of the day was spending time in the zen corner of the beanery where fresh tofu skin is made. It’s a surreal landscape of soy protein, with laundry lines of supple, wrinkled soymilk skins hung out to dry in a field of steam. And it smells so good. I grew up with this aroma, where a glass of freshly made soymilk was a morning’s reward for accompanying my grandmother on her grocery trips to the market. It is an unforgettable fragrance, soft and mild yet silky rich, a tease for the senses heralding the pure bliss of having one whole mug of fresh soybean milk all for yourself. Gosh, I’ve just made myself homesick right there.