This past summer, I found myself eating a California Roll in a suburban Minnesotan country club. Standing amongst various men and women dressed in pastel polos, tennis sweaters, and khakis, I recalled the hostility with which Midwestern preppies viewed sushi throughout the latter half of the 2000s. Having always been fond of Japanese cuisine, even I–a white male–had remarks made toward me about the oddity of enjoying raw fish; adults would comment on the strangeness of such a young person enjoying foreign cuisines. Yet within a decade, my favorite food seemed to have breached the Country Club’s gates, becoming a commonly enjoyed meal for the white upper-middle-class.
Eating habits have long been used to signal one’s class. This paper concerns the gentrification of Japanese cuisine in Minnesota, especially from a socioeconomic perspective. Why has sushi been transformed into cultural capital for some yet remains taboo for others? How is Japanese cuisine utilized as a means for Americans to assert their distinctiveness from others? Is sushi naturally appealing to the American upper class, or has it been molded to fit bourgeoisie tastes? In my limited time on the East Coast, I have noticed a perception of Japanese food as cosmopolitan. Sushi restaurants are often in upper mid-range prices in Minnesota, whereas New York City has establishments at every price point. Existing research into this phenomenon is limited, especially regarding Midwestern attitudes toward Japanese cuisine. I argue that though Japanese cuisine does not signal cosmopolitanism and has not pierced the fine-dining sphere in Minnesota, it is emerging as a desirable and distinctive fare for the white upper-middle-class due to its exoticism and perceived health benefits. Minnesotans have begun to wield Japanese cuisine as a form of cultural capital and worldliness, and it has acted as a substitute for engaging with the Asian community.
A Brief History of Japanese Cuisine in the US
The first notable group of Japanese immigrants to the US arrived in Hawaii in 1885. They were among contracted laborers from Japan, China, Korea, Puerto Rico, and Portugal sent to work in Hawaii’s sugar plantations. Ethnic segregation hindered cross-cultural exchange, yet Hawaiian Pidgin English emerged as a common language between the workers. The Japanese population in Hawaii steadily grew to over 150,000 by 1940 (Issenberg, 2008). Though Hawaii contained the largest number of Japanese immigrants at the time, California emerged as an epicenter of the mainland US. The first Japanese restaurant in the US may have opened in 1887 in San Francisco; however, Los Angeles became the more popular destination for immigrants following the San Francisco earthquake of 1906 (Farrer et al., 2019). It is here that Little Tokyo surfaced, providing a space for the commercialization of Japanese cuisine. From 1906 to 1908, the number of restaurants in Little Tokyo serving Japanese food increased from one to thirty-four (Ibid.).
However, the first exposure of most white Americans to Japanese culture and food was mainly from missionary accounts (Miller 2015). For example, in 1889 the San Francisco Chronicle newspaper published a story titled ‘Yum Yum at Dinner: Mysteries of the “Jap’s” Cuisine’ (June 23, 1889), outlining a missionary’s experience dining in Tokyo (Farrer et al., 2019). While “exotic” eventually came to be a reflection of cosmopolitanism, it held negative connotations in the early 20th century. American xenophobia toward Japanese people prevented the gentrification of Japanese cuisine; food remained inexorably linked with its people. Racist rhetoric illustrates this connection, with historical descriptions of Japanese labeling them as “barbarians who eat raw fish” (Koyama & Ishige, 1985, p.182).
As the Japanese-American population grew, so too did sushi’s popularity–albeit in white spaces. According to Farrer (2019), “by 1905, Japanese cuisine was a small but established feature of the culinary scene in many American cities […] by the 1950s sukiyaki was so established on the culinary scene in large US cities that it was frequently mentioned as the featured dinner item at elite social parties” (Farrer et al., 2019). Japanese cuisine’s exoticism evolved to reflect knowledge of other cultures and involvement in the globalized economy. Yet this popularization was contained to mostly coastal cities, with Japanese cuisine remaining obscure in the Midwest.
World War II brought this popularization to an abrupt halt, though it eventually led to an increase in Japanese influence in the Midwest. The War Relocation Authority’s forceful movement of Japanese Americans into incarceration camps during the Pacific War evidenced anti-Japanese sentiment in California. During World War II racist rhetoric reached its crux. The Japanese restaurant business was “decimated […] by the 1950s, there were only five or six operating in Los Angeles” (Koyama & Ishige, 1985, p.31). The removal of Japanese Americans from the coast prompted a wave of immigration to smaller Midwestern communities, bringing Japanese cuisine with them. The first Japanese restaurant in Minnesota opened in 1959. Fuji-Ya, translated as “second to none,” was founded by Reiko Weston, a second-generation Japanese immigrant (Peck, 2019). Weston was also responsible for opening the first Minnesotan Teppanyaki restaurant in the 1970s and the first sushi bar in 1981. Thus, the history of mainstream Minnesotan Japanese cuisine is relatively short.
As sushi gradually spread to areas such as the Midwest, especially back in the coastal cities, it became a reflection of class. Hollywood stars also began to visit Japanese restaurants, creating new trends (Isenberg 2007). The New York Times published a review by highly regarded food critic Craig Claiborne in 1963 of two New York City Japanese restaurants, Nippon and Saito, familiarizing a larger audience with Japanese culinary practices (Claiborne, 1963). New York’s posh Harvard Club even opened a sushi bar in 1972 (Issenberg, 2008), though sukiyaki and tempura remained the most popular dishes throughout the 1970s. (Farrer et al., 2019, p.55). The 1987 opening of Nobuyuki ‘Nobu’ Matsuhisa’s Matsuhisa in LA reflected one of the first Japanese high-cuisine restaurants, daring to experiment with new dishes. Chef Nobu’s cuisine drew from his experiences in Argentina and Peru, introducing dishes such as Yellowtail Sashimi with Jalapeño. He eventually opened the restaurant Nobu in NYC in 1993 with actor Robert De Niro and twelve more in cities globally. Chef Nobu popularized the celebrity chef archetype, paving the way for other Japanese chefs to gain widespread popularity. Moreover, he also popularized the expectation for maverick chefs to appeal to the cosmopolitan palate (Stalker, 2018).
Sushi’s success in the 1980s coincided with an economic boom in Japan. Real economic growth averaged 4%, increasing after 1986 until the recession hit in 1992 (Akademī, 2015). Japanese corporations expanded into American cities, bringing white-collar Japanese immigrants and temporary migrants along with Japanese service workers (Issenberg, 2008). Explanations for the growth of Asian cuisine’s popularity in the US vary. Choi attributes the rise to its “massive variety of exotic and familiar flavors that range from bold to subtle, and its association with healthy ingredients and preparation techniques, as well as a growing US Asian population” (Choi et al., 2011). The idea of cities as cultural nodes, fostering globalized financial marketplaces and containing a diverse consumer base, also supports this idea as it provides an environment where diverse cultures and tastes can thrive. As Sassen states, cities cultivate a “new social aesthetic in everyday living,” partially through their eating practices (Sassen 1991, p.335). The popularity of sushi in the US in the 1980s can thus be attributed to a variety of factors including economic growth in Japan, an influx of Japanese immigrants and temporary migrants, and the appeal of sushi’s exotic and healthy flavors. Additionally, the diverse consumer base and cultural atmosphere of cities also played a role in the growth of Japanese cuisine’s popularity.
In a relatively short period, American perceptions of the Japanese as part of a backward culture evolved to embrace the “Cool Japan” mindset (Stalker, 2018). Issenberg (2008) breaks American perceptions of sushi into two distinct phases: its adoption by cosmopolitans and elites in the 1980s and its mass commercialization in the 1990s. “It gained an image of ‘yuppie food’; easy familiarity with sushi held considerable cachet,” he states, before moving onto supermarket shelves (Issenberg, 2008, p.242). Yet sushi remained popular as a mark of high class too; both high- and low-brow Japanese food thrived, albeit separately. For Issenberg, sushi’s broad adoption represented access to complex trade networks and engagement with the global economy. However, the economics of sushi underwent a fundamental shift in the 1990s. Its commercialization increased the demand for lower-payed chefs as compared to specialized Japanese chefs. In turn, non-Japanese people entered the kitchen, typically people of Chinese or other Southeast Asian descent (Stalker, 2018). By 1992, fewer people experimented with Japanese cuisine following a devaluation of its cultural capital. Warde identifies this phenomenon as the “routinization of the exotic” (Warde, 1997, p.61).
Yet it would be overly simplistic to generalize the gentrification of Japanese cuisine as an even development across the US. As Farrer and his co-authors characterize it, Japanese cuisine’s success is a story of “transnational circulation of culinary personnel on a global scale, centered in such major global food cities as New York City” (Farrer et al., 2019, p.23). In my limited experience on the East Coast as an undergraduate university student, I have noticed peers finding significantly more social cachet in their liking of sushi than those from Minnesota; the cosmopolitan allure of sushi in cities has perhaps not breached suburban contexts. This unevenness in the social cachet of sushi across the USA stems from demographics. As of 2019, Los Angeles had 177,000 people identifying as Japanese, New York City had 56,000, and San Francisco had 66,000 (Budiman, 2021). In Minnesota, only 12,861 people identified as Japanese in the 2020 census out of a total population of approximately 5,706,494 people. Japanese people account for 0.225375% of the population of Minnesota, and of those people, 78.6% live in the Twin Cities (Japanese Population – Cultural Communities, 2020).
Current Minnesotan Perceptions of Japanese Cuisine
I used a survey and conducted interviews with Minnesotans to better understand current Minnesotan perceptions of Japanese cuisine. I define the upper-middle-class as those with a college education who earn in the top 15% of incomes in the US, more than $100,000 annually. Most participants fell into this category (see Appendices B & K). Participants were residents of Minnetonka, Edina, and Chanhassen, suburbs within Hennepin County, except for one who recently moved to Los Angeles (Appendix L). It is the most populous county in Minnesota, containing Minneapolis. The population of Japanese in all three counties is approximately 0.1%. Fifteen people participated in the survey, and I conducted interviews with five people. The survey consisted of questions gathering participants’ income, age, dining habits, and opinions towards Japanese cuisine. Although both interviewees and polled participants had guaranteed anonymity, some of the participants’ views towards Japanese cuisine may be artificially positive because I had personal relationships with multiple participants. Thus, admitting their dislike towards the cuisine could reflect negatively on them and elicit negative reactions from others. Additionally, participants’ perceptions of sushi are inevitably influenced by the quality of sushi they have access to. While this will later be discussed, few high-end sushi establishments exist within the Twin Cities. Finally, the sample is not representative of the entire population of Minnesota. These results encapsulate the general attitudes of white upper-middle-class residents of Minnetonka and its neighboring suburbs.
I expected more respondents to state that Japanese cuisine still held negative connotations in their communities. While one person wrote that people are “fearful” of Japanese cuisine and another wrote “exotic/homely,” the rest of the responses were overwhelmingly positive. They included statements such as “positively,” “favorably,” “they love it,” and interestingly “I have only ever heard people say it is good.” Some also tied in a cultural dimension. One respondent said “they value the art of sushi,” another stated they “view Japanese culture with respect and interest,” and another that they “have the opportunity to engage in a different culture.” They reflect Scapp and Seitz’s framing of the restaurant as a “site for gathering food knowledge” and a place to collect cultural experiences (Scapp & Seitz, 1998). The restaurant allows us to lay claim to engaging with other cultures; to display our love and respect for other people. However, self-surveyed Minnesotans tend not to identify with the label cosmopolitan. 9 of the 15 participants claim to never or rarely be described as cosmopolitan (Appendix C). Although many studies into class and food use the word cosmopolitan to identify people, Midwesterners find such a descriptor foreign. One interviewee, who is 19, did not know what the word cosmopolitan meant. Another 53-year-old man described the term as “feminine.” Expecting this given participants’ suburban versus urban background, I wanted to add adjectives that epitomize what a cosmopolitan would be. Most participants said they are often described as worldly or adventurous, and sometimes as spendy (Appendix C). While cosmopolitan is still a taboo label for some, the desire to appear more sophisticated to others through cuisine still applies to Minnesotans.
Authenticity is often sought as one means to display one’s worldly knowledge and sophistication. The most often rated “most important” factor when choosing a Japanese restaurant was indeed authenticity. Bourdieu claims that the upper class’ “commitment to stylization” prioritizes the display of eating “authentic” foods over the actual act of eating. Interview responses backed the idea that culture is highly valued amongst the white upper-middle-class demographic. One interviewee stated that a “lack of authenticity doesn’t stop me from eating [Japanese cuisine].” When told that sushi rolls are an American invention, they stated “then it’s not real Japanese food. It’s wrong for restaurants to claim it’s authentic Japanese if it’s not their culture. Yeah. I think I’ll eat more nigiri.” Despite claiming that authenticity does little to alter their perceptions of the cuisine, when told rolls are less authentic they immediately lost some interest in eating them. Their loss of interest may tie to Hooks’ explanation for white enjoyment of foreign foods: there is “pleasure to be found in the acknowledgment and enjoyment of racial difference . . . [W]ithin commodity culture, ethnicity becomes spice, seasoning that can liven up the dull dish that is mainstream white culture” (Hooks, 1998, p.27). When the white consumer recognizes how their community westernized Japanese cuisine, it becomes less of an “ethnic” food and thus less appealing.
While part of this interest in Japanese food comes from exoticizing the cuisine, I speculate that political correctness is one factor in emphasizing authenticity. Minnetonka is solidly democratic, and the majority (60.77%) voted for the liberal candidate in the 2021 mayoral election (Election Results & Voter Turnout Statistics | City of Minnetonka, MN, n.d.). One interviewee stated, “I don’t want to be canceled, but the first thing that comes to mind when I hear the word ‘Japanese’ are kimonos.” Despite assured anonymity, I noticed this fear of political backlash apparent in multiple interviews and form responses. To them, perhaps “authenticity” reflects cuisine which honors and respects its origins; individuals or groups use sushi “authenticity” as a way to make a political statement by promoting cultural sensitivity and respect. In contrast, not valuing authenticity reflects indifference to the cultural appropriation or misrepresentation of sushi.
However, despite the importance placed on authenticity, the data suggests that it may not be a determining factor in the consumption of sushi. Participants wanted to know who prepared their meals, but only 20% stated their eating habits would change knowing the chefs were not Japanese. Perhaps they want to see themselves as internationally inclusive. Yet, as Stalker (2108) reveals, this desire simultaneously–and paradoxically–works “to legitimize and reproduce status distinctions” (Stalker, 2018, p.28). Another 19-year-old interviewee disclosed how “sushi is very gentrified in Minnesota […] I think it’s wrong for restaurants to Americanize sushi so much, especially when they don’t have Japanese chefs.” His favorite local restaurant’s owner, Myoung Kim, who, from his name, is Korean, retired in 2018. Two white men, Aaron Switz and Mikael Asp, became owners and operators of Yumi’s. Despite this, Yumi’s has since seen increased patronage and expanded into two additional neighborhoods, the suburbs of Cathedral Hill and Edina. When told this, the interviewee said he knew, but that “I’m not the gentrifier. Aaron and his buddy are.” The statement suggests that the interviewee is aware of the concept of gentrification and recognizes that it is taking place in the neighborhood where he is opening a sushi restaurant. The statement implies that he is differentiating himself from “Aaron and his buddy” who are presumably the “gentrifiers” in this context, and he may be trying to distance himself from the negative connotations associated with the term. Consumers like him desire transparency, but their spending does not seem deterred afterward; there is a disconnect between our role as consumers and how we perpetuate gentrification. Furthermore, wielding this term further reflects how sushi has become politicized and plays into “PC culture.” People become uncomfortable with the idea of gentrification, instantly defending themselves against any personal culpability.
Another aspect to consider is white saviorism. As mentioned earlier, Japanese immigrants arrived in Minnesota partially due to racial violence on the coasts. From Japanese cuisine’s earliest introduction to Minnesota, Japanese people may have been framed as victims. As one interviewee stated, “I like to help the Japanese people in my neighborhood,” suggesting they view Japanese people as dependent on white people. Another stated that supporting small Japanese-run businesses is “kind of like reparations.” Frequenting their establishments is thus a means by which the white consumer helps the unprivileged Japanese American, who can then justify consumption through the lens of ethical consumerism. Gentrification, in the eyes of the white consumer, elevates the socioeconomic status of the gentrified.
While some people may feel they are helping minority communities by consuming Japanese cuisine, they can elevate their status at the same time through exclusivity. For large cities, dining where reservations are challenging to come by, foods have high price points, and trendiness communicates exclusivity (Finn, 2017). No interviewees nor people polled cited any of these factors as important when choosing a restaurant (Appendix G). Instead, people attributed their liking of Japanese cuisine to how “only a few skilled chefs can actually make it authentic” and “you can’t cook [sushi] at home.” For some Minnesotans, skill is what makes sushi exclusive; the restaurants themselves are not exclusive, but their cuisine is. Perhaps this explains why despite their emphasis on the quality and authenticity of Japanese cuisine, the majority of people polled ate it monthly or never/rarely, and the vast majority (>80%) typically consumed it in a casual setting (Appendix A). Can Japanese cuisine be both casually consumed and gentrified? Currently in the Midwest, specifically Minneapolis, it seems to be inhabiting a place between fine dining and mid-range as consumers still figure out how to approach it.
The price points of Japanese cuisine reflect its status as mid- or upper-mid-range food. There are approximately 32 Japanese restaurants in Minneapolis on TripAdvisor, and of those 2 are “Fine Dining,” 27 are “Mid Range,” and 2 are “Cheap Eats” (THE 10 BEST Japanese Restaurants in Minneapolis, 2022). Yelp has 4 categories of restaurant prices dependent upon approximate cost per diner:: $= under $10, $$=11-30, $$$=31-60, and $$$$= over $61. Yelp counts approximately 50 Japanese restaurants near Minnetonka (excluding Noodles & Company and fusion), of which 42 are in the “$$” category (Top 10 Best Japanese in Minnetonka, MN, 2022). The lack of Japanese restaurants at high- and low-end prices is likely both due to the relative lack of people of Japanese descentin Minnesota and low consumer demand for sushi at such price points. However, perhaps part of why sushi is not regarded as more cosmopolitan in Minnesota is the lack of fine-dining establishments. Only 3 restaurants are rated as “fine dining” on TripAdvisor, two of which are part of the same location. Those two, Kado no Mise and Kaiseki Furukawa, are located in downtown Minneapolis–an approximately 25-minute drive without traffic from central Minnetonka.
Though there are few expensive Japanese restaurants, almost all allow the white consumer to distinguish their class via healthy eating. Health was the most noted appealing aspect of Japanese cuisine, especially for households with an annual income of over $200,000. As Farrer and his coauthors (2019) state, “This global trend was also facilitated by the image of Japanese food as ‘light’ and ‘healthy’ that was first popularized in the United States.” (Farrer et al., 2019, p.60). One respondent stated, “I can eat a lot and still leave feeling light as a feather.” Elite sensibilities for healthy foods played a major role in the mainstreaming of exotic cuisines, according to Wilson. Japanese cuisine naturally appeals to wealthy white culture, which idolizes the thin body and fetishizes diet culture. Eating such cuisines “helps to shape the class body” to its lean ideal (Bourdieu, 1984/1984, p.611). Indeed, being able to eat healthily regularly has long been a sign of privilege (Warde, 1997). Japanese cuisine, especially sushi, aligns with the ideals of nouvelle cuisine amongst the upper-middle-class: “small portions of very fresh ingredients, with vegetables prominent, sauces light, and decorative presentation paramount” (Ibid., p. 103). Meals that follow this formula are anti-utilitarian, prioritizing both the aesthetics of dining and rejecting over-indulgence. Sushi, which tends to be calorically light, represents a form of caloric restriction and discipline to the white diner while simultaneously displaying their taste. Furthermore, for the managerial class, women’s labor traditionally carries higher value. In the stereotypical professional heterosexual household, both the wife and husband act as essential financial contributors to the household. Working women have less time to devote to cooking and exercising, which underlines their preference for patronizing locations that serve low-calorie products like sushi (Bourdieu, 1984/1984).
In other American cultural contexts, perceptions of Japanese cuisine as healthy may deter consumption. While Finn (1998) writes “the most initially offensive, hardest-to-acquire tastes […] are typically associated with maturity, masculinity, and high social status,” this fails to account for the genderization of specific foods (Finn, 2017, p.3). Traditional notions of masculinity and food revolve around consuming large quantities and red meats–“it behooves a man to eat and drink more,” says Bourdieu (Bourdieu, 1984). The values of the fathers and men around me growing up, despite their middle-class backgrounds, reflected those of the coastal working class. To Bourdieu, “fish tends to be regarded as an unsuitable food for men” because it must “be eaten in a way which totally contradicts the masculine way of eating, that is, with restraint, in small mouthfuls, chewed gently” (Ibid.). Older male surveyors strongly parallel this perception, characterizing sushi as “too tiny” and “feminine.” Midwestern culture, typically characterized by modesty and conservatism, also values meals that embody free choice and plentifulness. Japanese cuisine with set courses, like omakase, completely upsets these ideals.
However, some participants value the experience of eating Japanese cuisine partly because of its radical difference from Midwestern dining. Newness was the second most cited feature–whether it was a “new flavor,” “new experience,” or how its “different” from other cuisines. In a consumerist society, it is an obligation to try new things constantly (Warde, 1997, p.57). Interestingly, these responses all came from people over 40 years old. Why might someone who has repeatedly eaten Japanese cuisine for years still cite its newness as an appealing factor? What about Japanese cuisine stays new to them? I interviewed one such respondent. “The way they present the food changes,” he said. “For example, at Kai’s they always use leaves and sometimes flowers […] they don’t do that in Gianni’s.” Gianni’s is a local steakhouse, significantly more expensive than Kai’s. However, the steak house is quintessentially American, serving significant portions of red meat. The visuals of Japanese cuisine in Minnesota–delicate, purposeful, and artful–are exotic by comparison. Another respondent who patronized one of Minnesota’s only omakase restaurants spoke more about the experience. “The way they serve you courses is incredibly intentional. You’re always waited on, the chef looks like he’s making little pieces of art, and everything follows a specific flow.” Their responses reminded me of how Bourdieu characterized the bourgeoise meal. For the upper crust, dinner follows a specific rhythm; it is a performance “which implies expectations, pauses, restraints” (Bourdieu, 1984).
Yet to what extent have the “foreign” aspects of Japanese cuisine been molded or exaggerated to play into their exoticized role? While perceived with a sense of timeless continuity, Japanese cuisine is a largely modern invention. Many participants generalized the formality and ritual of Japanese cuisine as if every meal in Japan resembled kaiseki. These views are dangerous, according to Issenberg (2008), because they “do not merely falsify history but also distort our understanding of the present” (Issenberg, 2008, p.179).
The Coastal Chasm: Differing Personal Experiences
In Minnetonka High School, my friends and I often talked about food. Two of the six people I sat with at lunch regularly had never tried sushi before or had only tried it once in their lives. When I explained that sushi typically contains raw fish, my friend replied “eww” and rhetorically asked, “why would you eat that?” My two other friends and I quickly defended sushi, lauding its taste in an almost exaggerated manner. While none of us had visited Japan and only 6.5% of my high school’s students were Asian (of which we knew of no Japanese Americans), multiple Japanese restaurants were easily accessible. In Minnetonka, where I grew up, Yumi’s, Kai’s, Sushi Fix, Kona Grill, and Kazoku serve primarily Japanese cuisine within a 12-minute drive.
The total staff of Kai’s, which seats approximately 36 people, typically consists of 5-6 people. The tables are adorned with mock Egyptian hieroglyphics, the seat cushion is imprinted with Mandarin Chinese characters, and on the wall hangs a large kimono (Appendix N). When I pointed out the hieroglyphics to my mom, she said she had never noticed they were not Japanese characters before. She values atmosphere, but she does little to inspect the cultural accuracy of decor, opting instead to accept non-Western motifs as authentic. Specialty sushi rolls range from $16.95 to $21.95. My family used to get Kai’s takeout every other week, treating it as a casual excursion similar to people polled (Appendix I). The other diners were typically white and above their 20s, filling most of the seats in the restaurant. It is located in a small strip mall between an artisanal framing store and a local bakery. Though not “fancy” food, Kai’s is in the heart of Minnetonka’s commercial block. The only two other restaurants in Minnetonka serve American or Italian food, reflecting Japanese cuisine’s importance and prominence in the neighborhood.
When I was younger I went to Yumi’s for small special occasions–receiving good grades, seeing a family friend, etc. We dressed in semi-formal outfits, such as button-ups and khakis. To my memory, I have only seen white people in Yumi’s. It is situated in downtown Excelsior, an affluent suburb with a coastline along Lake Minnetonka. Its menu has sushi ranging from $16.95 to $25.95 and has a more extensive Sake and Japanese whiskey selection. It has since removed prices from its website, which is notably more modern with more UI features than Kai’s. While the interior is replete with Asian paraphernalia–shoji screens, decorative teaware, a replica of The Great Wave–it all appears Japanese. At the highest end is Sushi Fix, with prices ranging from $22.00 to $32.00, with most rolls priced at $28.00. Sushi Fix has the least Japanese-style decor, opting instead for a fairly modern, simplistic interior. However, on their website, the one Asian chef is depicted in samurai armor atop a horse wielding a sword. In contrast, the two other chefs are in casual polos near the water (Appendix M). Thus, Sushi Fix too utilized stereotypical imagery to exoticize its cuisine.
All restaurants within a 12-minute drive of my school, as well as the vast majority of sushi restaurants in Hennepin County, have similar price points, as evidenced by Yelp and TripAdvisor statistics. Each restaurant has similar menus as well, consisting of similar localized rolls like the “Minnetonka Roll,” “Sexy Chanhassen,” or “78th St. Roll.” Their most differing trait is their respective atmospheres. Mennell comments on a recent trend in America where restaurants are utilizing decor to distinguish themselves from competitors because menu offerings have become less unique (Mennell, 2006). Hennepin County sushi restaurants follow this trend, arguably gaining certain reputations more from their decoration than their food. In my experience, the sleek interior of Sushi Fix has amounted to it being considered much classier than other establishments while only being priced at a slightly higher point. The Minnesotan consumer thus distinguishes themselves not only through eating Japanese cuisine but by where they consume it, despite the absence of a rigid price hierarchy of Japanese restaurants.
I decided to visit two Omakase restaurants in New York City and a mid-range sushi restaurant in Middletown, Connecticut. The first one I visited was Sushi Nakazawa in Greenwich. Nakazawa currently holds one Michelin star. The price of Omakase, excluding drinks and tips, is $180 at the Sushi Counter and Lounge Counter, and The Dining Room offers the same Omakase priced at $150. There are 20 courses. The next night I went to Takeda, which describes itself “as a warm and appealing intimate space specializing in Edomae Style Sushi” (Omakase Sushi Takeda, n.d.). The price for omakase, excluding alcohol and tip, is $225 per person. There are 22 courses.
Sushi Nakazawa tries to foster an entire dining experience. Two employees dressed in matching black formal attire greeted me before taking away my backpack and jacket. My short stay in the waiting area awarded me the opportunity to observe other guests. I was surprised that everyone else appeared to be in their 30s or 20s–though we often generalize the popularization of Japanese cuisine to all age groups,
perhaps it is most popular amongst younger generations. Multiple patrons wore clothes with large designer labels, including Louis Vuitton loafers and a Fendi trench coat covered in logos. Whether intentional or not, they were loudly displaying wealth. Eventually, a third employee brought me to my table in the dining area, a candlelit black-lacquer surface with a single red rose. The dining area did not try to be explicitly Japanese–it was a simple, modern, elegant space. Besides my waiter, I interacted with yet another two employees: one who made my matcha and the other who refilled my ginger container. I was also greeted by who I believe to be the owner of the restaurant. Our waiter instructed me on how to consume the sushi: I was to eat it from the right to the left. The meal had the “rhythm” of Bourdieu’s characterization of upper-class meals. The restaurant never informed us of what the finger towels at our table were–it was assumed that I was knowledgeable of proper omakase etiquette. My guest was even corrected by a waiter for using chopsticks, however, we later learned chopsticks could be used for Omakase. Would she have been corrected if she was visibly Japanese? We felt embarrassed for not understanding unspoken rules, another form of cultural capital. Overall, I felt authenticity was less important than sophistication and fashionableness.
Takeda is marked only by a subtle sign on the otherwise all-black, windowless facade. The interior can only sit 8 guests at its single sushi counter. I arrived at 8:20 pm and left at 11:00 pm. Besides a chef and sous-chef, three employees waited on the 8 of us. Yet again, a guest near me commented on the “challenge of finding truly good sushi” in New York City. I was shocked: how could someone from a globalized world hub find it challenging to eat good Japanese food? Was most sushi not authentic enough? Some scholars attribute authenticity as a form of white exoticizing of food, which is inherently tied to class: exotic foods are appealing because they are out of reach to most people (Finnis, 2012). Yet exoticizing was subtle in both omakase establishments if present at all–though the term “authentic” is rife with problems, I did not identify anything overtly exaggerating or misrepresenting Japanese culture.
The restaurant I visited in Middletown, Hachi Sushi, embraced Western decor indicative of fine dining rather than displaying stereotypical Japanese items. White cloth drapes the tables and chairs, photos of European landmarks like the Eiffel Tower adorn the wall, Western classical music plays over the speakers, and a red rose embellishes the napkins. Other patrons wore button-ups and dress shoes–indeed, I felt underdressed. Yet Hachi Sushi is similarly priced to the restaurants in Hennepin County, if not less expensive. While this is a single restaurant, its stark difference from Minnesotan sushi restaurants suggests locals view sushi differently in Middletown. Have these restaurants gentrified sushi any more than those in Minnesota? Is the lack of Japanese paraphernalia a sign that sushi has become more integrated into white society, or does it indicate that sushi is less exoticized in New England? Regardless, all three restaurants portrayed Japanese cuisine as a high cuisine–something Minnesotan restaurants have not fully embraced.
Japanese cuisine in Minnesota has, however, infiltrated high society. The country club I once attended offered cotillion courses for 4th-5th graders and 6th-8th graders. I have retained four memories from that experience: how to do the Foxtrot, the proper dining table silverware arrangement, and to squeeze a shaken hand like a tube of toothpaste. Perhaps most interestingly, however, our dining etiquette lessons included a tutorial on chopstick usage. I did not reflect on the more significant cultural implications of this at the time, but it paralleled Japanese cuisine’s increasing popularity amongst the upper-middle class. All girls were made to wear white silk gloves, and boys were to be in pressed pants and sports jackets. The classes were overwhelming if not entirely white. While we did not learn the manifold subtleties of Japanese dining etiquette, the fact we incorporated any aspects of Japanese cuisine reflects its elevated status. The only other cuisines we learned to eat were French and American. So why are Japanese restaurants in those same suburban communities not as globalized, should one not consider minimalistic modernism a Japanese-inflected space, as those I visited in Connecticut and New York? Why are sushi restaurants upper mid-range and not fine dining?
I believe part of the answer is that an acceptance of Japanese cuisine is not the same as an acceptance of Japanese culture or people. I overheard a host of racist rhetoric while caddying at a neighboring country club, including comments targeted at Japanese people when one player recounted an old business trip to Tokyo. Part of what they said related the small portions of Japanese cuisine to male weakness. The general atmosphere is hostile to liberal ideas, and while people prided themselves on how well-traveled they were, destinations–and their cuisines–were treated as adventures. Perhaps part of why so few respondents identified with the label cosmopolitan is because the term suggests someone is at ease, if not well-versed, with other cultures. However, the label may carry different connotations in urban versus suburban settings. To be “adventurous,” on the other hand, suggests that engaging with foreign cultures involves some degree of danger or risk, therefore characterizing the “other” as backward. Distancing Japanese cuisine from Western cuisine through exaggerated decor and lower prices maintain the white belief in Western superiority while sanctioning consumption to bolster cultural capital.
Conclusion
The Minnesotan white upper-middle class regards Japanese cuisine in a way that ultimately reflects their lack of interaction with Japanese people. They seem to value authenticity, health, and newness, utilizing traditional Japanese imagery to distance it from Western foods. Most Minnesotans I spoke with occupied a place of pseudo-cultural respect. While there is a desire to learn more about and respect Japanese culture through engaging in authentic experiences, this can end up perpetuating dangerous stereotypes. It would seem that sushi does not act to signal cosmopolitanism as it does in larger cities. Rather, Japanese cuisine remains exotic and foreign to the white upper-middle class. They gain cultural capital without needing to engage with Asian people as a whole.
How perceptions towards Japanese cuisine will change globally as a result of, Japan’s economic status, changes in American-Japanese demographics, climate change, or other socio-political factors has yet to be explored. Future research could examine how depleting global fish stocks will likely push fish prices upwards, creating a steeper-yet accessibility barrier for Japanese cuisine. If coastal cities indicate what is to come, Japanese cuisine will likely continue its trajectory to becoming a “high cuisine” in Minnesota. However, the Midwest may retain its current views towards Japanese cuisine partly due to its homogeneity even if prices continue to rise. Ultimately, analyzing opinions on marginalized people’s cuisines remains vital. These studies can reveal the underlying racist and xenophobic attitudes that fuel larger societal inequalities, as well as the rhetoric of cultural respect and admiration that is used to mask them.
Appendix A
Appendix B
Appendix C
Appendix D
Appendix E
Appendix F
Appendix G
Appendix H
Appendix I
Appendix J
Appendix K
Appendix L
Appendix M
Profiles of chefs at Sushi Fix
Appendix N
Tabletop at Kai’s Sushi
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