To my family’s great disappointment, the Japanese restaurant located a thirty-second walk from our apartment building in New Jersey is closed on Tuesdays. Called Okinawa Sushi and Grill, the sub-thirty-seat restaurant is the place to go for a quick California roll or unagi don, even if the chicken teriyaki is nothing to think twice about. Yet, my frequenting (except for Tuesdays) of this New Jersey establishment that serves above-average sushi created an even more consequential, unfortunate misunderstanding of the island prefecture for which the restaurant was named. Indeed, though Okinawa is part of Japan and might be construed (by myself and others) as no different than other regions of the Japanese archipelago, the truth is much more complex. Situated closer to Taiwan than Honshu, Okinawa has long been at the center of imperial and occupying forces, be they Japanese, Chinese, or American. Before its annexation by the Japanese military, the long lasting Ryūkyū Kingdom had been at the crossroads of Japan and Qing-dynasty China, maintaining a delicate balance of independence and tributary status to the more powerful nations. Such a balance collapsed in 1879, when Japan took the Ryūkyū Kingdom and attempted to assimilate Okinawans into Japanese identity, economy, and empire. Then, following Japan’s surrender in World War II, the United States military assumed control over Okinawa for nearly three decades. Even though Japan regained control of Okinawa in 1972, U.S. military bases still occupy ten percent of Okinawan land (Lai, 2022). Because of its complicated history—one fraught with colonization and questions of identity—Okinawa differs from Japan in many ways, namely in agriculture, its relationship to the United States during and after the Second World War, and its cuisine. In recent years, American fast-food chains have predominated in Okinawa, and the grammar of traditional kaiseki (and even Ryūkyūan) cuisine is often violated. Such a pattern is not a coincidence. Traditionally, Okinawa has acted as a hybrid culture, featuring syncretic elements of Japanese, Chinese, and Ryūkyūan (with roots in Polynesian) cultures. Since the Second World War, however, Okinawa has added the United States—with its ethnically diverse military—into the mix, allowing for the incorporation of international influence into Okinawan cuisine. Indeed, although Okinawa’s history of colonization is ugly, Okinawans nonetheless used their agency to innovate their hybrid culture into what it is today. Takoraisu—the modern Okinawan mainstay dish featuring Tex-Mex-style beef with Japanese-style rice—provides a perfect case study.
Centuries before Japan surrendered in World War II, the island of Okinawa was home to the Ryūkyūan people, the island’s indigenous ethnic group. From 1429 until Japan invaded Ryūkyū in 1609, the Ryukyuan monarchy successfully ruled the island due to established trade partnerships with Han China. Through the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, Ryūkyū maintained ostensible independence from Japan until it became the Ryūkyū Domain in 1872. Seven years later, the Japanese empire officially annexed Ryūkyū (following Ryukyuan concerns about increased Japanese militarization) and disbanded its centuries-old kingdom (Okinawa Prefectural Government, 2013). Ryūkyū, now Okinawa Prefecture, was integrated into Japan, kickstarting Okinawa’s relationship with colonization (though it had long successfully navigated the Chinese tributary system). Following its 1879 annexation, Japan’s government attempted to assimilate Okinawans into Japan’s identity, economy, and empire (Moriteru, 2001). Yet, Okinawans did not kowtow. Although many facets of Japanese culture permeated Okinawa, notably through the importation of Japanese rice (which could not be grown in Okinawa because of the climate and terrain), Okinawans never fully adopted a wholly Japanese identity. The pattern of Okinawa resisting the will of colonizers would become increasingly important in the aftermath of December 7th, 1941, when the Japanese Air Force bombed Pearl Harbor, thus introducing the United States into World War II.
In 1945, with the war in Europe all but won, the Americans shifted their attention to the Pacific front. To cut off Japanese access to the South Pacific and to create a strategic launching-off point from which to strike Japan, the United States military initiated Operation Iceberg: the battle of Okinawa had commenced. In the Pacific’s bloodiest battle that lasted three grueling months, tens of thousands of soldiers on both sides had perished. Worse, over 100,000 Okinawan civilians were killed (U.S. Air Force Fact Sheet). Upon the battle’s denouement in June, the United States had successfully seized the island from the Japanese; Okinawa was now a U.S. territory. Following Japan’s unconditional surrender in September, the United States maintained complete control over Okinawa for another seven years. Though Japan regained partial sovereignty over Okinawa in 1952, U.S. forces continued their occupation until a 1971 agreement reverted control to Japan (Lai, 2022). Even still, the presence of the United States military has never ceased. Today, roughly twenty percent of Okinawan farmable land remains part of U.S. military bases, home to nearly 50,000 troops (Lai, 2022). After World War II, the U.S. Civil Administration of the Ryukyus issued an ordinance to support agriculture in Okinawa, but the motive for this move was likely to use the island as a stronghold from which to police East Asia. In doing so, the United States issued the B-yen, manipulating currency exchange rates so much that during the U.S. presence on the island, a third of local income came from U.S. military bases. Okinawa was now dependent on the United States. However, studying post-war Okinawa is a challenging endeavor since official documents that belonged to the U.S. military favored the colonizing efforts. To garner a clearer picture of what life was like on the island, it is critical to examine the experiences of Okinawan civilians.
First, it is crucial to understand Okinawan identity as distinct from Japanese identity, especially in its relationship to the United States. Although the United States carried out the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, no American troops fought in mainland Japan during World War II. Such a strategy allowed for some distancing of Americans from the brutality of the war in the psyche of mainland Japanese civilians. Okinawa, on the other hand, suffered tremendous losses due to ground warfare on the island between Japan and the United States. However, this is not to single out the United States as the sole negative influence on the island. Japan, according to Okinawan historian Arasaki Moriteru, treated the battle of Okinawa as nothing more than a sacrificial way to buy time for the mainland as the war was quickly coming to an end. Moriteru highlights the atrocities the Japanese military carried out on Okinawans: “during the battle, Japanese soldiers never hesitated to massacre Okinawan civilians, rob them of food, kick them out of the shelters and force them to commit ‘collective suicides’” (Moriteru, 2001). Furthermore, documents from the Japanese military call Okinawans “people that lack loyalty to the Emperor” because of their distinct history, culture, and language (Moriteru, 2001). As such, Okinawans during and after World War II felt strangled by the collective military might of their supposed protectors—Japan—and foreign aggressors in the United States. Another difference between Okinawa and Japan is that only the former experienced U.S. occupation for nearly thirty years following World War II. Set aside as a military outpost subject to U.S. rule, Okinawans had little room for self-determination in government. Indeed, to this day, there are still significant environmental concerns over plans to expand a U.S. military base over a reef full of wildlife; Okinawan activists are unlikely to succeed due to the entrenched presence of the U.S. military. Indeed, although treaties gave Japan (now a robust liberal democracy) authority over the island, Okinawans still felt unfairly subjected to military bases and their consequences, economic and environmental. However, Okinawan civilians have long resisted occupation and foreign domination, even if political outcomes have been ambiguous at best.
Although common scholarship suggests that the U.S. invasion and subsequent occupation of Okinawa led Okinawans to feel a closer relationship with Japan, there is considerable evidence to suggest that Okinawans felt betrayed by Japan for leaving them subject to U.S. military rule. Many Okinawans felt that the bulldozing—both agricultural and cultural—of their island by the United States military was ignored by Japan’s government. Indeed, the iconic Rising Sun flag that predominated in Okinawa during the war is seldom flown anymore (Moriteru, 2001). Even after Japan regained possession of Okinawa nearly thirty years after World War II, Okinawans widely considered the reversion agreement to be “nothing but a step to reinforce the Japan-US military alliance” (Moriteru, 2001). In other words, the reversion agreement failed to beget substantive progress for Okinawan self-determination. With an occupier in the United States and a failing protector in Japan, it was left to Okinawan civilians to advocate for their rights. In the 1990s, following the sexual assault of a young Okinawan girl by three U.S. soldiers, Okinawa saw a new wave of the anti-base movement. This atrocity gave rise to a series of large-scale protests against American involvement led by Okinawan activists. Again, sadly, Okinawans widely felt a lack of support on the part of Japan; the laissez-faire approach by the Japanese government exacerbated the base issue (Roberts, 2020). To this day, Okinawans feel encroached upon by U.S. military interests and Japanese economic interests, further demonstrating how integral a hybrid identity—one that is neither Japanese nor American—is to the people of Okinawa.
Notwithstanding the American military domination, the multiethnic nature of the US military provides an overlooked Hispanic connection. Over four hundred thousand Hispanic-American soldiers fought in World War II. The man who led the First Marine Division during the battle of Okinawa, Major General Pedro A. del Valle, was the first Hispanic person to serve in that position. The only Hispanic Marine to earn the Medal of Honor during World War II was Private First Class Harold Gonsalves, who bravely gave his life for his fellow Marines during a grenade attack in Okinawa (Rostran, 2013). Though we can (and should) rigorously debate the necessity of the invasion and subsequent occupation of Okinawa, it is undeniable that Hispanic Americans played a critical role in securing victory for the Allied Powers (Arredondo, 2014). On top of the bravery demonstrated by Hispanic American soldiers during a time when they faced immense discrimination in the homeland, the cultural contributions of these soldiers in the subsequent occupation cannot be overlooked, especially in Okinawan cuisine.
A particularly fascinating case study of Okinawan cuisine emerged when U.S. soldiers, many of whom were Hispanic, stationed in Okinawa during World War II wanted a meal that reminded them of the Tex-Mex flavors of their native Southwestern United States. Working within their means on the base, they made simple tacos consisting of seasoned ground beef and cheap vegetables. Regardless of the simple nature of the dish from back home, military base tacos became ubiquitous in Okinawa. The over quarter-century occupation of Okinawa, during which Okinawan civilians regularly ate U.S. military rations (Ames, 2016), provided ample time for the introduction of Tex-Mex flavors into the island, so much so that one day, an Okinawan chef combined the filling of the tacos with short-grain rice, a staple of the Okinawan diet. Over time—albeit through maintained U.S. presence—Okinawans began to enjoy this dish so much that they reclaimed it for themselves. Now, takoraisu, as it was to be called, has become a mainstay, empowering Okinawans to incorporate syncretic elements of American and Japanese cuisine into one of the prefecture’s most popular dishes; and it was not American nor Japanese, but Okinawan.
With war and occupation intrinsically come changes in culture, or more precisely, impositions to culture. As militaries entered foreign lands, they forcibly brought cultural elements along with them. Cuisine is no exception to this pattern. Indeed, history is full of examples of the forced transfer of cuisine that now dominates the new, conquered land. Spanish paella, a core dish in Spain’s identity, would not exist had North African conquest not introduced saffron to the area (Wei, 2017). In Vietnam, the banh mi sandwich would not exist without the introduction of the baguette by the French occupiers. In fact, the Vietnamese banh mi resembles much of the story of takoraisu in Okinawa. Banh mi sandwiches are not made with classic French baguettes that one would find in a street-corner patisserie in Paris. Rather, Vietnamese chefs created the Vietnamese baguette, influenced by French techniques but with a much softer texture. By reinventing a key piece of a meal brought to the land by Vietnam’s brutal occupiers, the banh mi was reclaimed as a quintessentially Vietnamese dish. With takoraisu, similarly, Okinawans have taken a dish with American and Japanese elements and given it a distinct Okinawan identity.
Queso Blanco sauce does not appear in kaiseki cuisine. Neither does adobo spice. Just by looking at the ingredients of takoraisu, it is abundantly clear that the dish is not Japanese. However, it bears a Japanese name. As such, it is crucial to understand takoraisu within the context of Japanese cuisine. As previously mentioned, Tex-Mex flavors are not widely available in mainland Japan. Indeed, the American occupation of Okinawa is a primary reason for such a discrepancy; the U.S. never invaded mainland Japan on the ground. Furthermore, takoraisu is high in dairy content. Though the extent to which lactose intolerance predominates among East Asian communities is often (perhaps patronizingly) overstated, cheese is not often seen in kaiseki cuisine, except when Western dishes or flavors are explicitly introduced. (This is not to say that cheese was never consumed in Japanese history, since we know that members of the Nara court ate cheese.) We must also consider the name “takoraisu.” Rice has a specific name and connotation in traditional Japanese. Gohan, as cooked rice is called, refers to meals more generally; meals are traditionally incomplete without rice, though attitudes may slowly be changing today. Takoraisu, obviously, does not have gohan in its name. However, dishes with “-raisu” (rice in Japanese pronunciation, used for rice in Western contexts, as distinguished from gohan) in the name can certainly be Japanese, even if they carry an Americanized name. Take karē raisu, for example. This dish falls under the category of yōshoku, referring to Western-style cooking that has over time become Japanese. Karē raisu emerged during the Meiji Restoration in Japan when the British Royal navy brought curry powder to Japan (Krick, 2021). Served with white rice, the dish has skyrocketed into one of the most popular foods among Japanese people (and it is my personal favorite). If karē raisu can fit into Japanese cuisine, then why can’t takoraisu accomplish the same? The answer lies in the grammar of Japanese cuisine. Rice, as the base of the meal, is to be served plain and is consistently placed separately from the other portions of the dish. Even for karē raisu, the curry should be served separated from the rice, at least initially, and snobs might scoff at people who pour the curry atop the rice and mix it all up right from the start. Consider obentō, for that matter. In a grammatical obentō box, rice is plated away from the meat and vegetables that accompany it. Even modern yōshoku dishes like karē raisu, which did not exist before recent history, follow this pattern. Takoraisu, on the other hand, violates kaiseki grammar. The oily—albeit delicious—meat and vegetables are plated directly atop the rice, creating an off-white hue in the process. There is a reason that the dish is not “tako gohan,” but rather, a fusion of Japanese and Hispanic-American cuisine that does not quite follow the traditional patterns of either ethnic background. Perhaps, then, Okinawa’s up-and-coming mainstay dish perfectly represents its hybrid (and agency-filled) identity. Indeed, the recent history of takoraisu is emblematic of Okinawa’s identity. Once a dish primarily enjoyed by U.S. soldiers stationed in Okinawa, takoraisu can now be found on fast food menus throughout the prefecture, including Taco Bell, an American favorite. (Stars and Stripes Okinawa, 2015).
I have always been fascinated by fusion cooking. Such an interest kicked off when my father, in an effort to get me to try sushi, replaced the raw fish with chicken nuggets, perhaps more of an age-appropriate food for a five-year-old. However, chicken-nugget sushi is still something I enjoy to this day. That story aside, upon learning about takoraisu, I was immediately taken aback by the trans-oceanic fusion. Coming from a Latino background, seeing Latin-inspired beef in (what I had thought was) a Japanese dish was mind-boggling. As such, for the creative portion of this project, I decided to cook takoraisu. Now, I must admit that at the beginning of my research, I held some key misunderstandings about Okinawa and its rich history (as I alluded to earlier). In my proposal, I had likened takoraisu to donburi, a comparison that now seems rather silly (though at the time, I understood why I had done so). Though these two (might I say, equally fantastic) dishes may certainly appear similar, cultural context tells a much different story. Although much of my nascent project needed to be rethought to defy the stereotype of conflating Okinawa with Japan, my newfound research certainly helped me complete the creative portion.
I got the recipe for takoraisu from a food blog called “La Fuji Mama,” a website dedicated to exploring Japanese cuisine, though notably from a non-Japanese perspective. Such a phenomenon is especially interesting considering that the author of the blog, a woman only identified as Rachael, talks about how takoraisu is a Japanese dish. Of course, it seems as if Rachael falls into my initial trap of conflating Japan and Okinawa, a mistake that makes sense given her (seeming) lack of understanding of the complex relationship between Japan and Okinawa. (Upon returning to this source after my cooking portion, I couldn’t help but feel that although Rachael created a delicious recipe, her misunderstanding of Okinawan history and identity played a large role in my own; when setting out to make takoraisu, hers was the first source I found, and thus it colored my initial judgment of Okinawa.)
With my trusty sous-chef Cameron at my side (shout-out to Cameron, if you are reading this), I set out to create my version of takoraisu, working within my means as a resident of a dorm with a, shall we say, limited kitchen. Before we began cooking, I made sure to plan out how I was going to tackle each portion of the dish. The rice could not be the long-grain rice that separated easily. Instead, I needed to use shorter-grain rice that would get sticky upon its cooking.
From Left to Right: Figure 1: White Rice, Figure 2: “Sweated Out” Onions, Figure 3: Stirring Seasoned Ground Beef
Next, I thought about how I would cook the ground meat. Growing up in a Latino household, I knew that the first step to any meat dish is to properly “sweat out” the onions, releasing the excess water and obtaining a deeper flavor with which to permeate the meat. Once this critical step was complete, it was time to season the beef. Here, in the spirit of violating the rules of traditional cuisine grammar, I subconsciously took it upon myself to incorporate a traditionally Jewish technique into my project (my family is half-Puerto Rican, half-Eastern European Jewish). In seasoning the meat, I salted the beef from bottom-right to top-left and added pepper from top-right to bottom-left. (It is the opposite nature of the direction of salt and pepper that had been ingrained in me.) I am completely unsure of how this tradition came to pass, but alas, I put my own spin on takoraisu. Returning to Latino techniques, I added the necessary spices, namely adobo, cumin, and chili powder to create the deeper reddish-brown color of the meat that was crucial to the success of the dish. Once all of the elements were cooked, it was time to plate.
The uncooked elements of my dish, namely, the salsa and Queso Blanco sauce that I had bought from the grocery store, were to be plated on the meat and rice. Additionally, the recipe I used called for chopped lettuce and shredded mozzarella cheese to be placed carefully as a garnish, which I tried to do to the best of my ability. The elephant in the room, of course, is the royal blue plate on which the dish rested. Now, I would like to say that my choice of the plate was entirely stylistic; I am already violating the rules of cuisine, so why not add another one to the list? However, I must admit that my choice of the plate was purely out of necessity since this was the only available option. With the final finishing touches complete, including the obligatory wipe-down of the plate to create a cleaner product, I had finished.
From Left to Right: Figure 4: Takoraisu, Figure 5: Side profile of plated Takoraisu
Cameron was the first to try my dish. According to him, it tasted “better than a burrito bowl from the Middletown Chipotle,” a compliment which I took to heart. However, his reaction—comparing my dish to a Mexican chain restaurant—was far from what I had expected, especially given our discussion prior to his joining me for this project. When I asked him earlier that week if he would like to help me with my Japanese Culture Through Food cooking project, he assumed that we would be making sushi or ramen, even asking me where I was planning to buy raw fish. As such, it is safe to say that he assumed we were cooking Japanese food (a reaction for which I place no blame on him since he was not well versed in Okinawan history). While he tasted my dish, I was sure that he was confused by the Tex-Mex flavors that he tasted given that he assumed we would be making Japanese food. Yet when I explained to him the history of takoraisu, our endeavor started to make more sense to him. The Japanese-style rice we had made combined with the Latin-inspired meat seasonings began to click in his mind. Okinawan identity—through our understanding of takoraisu—is an amalgamation of Japanese,American, and Chinese influence, all while prioritizing Okinawan agency. It just took making a dish just slightly better than Chipotle to get Cameron, and by proxy, me, to understand that.
While tasting my dish, I thought about where I had started with this project. I had initially set out to cook a Latino-Japanese fusion dish, but my research led me to a much richer understanding of history and a more complete (and satisfying) final culinary product. As I ate with a friend, I could not help but think about politics (the usual activity on a Saturday evening for a Government major). Though I was admittedly pondering the midterm elections, the relationship between politics and cuisine kept coming back to me. Food studies might be misunderstood by gov students as a subject matter that “has nothing to do with anything you’re studying,” but undertaking this project has allowed me to disprove that narrative. I would argue that politics and food studies are deeply intertwined, especially when we account for long periods of history that center around colonialism, occupation, and warfare. Understanding the deep history of Okinawa and its relationship to violence has allowed me to view the center of my project, takoraisu, in a new light. Reading about the incredible agency displayed by Okinawans in the face of military occupation and oblivion, I began to reframe my initial understanding of this fusion dish. In what way is takoraisu both an acceptance of Japanese and American influence while also a repudiation of both countries that so deeply harmed Okinawa? Takoraisu violates the traditional grammar of both cuisines (though in different ways), and it has now become an expressly Okinawan dish.
I also want to acknowledge some of the gaps in my understanding of Okinawan culture. As previously mentioned, much of the data from immediately after World War II about life in Okinawa comes from American military sources. While I am not doubting the credibility of the U.S. military, I am also cognizant of the power dynamic at play; the U.S., as the occupier, certainly had a vested interest in maintaining its supreme status. Second, I want to recognize that Arasaki Moriteru’s piece about Okinawan agency was written over two decades ago, and it perhaps misjudges Okinawa’s relationship with Japan today as overly negative. Finally, I would be remiss if I didn’t return to my earlier mischaracterization of Okinawan cuisine as entirely Japanese. In doing so, I unfairly conflated Okinawa and Japan, creating an array of further misunderstandings since it is impossible to correctly analyze Okinawa without first understanding the island as distinct from Japan. However, I am grateful for my preliminary misconceptions because examining the history of Okinawa has allowed me to realize that takoraisu is far removed from my impressions of Japanese cuisine. I had assumed that if the dish featured white rice and had “raisu” in the name that it must be Japanese. But, my realization that takoraisu is not necessarily Japanese (though it could be depending on how we interpret it) has led me to an even more pertinent discernment: shrinking the complexities of Japanese food into a few assumptions about fundamental (dare I say, staple) ingredients is harmful to our understanding of Japanese cuisine. As such, even though I have discovered that takoraisu is not Japanese at heart, but rather a symbol of Okinawan agency, I have learned more about Japanese food than I initially thought possible. In the meantime, the next time I visit Okinawa Sushi and Grill in New Jersey, I will be aware of the misnomer—and perhaps suggest that they add takoraisu to the menu; it might sell well.
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