Main content starts here, tab to start navigating

Tacos: The Regional Dish Of Japan

a man

A few weeks ago, I attended the annual World of Flavors conference at the CIA—not that one, but the Culinary Institute of America—in St. Helena. Every year, this amazing conference blows out a different cuisine and draws about 500 chefs and food industry attendees. This year it was the food of Japan, one I was particularly looking forward to since I’m a bit of Japanophile (of course, this is second to Mexicophile).

For this particular conference, it took the CIA three years of cultivating relationships with the 40-some Japanese chefs that flew over to participate. I’m talking Michelin-starred chefs deftly wielding very shiny, very sharp knives. Chefs that speak no English. Chefs that have come from generations of master chefs. (See: Fifth generation soba noodle maker from here that I got to watch.) On top of that, the likes of Thomas Keller, Harold McGee and Ruth Reichl spoke.

I’m just trying to say that it was a rather serious conference.

There’s food everywhere at these events. Amazing food. And I always eat something I’ve never had before. This year, for me, it was shrimp brain on a stick. There’s also little samples of things put out to taste during the seminars, should the shrimp brain have been a little unfilling.

One afternoon, there was something that resembled some kind of sea urchin concoction. I saw orange. But on closer inspection, I realized it was taco salad, a mix of ground beef, cheddar cheese, you know the rest. I put it down, confused, disappointed and honestly, kind of grossed out, figuring some CIA student assistant had brought in the samples from the World of Flavors: Midwest conference going on simultaneously or something.

The seminar on regional Japanese cuisine began. Though most of the Japanese chefs had opted to have a translator, the chef representing Okinawa—which is famous for its centenarians and healthy cuisine—had chosen to go it alone despite the fact that he didn’t have the best grasp on English.

I was trying to muddle through his talk, when he said something like, blah, blah, blah, tako. Or so I translated the spelling in my head. I was thinking tako, as in what the Japanese call octopus. Right? Right.

But then the chef went on, with a completely straight face, and said that this most famous Okinawan dish is made with tortillas (he definitely said tortilla), ground beef, cheese, tomatoes and lettuce.

You have to realize that I’d just sat through about 48 hours of very grave discussions of the meaning of umami, the importance of dashi, and how basically the Japanese, with their fire and water cooking, are going to live longer than any fat-ass American. My head was swimming in kombu.

So, I was kind of in disbelief. It only clicked when he said that these tacos had been brought to Okinawa in the 60s by the U.S. Marine Corp base. It took the word “U.S.” to relinquish the k in taco—to accept that this chef was speaking not just of tacos, but of old-school tacos (plug: like we serve on Tuesday nights at Tacolicious), the kind made with Ortega seasoning (although Tacolicious’s are not).

Sure enough, I looked it up when I got home. And what’s called tacoraisu in Japanese (“taco rice” to you) is considered a national dish in Okinawa. All you have to do is copy and paste the Japanese characters in Google to see the proofWikipedia also has this to add: “Occasionally, the ingredients of taco meat, rice, and cheese are combined, dipped in batter, and fried into a “taco rice and cheese” ball, served with plenty of ketchup.”

This I’ve got to try.

Or not, come to think of it.

Moral of the story: Even if you’re on an island with a bunch of 100 year olds, tacos still rule.