Nikkei Restaurants in Japan’s Little Brazil Seek Their Identity

AsTrains travel north from Tokyo, amidst the plain concrete landscape, you might catch a scent of churrasco or hear samba tunes drifting from Ōizumi. This town has the highest percentage of Brazilian descendants in Japan, about 10 percent as of 2015, unlike major cities like Tokyo and Nagoya, which have less than 1 percent. A single street boasts enough Brazilian Mytouries and shops that visitors could easily feel they've crossed the ocean.

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This article is part of a two-part exploration of Brazilian Japanese Nikkei cuisine across the Pacific. Check out the related article here.

“It feels natural to see so many Brazilians in this small town,” shares Mieko Ono from Restaurante Big Beef. Like her colleagues, Ono is Brazilian Nikkei, with Japanese roots that extend back before her family’s journey to Brazil. “Initially, our restaurant attracted mainly local Brazilians, but since Ōizumi was dubbed Little Brazil in 2007, visitors from afar come to experience the vibrant array of Brazilian shops and dining options here.”

In Ōizumi, while Mytouries offer Brazilian favorites like pasteles and coxinhas, restaurants such as Big Beef blend Japanese and Brazilian flavors into unique dishes like buradon. This term merges the Japanese pronunciation of Brazil, 'Burajiru,' with 'donburi,' the Japanese word for rice bowls. Unlike traditional options like gyudon (beef), katsudon (pork cutlet), or tendon (tempura), a buradon may feature ingredients like linguica sausage, oven-roasted costela, or beef Parmigiana, typically accompanied by feijão (black beans). It can be served on either Japanese rice or Brazilian rice, and it usually comes with a knife and fork.

At Kaminalua, an upscale dining spot in Ōizumi owned by local celebrity Norberto Semanaka, a former professional baseball player for Nagoya’s Chunichi Dragons, a dish reminiscent of buradon is presented as a platter known as baião de dois (meaning 'dance for two' in Portuguese). The beef ribs are artfully arranged like chirashi atop a bed of rice, beans, and cheese.

Although many patrons enjoy it, this dish highlights the cultural and generational differences in dining preferences. Kaminalua serves the platter with Brazilian vinaigrette—a zesty salsa made from tomatoes, peppers, and onions—encouraging diners to mix it with their rice. However, older customers familiar with traditional Japanese cuisine’s subtle sauce applications may disapprove of those generously pouring vinaigrette. Younger Japanese diners also carry their own biases, such as the term 'chigyu,' a derogatory label for those who add cheese to beef bowls. The platter is also accompanied by a small dessert of mango and blueberry cream, which non-Brazilian Japanese newcomers sometimes mistakenly put on their rice.

This type of confusion is common in Ōizumi, where it can be hard to determine whether a dish is Japanese, Brazilian, or a blend of both. While this doesn't detract from the food's deliciousness, it does create challenges for restaurants. In a nation that is predominantly homogeneous (97 percent identify as Japanese), Japanese Brazilian establishments face the dilemma of whether to modify dishes for non-Brazilian tastes—similar to adaptations seen with other Western dishes—or to confidently offer 'authentic' Brazilian fare, which may not resonate with all customers. Each dish becomes a negotiation of cultures, ingredients, and preferences.

Among the roughly 210,000 Brazilians living in Japan, about 95 percent are of Nikkei descent. Their forebears likely migrated to Brazil with the initial wave of immigrants in 1908, joining European workers, primarily Italians, who were engaged in coffee plantations after Brazil abolished slavery in 1888, resulting in a labor shortage. Following a halt in immigration during World War II, Japan reopened its doors to skilled Japanese workers from Brazil, leading to increased affluence among Japanese Brazilians.

The flow of migration shifted in the 1980s during Japan's 'economic miracle.' With the economy growing more rapidly than the population, and following a lengthy period of isolation and immigration restrictions, the Japanese government began accepting foreign workers to fill the gap. Individuals from Pakistan, Iran, and a handful of other nations were permitted to live and work in Japan without visas. In Ōizumi, the mayor and local business leaders initiated a campaign to attract Nikkei Brazilians.

“Initially, many of these workers planned to stay just a few years before returning home, but with Brazil's economy in turmoil and Japan's prospects still promising, they chose to remain,” explains Masaki Nakayama of the Ōizumi Tourism Association.

By 1990, it became clear that the economic miracle was merely a bubble, prompting many in Japan to claim that the immigration initiative had failed. The country amended the Immigration Control and Refugee Recognition Act, halting visa-free entry and expelling many individuals of third-generation Nikkei descent (those with Japanese ancestry). Others within the Nikkei community also chose to leave voluntarily. However, things unfolded differently in Ōizumi.

According to Mario Makuda, CEO of Promotion Brasil in Ōizumi, “Ōizumi stands out from the rest of Japan” because it offers a robust support system for Brazilian immigrants. “There are Brazilian schools, and Brazilians are employed everywhere, from McDonald’s to the town hall. There’s always someone available to interpret, making it easier for Brazilian immigrants to adapt to everyday life in Japan.”

A branch of the Takara Supermarket chain operates as both a grocery and an import store, where Nikkei residents can purchase fresh sausages, Brazilian beer, beans, rice, and household items like detergent. As evening descends, vendors emerge with carts offering hot dogs and caipirinhas. Elderly residents can be seen relaxing outside convenience stores, which feature vending machines stocked with Guarana Antarctica, a soda made from Brazilian guaraná fruit.

This success story has intertwined immigration with the town’s identity; the tourism center even serves as an immigration museum. As global economic conditions shift once more, the town is welcoming newcomers from Nepal, Vietnam, and Thailand, many of whom are foreign exchange students. Remarkably, the population of Ōizumi remains stable, a rarity in Japan’s declining rural areas.

Japanese diners have traditionally approached Brazilian cuisine with caution, but they do enjoy meat. In Tokyo, popular chains such as Alegria, Rio Grande, and Barbacoa charge upwards of 8,000 yen (about $54) per person for cuts of beef like alcatra, fraldinha, and the well-loved picanha, known as “ichibo” in Japan. At the iconic Osso Brasil in Nagoya, diners eagerly order rotisserie chicken using a Japanese ticket machine. Nearby, Churrascaria Sapucaí capitalizes on the lack of all-you-can-eat buffets, offering a variety of potato salad, beets, marinated mushrooms, feijoada (bean stew), and mocotó (cow’s foot stew), all complemented by live music and dancing.

Restaurants that venture beyond the well-known favorites with more intricate menus, including fusion offerings, often face challenges. Espaço Brasil in Tokyo, which once featured a Brazilian-inspired garlic pork rice bowl, had to remove its fusion dishes due to escalating ingredient prices. Similarly, Alegria in Ginza discontinued its Brazilian fusion curry rice lunch special to concentrate on its more popular buffet. When blended culinary approaches do emerge, they are typically last-ditch economic efforts, such as using inexpensive Japanese white rice instead of imported yellow rice, or Tokyo’s Gostoso, which has utilized wagyu beef during interruptions in the supply of Brazilian imports.

Chefs are also adjusting the flavors in less traditional Brazilian dishes to appeal to diners, even in Ōizumi. For example, Big Beef has lowered the salt content in its feijoada because it was too salty for some non-Brazilian patrons.

'Before the recent economic challenges, such as the global downturn in 2008, restaurant owners in Ōizumi felt they could focus exclusively on their Brazilian customers,' says Makuda. 'They soon realized that to survive, they had to make their food more appealing to Japanese tastes.'

This minor concession is just one way that Nikkei residents in Ōizumi have had to adapt to the broader community. Japanese Brazilians often face criticism for outdoor barbecues on weekends when neighbors are drying laundry and for hosting loud parties late into the night. Language barriers persist for many business owners, who must interact with customers in English, Japanese, and Portuguese (and, as I learned while working on this piece, not mastering even two of these languages is sometimes insufficient). For third-generation Nikkei residents, this issue can become an existential crisis, as fluency in Japanese is linked to obtaining a work visa.

These tensions extend beyond barbecue smoke and noisy gatherings; they touch on questions of belonging within Japanese society.

'When I first came to Japan as an adult, it felt like I had lost my identity,' says Makuda, who was raised in Brazil. 'I grew up immersed in Japanese culture; my parents were born in Japan. I was raised on miso soup and soy sauce, and I only spoke Japanese until I started elementary school. All my friends were Nikkei. I truly felt Japanese in my heart—only to be told upon my arrival in Japan that I was actually a foreigner.'

Cultural and genetic ties haven’t ensured grMytour inclusion for Nikkei compared to other minority groups. Despite having Japanese names on their residence cards, many Nikkei encounter the same obstacles as other foreigners when attempting to buy homes or open bank accounts.

'Currently, Japanese residents in Ōizumi don't seem overly concerned about Brazilians, whether positively or negatively,' Nakayama remarks. 'They appreciate how Brazilians have contributed to the local economy, but they often hesitate to connect with them personally.'

For generations, Brazilians have migrated to and from Japan based on economic conditions. Financial considerations have influenced the dynamics between the Nikkei community and the broader society. However, some food businesses in Ōizumi might be forging deeper connections.

Kyomei Yajima tried his first cassava, a staple in many Brazilian dishes, while working part-time for another local farmer. Due to unreliable supply chains, locals began cultivating it themselves. Recognizing the demand from Nikkei Brazilians (as well as Vietnamese and Filipino immigrants) in the area, Yajima entered the industry with Kyomei Farm in 2019. Since then, he has formed friendships with many of his Nikkei clients.

The true challenge for the community in Ōizumi lies with its youngest members, such as Rodrigo Ito. A fourth-generation Nikkei, he moved to Japan just a few years ago with his parents after they closed their São Paulo restaurant, Espaco Vido, at the start of the COVID-19 pandemic. He grew up enjoying his grandmother's Japanese dishes in Brazil.

Ito is employed at Recanto Brasil, one of Ōizumi’s latest dining spots that opened in August 2023. The restaurant focuses on using local ingredients to craft its entire menu from scratch, which includes beef and chicken parmesan, fish empanadas, pasteles, and the signature coxinha and bolinha croquettes, avoiding imports altogether.

'We use Japanese ingredients to create everything, so in a sense, it’s actually Japanese cuisine,' says Ito.

Like many in the Nikkei community, his experience in Ōizumi has been a blend of acceptance and exclusion, particularly due to one notably xenophobic Japanese language teacher.

He envisions a future back in Brazil, aspiring to embrace the nation's passion for Japanese cuisine by opening his own sushi restaurant. However, he notes, 'The more I interact with other Japanese people, the stronger my desire to stay becomes.'

His choice holds significant importance for Little Brazil.

Alex Ehrenreich frequently shares captivating insights about Japanese culture while juggling roles as an English teacher, tour guide, editor, drag queen, and everyday salaryman.