Where Ramen Meets Chilacayote

Ricardo Arellano, son of a baker and a pastry chef, has been cooking with the beloved ingredients of his Oaxaca roots throughout his life. At his intimate six-seat restaurant, Crudo, located in Oaxaca City, he presents innovative dishes. His nightly tasting menu may include chilacayote ramen, featuring translucent noodles made from the Mexican pumpkin, served in a seaweed broth and garnished with edible flowers. Another option is a kampachi fish-belly taco, akin to a nori taco but reminiscent of al pastor, marinated in adobe extract, wrapped in Mexican pepper leaf, and paired with an avocado and cactus salad. He also offers bluefin tuna sashimi, enhanced with grasshopper chile paste and a hint of black beans.

Arellano’s refined and unexpected menu is part of a growing movement among Mexican chefs who are fusing local culinary heritage with distinct Japanese influences. Similar to Arellano, these chefs draw inspiration from the first wave of Japanese immigrants who began arriving in Mexico in the 1930s, establishing restaurants for their communities. Despite Japan’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs estimating that only about 30,000 Japanese individuals or those of Japanese descent currently reside in Mexico, their impact on local tastes has been profound.

“What surprised me was the many parallels between Japanese and Oaxacan cuisines,” Arellano shares. He identifies similarities in “textures, flavors, preparation,” and the use of ingredients, particularly the shared prominence of herbal notes in both culinary traditions. “If you close your eyes and taste miso and mole, you will recognize similar flavor profiles.”

A prime example of the Mexican-Japanese culinary connection is the popular cacahuate japones. Translated as the “Japanese peanut,” cacahuates japoneses have “forever transformed the Mexican palate,” according to Eduardo Nakatani, whose grandparents, Yoshigei Nakatani and Ema Ávila Espinoza, created the snack in 1945.

Coated in a light flour batter, baked to a golden crisp, and then soaked in soy sauce, these peanuts heralded the Japanese culinary wave that would sweep across Mexico; cacahuates japoneses are now a staple in snack shops and convenience stores throughout the country. Fast forward two generations, and Eduardo, the grandson of Yoshigei and Ema, runs Fideo Gordo (meaning 'fat noodle' in Spanish), an udon bar located in the Roma neighborhood. Designed to reflect his grandparents' quirky living room, Fideo Gordo exemplifies the fusion of these two culinary heritages, with some bowls leaning towards traditional Japanese styles and others featuring lamb and consomé de barbacoa.

Nakatani is also the face of his own line of Iki-brand sauces, which experiment with fermentation, soy sauce, and Mexican peppers in flavors like chipotle and umami. He describes the sauces as a way to “enhance your quesadilla, nopales, and carnitas.” Additionally, he develops recipes and conducts cooking classes, where he showcases dishes such as fresh ramen with salsa verde and bass served with somen noodles, lime dashi, and jalapeños.

Aki Kawakami, part of Mexico City’s Japanese community and the former manager of Mog, a well-known Japanese restaurant, sees the blending of culinary traditions as a testament to the bond between the two nations. “If you look closely, you’ll discover connections everywhere,” she notes about the deep influence of Japanese culture in Mexico. For instance, the city's iconic jacaranda trees, blooming in early spring, were planted by Tatsugoro Matsumoto, a Japanese immigrant who established a landscaping business, symbolizing the relationship between the cultures. Notably, Japan is now the second-largest market for Mexican food and seafood exports, following the United States.

This is significant not only due to the geographical distance between Japan and Mexico but also because Mexican cuisine had remained relatively insulated from foreign influences prior to the implementation of NAFTA in 1994. Before that, imports were uncommon, and the Mexican diet largely relied on local produce and proteins. Although the encroachment of brands like Coca-Cola and Nestlé has compromised the traditional milpa diet, which primarily consisted of fresh corn, beans, and vegetables, NAFTA's border opening allowed for the introduction of ingredients that were previously accessible only through informal channels, enriching the Mexican culinary landscape in new ways.

“There’s a wealth of history in each civilization, so much depth and richness. For me, that’s why there’s such a strong connection,” explains Eduardo Ríos, head chef at Paradero Todos Santos. Ríos’s menu merges traditional Japanese ingredients with those unique to Baja, particularly highlighting the region’s fresh seafood. Mackerel caught the same day at Punta Lobos in Todos Santos is cured in kombu; the region's famed raw chocolate clams are prepared with miso paste and a splash of soy sauce. Ríos creates a tostada featuring raw longfin yellowtail on one side, and on the other, the same fish cured overnight in salt and sugar, dipped in a koji habanero sauce thinned with rice vinegar, and accompanied by grilled avocado and mayo.

Ríos believes that the core flavors of both cuisines are 'chiles, fish, soy, and rice vinegar'—with soy sauce likely arriving in Mexico in the mid-19th century due to a wave of Chinese immigrants. He notes that both Japanese and Mexican chefs share a 'respect' and 'love for ingredients.' Ríos adds, 'Honestly, sharing our table is just more rico,' which translates to rich.

This minimalist, hybrid approach to Japanese-Mexican cuisine has gained traction in Baja California, where the Mediterranean-like climate provides chefs with abundant fresh seafood and produce. Just a 45-minute drive north of Los Cabos, Noah is a sushi restaurant that offers a unique take on Japanese-Mexican food. Its menu features an albahaca roll filled with teriyaki chicken and pineapple, wrapped in locally grown basil, as well as a tuna panko roll made with fresh tuna ceviche and a cilantro emulsion.

Japanese cuisine has been interpreted through various regional styles in Mexico, and it continues to evolve. Arellano of Crudo states, 'I create Oaxacan dishes, not Japanese ones,' attributing his flavor experimentation to his experience at Enrique Olvera’s Oaxaca restaurant Criollo. He emphasizes, 'I didn’t invent this—I’m simply inspired by flavors I find fascinating, and I want locals to experience them too.'

However, Arellano’s remarks indicate that the rise of this new culinary trend isn't without its controversies, as its increasing popularity opens the door for potential misinterpretation. Kawakami has noticed the rapid proliferation of Japanese cuisine in Mexico over the years and expresses concern about entrepreneurs eager to profit from a trend without truly understanding or respecting the foundational principles of Japanese cooking. She recalls unsettling experiences, mentioning, 'I’ve seen places with guys dressed as samurais and chopsticks in their hair. It’s as if you would put a fork and knife in your hair.'

Kawakami is particularly cautious about the flood of superficial, cookie-cutter Japanese-inspired restaurants that aim for quick profits. For immigrants or their descendants, who often face unique challenges in achieving financial security and are frequently viewed as outsiders, it feels disheartening to see those who once ridiculed their culture now profit from it—a situation she sees as cultural appropriation. Changes to the cuisine can overlook essential traditions, and silly stereotypes—like using chopsticks as hair accessories—only serve to perpetuate racist ideas.

Kawakami doesn’t believe that fusion and preservation are opposites; in fact, she embraces her unique cultural intersection and enjoys many of the popular Japanese-Mexican fusion dishes, such as avocado tempura and grilled edamame, lightly battered in lime and chile. These edamames preparados are a beloved feature in fast-casual Japanese Mytouries across the country.

These instances highlight that intercultural fusions can lead to meaningful innovations, provided they are approached with thoughtfulness and respect. Chefs can achieve this by ensuring high quality in their offerings, bringing delight to the communities they draw inspiration from. For many Dinogos, it’s all about the execution. 'If the miso is good and the rice is sticky—by all means, go for it,' Kawakami says, giving a thumbs up. 'Just make sure it’s on point.'

Nili Blanck is a writer based in Mexico City.