by Blanka Paluchowska

A few weeks ago, our study group and our professor swapped the classroom for a Japanese restaurant. Instead of talking about participant observation, we actually went out and tried it ourselves. Our plan was to have lunch at a Japanese restaurant. The task was to observe the food, the atmosphere, the staff, the customers, and all the little things happening around us. At first, I was not really sure what I should focus on. A few minutes later I realized I had spent more time watching the open kitchen than my own plate. The first thing I noticed was how efficiently everything seemed to work. The restaurant filled up almost immediately after opening, but nobody looked stressed. Everyone seemed to know exactly what they were supposed to do. Some people stayed in the kitchen, others served food, cleaned tables or took orders. Whenever the staff talked to customers, they laughed, joked and looked completely at ease.

What surprised me even more was the atmosphere itself. Before going there, I expected something that felt much more traditionally Japanese. Instead, it reminded me of the FU Japanese Mensa – simple and practical with only a few Japanese decorative elements, like daruma dolls. The food was fresh, reasonably priced, and somehow the unlimited green tea made the whole meal even better. That visit stayed with me longer than I expected. A few days later, I convinced one of my high school friends to join me for what we jokingly called our “little Japanese afternoon,” which sounded much nicer than saying I still had fieldwork to do. We started at a Japanese bakery, mostly because we both wanted matcha. At first the place did not feel particularly Japanese, but the longer we stayed, the more details we noticed, like books, figurines, kakemono, and other small decorations that quietly shaped the atmosphere. Without them, it could easily have been just another modern café. I was also surprised by how bright and spacious it was, with large windows and plenty of plants. One of the staff members happily answered a few of my questions and mentioned that they also provide catering.

Next was a Japanese restaurant, which ended up being my favorite stop that day. From the moment we walked in, the atmosphere felt very warm. We were welcomed by a waitress and seated at the counter, which turned out to be the perfect place to observe the open kitchen. While waiting for our food, I caught myself watching the chefs instead of checking my phone. The food arrived surprisingly quickly, despite the restaurant being busy, and the staff seemed completely focused on their work. The noren curtain, wooden sign in Japanese and simple, slightly rustic interior reminded both of us of the tiny streets in Tokyo that we had seen in photos and travel videos. We also made the classic mistake of ordering far too much food. My gyūdon portion was much bigger than I expected, but somehow that just made the whole experience even more memorable. This visit made me realize that a restaurant does not need expensive interiors to feel authentic.

Not everything went according to our initial plan. We tried to visit another restaurant without a reservation. So our fieldwork there lasted about two minutes. Still, those two minutes were enough to notice how different the place felt. It was surprisingly difficult to find, with only a small sign outside and no queue or outdoor seating. Inside, the lighting was warm, the atmosphere was quiet, and even the way the staff greeted guests felt much more formal. Before leaving, I managed to ask about the menu and found out that they actually specialize in Japanese-Peruvian cuisine, which definitely wasn’t something I expected.

The biggest surprise for me was another Japanese café. I realized it was much more than a café. Besides matcha and desserts, they organize language classes, cooking workshops and other cultural events, and there is even a separate room where these activities take place. Completely by accident, I also ran into a Japanese friend there, who owns another café on the street. He told me he comes there quite often because of the atmosphere and friendly staff. Somehow, hearing that from someone who actually knew the place felt more meaningful than reading any online review.

When I got home and looked through my notes, I noticed something strange. I had pages about people, interiors, conversations, and atmosphere, but hardly anything about the food itself. Each place presented Japan differently. One relied on subtle details; another made the cooking process part of the experience; another created a sense of exclusivity; and the last place I visited built a small community around Japanese culture. I suppose that is exactly what participant observation was supposed to teach us.

Blanka Paluchowska is a student in the MA program Global East Asia at the Freie Universität Berlin.

by Jannes Herrmann

As students of the research-oriented master’s program Global East Asia at Freie Universität Berlin, an important aspect of our curriculum is learning and applying theoretical and methodological competencies. In professor Reiher’s “Methods and Working Techniques of Social Science” class, we are doing just that. While learning about research methods, data collection and analysis, we are also turning that into action. In this context, we conducted an interview with students from Seikei University in Japan about Japanese food culture and trends, did an ethnographic scavenger hunt in Berlin on Kantstrasse, interviewed a Japanese entrepreneur living in Berlin, and together went to a Japanese restaurant to get a first taste of participant observations.

In preparation for our observation practice, we learned how to conduct fieldwork in class. We covered the importance of preparation, restraint when gathering data, and the ethical responsibility that must guide any fieldwork. Before going to the restaurant, we could choose different observation focuses. For example, we could observe the interactions between customers and staff, work processes, the division of labor, how employees interact with one another (taking the employees’ ethnicity and language into account), how Japanese culture is presented, and what references to Japan are present. For my observation, I chose to focus on the interactions between customers and staff, as well as how Japanese culture is presented in the restaurant.

On June 5th, 2026, we arrived at noon, just before the restaurant opened and right from the beginning, we started to observe. Who works there? What language is spoken? Who are the customers that come and eat at the restaurant? With what intention do they come? Or do they just take out food? How does the restaurant look like and how is the Japanese culture represented? What food does the restaurant offer and how does it taste? I only heard Japanese being spoken once, as the staff had various backgrounds, and the customers ranged from students at the University of Arts Berlin to businesspeople grabbing a quick lunch.

Still, Japanese culture was clearly represented in the restaurant. It started with the typical Kikkoman soy sauce bottle, an advertisement for Japanese beer on the staffs’ clothes and a lucky cat on the counter. Other obvious decors included a sake barrel and bottles, a geisha figurine, a plaque of another Japanese beer brand and a certificate for authentic Japanese food. But the restaurant also had subtle indicators. As in many Japanese restaurants, there were a few chairs at the entrance for waiting customers, a guide explaining the different parts of tuna and how they are used for sushi and small plaques of the kind Japanese people write wishes on and then hang on trees or leave at shrines. As part of the observation the food was also worth paying attention to, not just as a meal, but as another layer of how Japanese culture was presented. The food was really delicious and tasted authentic. Furthermore, the price was notably affordable, which might reflect the Japanese culture as well. While restaurant prices in Germany continue to rise, prices in Japan are relatively low. There are of course many reasons behind that, but it left me with the impression that this restaurant offers Japanese people in Berlin a small piece of their going-out culture.

Looking back at the method itself, our presence did not seem to change the setting much. We did not engage in deeper conversation or interviews, since this exercise was about observation, and the staff were busy enough anyway. What was harder was the balancing act between actually eating and observing at the same time. It is difficult to be a genuine participant and a careful observer simultaneously. Since we only observed and did not record anything beyond written notes and photos, I did not feel any real ethical concerns; the main challenge was that we would need to blur people in the pictures we took. We also went in without a real checklist or fixed preparation, partly because this was meant to be a first, exploratory practice, where the point was to figure out for ourselves how we would approach observing and note-taking. After we finished our visit, we headed home to go through our fieldnotes and summarized our observations.

Looking back, the participant observation at the Japanese restaurant was a great way to get a first real taste of fieldwork, figuring out in practice what to pay attention to, how to take notes without losing the moment, and where the line between participating and observing actually sits. It also helped that we got to do it together as a group, over genuinely great food.

Jannes Herrmann is a student in the MA program Global East Asia at the Freie Universität Berlin.

by Sophie Klaus

Prior to taking Professor Reiher’s course, I had little to no experience applying qualitative fieldwork methods in a practical setting. Knowing that I would need to deepen my knowledge regarding these techniques in order to successfully tackle the research for my master’s thesis, I was therefore very grateful for the opportunity to engage directly with methods such as participant observation and various forms of interviewing in low-stakes settings. As foodscapes were an entirely new subject area for me as well, the assignments of this course offered a valuable space to practice these methods more freely and to identify what I still needed to refine before applying them to my own research. The ethnographic scavenger hunt assignment provided an especially ideal framework for this kind of methodological experimentation through giving us a predetermined route of several restaurants in and around Kantstraße as well as certain observation criteria such as the presentation of food and the level of cultural and culinary authenticity displayed by the establishments. Notably, since most of the Japanese restaurants along the assigned route were closed on the evening my classmates and I conducted our observation, we opted for the Chinese eatery route instead. This unplanned shift turned out to be enlightening in its own right, demonstrating that even when observing spaces and establishments unrelated to one’s specific research topic, valuable opportunities remain to practice and sharpen observational techniques for future fieldwork.

Starting off at Wilmersdorfer Straße subway station, our scavenger hunt first led us to Jade Palast. The spacious indoors feature an open kitchen with a decorative traditional Chinese style roof and traditional Chinese ink paintings on the walls. Large signage as well as the logo above the entrance highlight “100% handmade Chinese hand-pulled noodles” as the main focus of the menu. The relatively small amount of dishes the restaurant offers is conveniently displayed on the menu using high resolution photographs, with all options except the rice dishes featuring the name of the dish in Chinese characters, followed by an English translation. With names such as ‘Happy Curry’, the rice dishes rather stand out, coming across as more westernized and catering towards a type of customer that would rather choose more familiar options like coconut curry or sweet and sour sauce, than less known dishes such as hand-pulled noodles. Additionally, the menu clearly labeled their large variety of vegan, vegetarian and halal dishes, further extending their range of potential customers. The prices, while on the higher side, represent the general price range of Asian restaurants in the Kantstraße area.

We continued our walk down the large main street, Do De Li being the next stop on our route. The outside, except for the Chinese characters featured on the sign above the entrance, was kept rather neutral and didn’t necessarily give off the impression of a Chinese restaurant. The menu, featuring Chinese characters for some of the menu items and prices similar to Jade Palast, was quite diverse and seemed rather authentic, and again had an entire section dedicated to vegan dishes and also some westernized options such as sweet and sour sauce. The highlight of the exterior was definitely the bright pink sticker on the window stating “Tim Raue isst hier grandios!”, the restaurant possibly being featured on the German TV chef’s culinary show.

Our next destination was Aroma Restaurant, located only a few meters down the street from Do De Li. With large Chinese characters and a red and gold color scheme on the outside, followed by big round tables with rotating tops, red and gold lacquer ornaments on the walls and red lanterns on the inside, the place instantly transports the typical atmosphere of a Chinese restaurant. Again, most of the rather small number of customers seemed to be European, though I know from personal experience that Aroma is also frequently visited by many Chinese people looking for an authentic dim sum experience. Dim sum being the focal point of the menu, the variety of dishes was the largest and most diverse of all the establishments we observed throughout the evening, with all dishes being written in Chinese, English and German without exception and prices remaining similar compared to the previous restaurants.

Before heading to our final stop of the evening, we walked a bit further and took a peek into Good Friends restaurant, which compared to the previous places had a few more customers, some appearing Asian and some European. The exterior again featured big signage with Chinese characters in red and gold as well as Asian style fonts for the English name of the restaurant, with the inside however seeming rather plain and not as adorned with typical Chinese restaurant decor. Again, the menu featured both more authentic as well as more westernized options, the dish names being again listed in Chinese, English and German and only the lunch menu being exclusively in German. While this lunch menu was quite affordable, the regular dishes were by far the most expensive among all the restaurants we observed during our tour.

We ended our walk at Lon Men’s Noodle House, where we decided to have dinner for the evening. In stark contrast to all the other places we looked at, Lon Men’s was packed with customers and as the location is rather small and feels more like a bistro, we had to endure a waiting time of around 20 minutes before being seated outside. The menu prominently featured Taiwanese noodle soups as the highlight of the menu, with the warning that “All soups are spicy, but will be prepared mild upon request” written on the bottom of every single page, clearly stating that these dishes are considerably more spicy than what the typical European customer is used to. For those in need of more spice, crispy chili oil and chili paste are set on every table along with the soy sauce and salt shakers. The menu has Chinese characters as well as English and German translations for the dishes and the blue cover of the menu features a golden image of the map of Taiwan. An interesting observation was the dim sum section of the menu, where a note explaining a preparation time of around 15 minutes for the dumplings serves as direct proof for the dishes being freshly prepared for the customer.

All of the waiters and kitchen staff are of Asian ethnicity and communicated quickly and efficiently in Chinese. Despite the restaurant’s busy atmosphere, they appeared energetic and friendly, taking time for small talk with customers. Outside, a simple red sign displays the restaurant’s Chinese and English names. Inside, guests are greeted by a bustling open kitchen and an impressive wall collage featuring the owner, staff, and several visiting celebrities. The collage reflects the restaurant’s long history as a family business and the pride its staff take in their work. We learned more about its history from one of the waiters, the son of the current owner, who was happy to share his family’s story. He explained that the restaurant was opened 18 years ago by two Taiwanese immigrants and remains in the hands of relatives of the original owners. Most employees are Taiwanese, and Chinese language skills are highly valued during hiring to ensure smooth communication within the team. The restaurant relies heavily on international tourists but also attracts many Taiwanese and German customers from Berlin. The waiter emphasized their commitment to an authentic Taiwanese culinary experience, while acknowledging that some traditional flavors, particularly fatty soups and high levels of spice, are less popular with European customers. As a result, they adapt certain dishes, for example by using leaner meats. Similarly, although my noodle soup was deep red and appeared very spicy, the broth was surprisingly mild.

Although this exercise did neither directly address my own personal research interest nor match the theme for our group project for this course (where we plan to examine matcha and its growing popularity in the West), the observational skills honed during this walk, such as attending to spatial layout, menu design, staff interaction and customer demographics, will directly inform how my classmates and I approach our comparative study of matcha establishments in Berlin. In particular, this evening highlighted how authenticity is communicated not only through food itself, but through language choices on menus, interior design, and the narratives restaurant staff offer about their businesses. These are precisely the kinds of cues we will need to identify and interpret as we continue exploring how culinary and cultural authenticity are constructed and marketed across Berlin’s Japanese foodscape.

Sophie Klaus is a student in the Master’s program in Japanese Studies at Freie Universität.

by Carla Hupp

On a hot June day in Berlin, when the temperature reached 27 degrees and the sun was shining, we visited a Japanese café. The streets of Charlottenburg were filled with people riding bikes, walking, and seeking shade under the trees swaying in the breeze. As we walked down one of the streets lined with typical Berliner Altbau buildings, we saw our destination: a green sign with a picture of a white turtle and the Japanese word for turtle, „KAME,“ which is the name of the Japanese café we were visiting that day. Although we were not close enough to look inside, we could already see that different plants or small trees were placed in front of the café. They created a border between the sidewalk and the small, round tables and stools that offered outdoor seating, as there was no terrace. As we got closer, we saw that the doors and windows were wide open, blurring the line between indoor and outdoor spaces. One person was sitting outside, and two people were drinking matcha lattes in a spot next to the entrance.

As we entered the mid-sized café through the main entrance we immediately found ourselves standing in front of the counter. A wide variety of cakes and pastries was displayed on the counter, while the chalkboard behind it, decorated with hand-drawn illustrations of outer space, presented the available drink options. Although we could see another customer eating the matcha tiramisu, it seemed to be sold out, so we chose from the available baked cheesecakes, which came in “matcha,” “yuzu,” and “sesame” flavors. Other options included a slice of “Uji mousse” cake and “miso caramel choco,” but we decided on the sesame cheesecake. While my companion sat down near the counter at one of the ten glass-and-plastic tables, which were arranged to accommodate two people each, I tried to decide on a drink. Beneath the chalkboard menu stood an array of small teapots, each in a different color and decorated with a different pattern, although they came in only two different sizes. While the teapots seemed to follow a typical European design, the drink menu included, in addition to the usual coffee variations, a range of Japanese green teas such as sencha, hōjicha, genmaicha, and the now well-known matcha, available either as a latte or on its own. The café also offered savory dishes, including onigiri, rice bowls, curry rice, and miso soup. After a few seconds of indecision, the only person working in the café that day came out from the kitchen, stood behind the counter, and gave me a friendly look.

As it was a hot day, I ordered two iced matcha lattes and the cheesecake, paid up front, and sat down after the staff member told us that he would bring our order to the table. Once seated, I took a look around. There were about three other customers inside, finishing their cakes and beverages, but overall, the café was not very busy for a Monday afternoon at 5 p.m. Every few seconds, a pleasant breeze of cool air reached us from one of the two fans, one standing behind the counter and the other positioned closer to our table. Low-volume house music played from a JBL speaker behind the counter, while the afternoon sun illuminated the room. Occasionally, a new customer came in and ordered something; however, most customers took their orders outside to sit there. Whenever a car drove past, we could hear a brief whoosh, but the café never became particularly noisy. Even though the staff member was working by himself that afternoon, he seemed relaxed while remaining constantly busy preparing food and drinks, walking between the kitchen, the counter, and the tables outside. When we received our cake, I took a picture of it. This made him pause while placing our matcha lattes on the table, allowing me to take the picture without feeling rushed. He patiently waited for me to finish and then smilingly put down our drinks. As I drank my iced matcha latte, I noticed the wall decorations: an abstract line painting in black ink on white walls that extended across an entire wall. A little farther inside the café, we also spotted a “Japanese corner,” which consisted of a Japanese painting of a cherry blossom tree and a framed fan decorated with Japanese calligraphy. Additionally, customers could sit on a slightly elevated platform, on cushions placed on the floor around a low, traditional Japanese table.

Since we had planned to visit a different Japanese restaurant on the same day, we took

in as much of the atmosphere as possible. But as I sat at the café and ate my cake in the summery breeze, I couldn’t help but think how much fun homework for university can be. ご馳走様でした！

Carla Hupp is a student in the MA program Global East Asia at the Freie Universität Berlin.

by Katja Perepetschajev

When most people think of East Asian food in Berlin, they think of Kantstraße, a street filled with East Asian restaurants, street food stalls, and grocery stores. As part of the class “Research Workshop: Berlin’s Japanese Foodscape,“ we conducted an ethnographic scavenger hunt. We went from restaurant to restaurant, observing and interviewing people. Since most students are in the Global East Asia Master’s program, there were multiple scavenger hunt routes we could choose from: two Japanese eatery routes, one Chinese route, and one South Korean route. Corinna and I chose the South Korean eateries route because we are the only students in the class focusing on Korean studies. We completed this research exercise together on a Friday at noon. We visited five eateries.

Our first stop was Chibo, a restaurant that sells Korean chicken and bowls. The shop name outside was written in hangeul, the Korean alphabet and as soon as we stepped inside, the menu was very visible above the counter. During a quick conversation with one employee he told us that the Bestseller is DakDak Bowl. Just a few steps away is another franchise called mmAAH! Compared to the other restaurants on the route it was by far the biggest, with a lot of seating options outside and inside. As soon as we  entered the store there was K-Pop Music playing, LED Lights and Tv Screens showing the menu and ads for Melona, a popular South Korean icecream. The ordering process was also very simple and similar to South Korea, where you enter the shop, order and pay via an order terminal then pick up your order at the counter once it is ready. The menu mostly consists of Korean Fast Food, like Chicken and Mandu, Korean Dumplings. Just by watching the store from outside we sensed a big inspiration from the Korean Wave Hallyu, which was displayed in the interior and menu.

The next stop was Han BBQ, a well-known place for authentic Korean Barbecue. Unfortunately, we the restaurant was closed at noon. However, there was an employee that kindly answered our questions while preparing for opening. She told us that the most ordered dish is Samgyeopsal, Korean pork belly which is served with multiple other ingredients for lettuce wraps at a table-top grill. The interior was very similar to other South Korean Barbeque places. Most tables have a table-top grill, chairs that open so one can store the clothes and jackets inside to reduce smelly clothes after grilling and Korean posters on the walls. Next up was 44 CHKN, a small shop specializing in Korean fried chicken, which also has another location in Berlin. While the menu consists mostly of Chicken dishes, it was also possible to get most dishes in a vegan version for one extra Euro. The employee told us that most customers are between 15 and 25 years old and that the restaurant is especially popular among families.

Lastly, we ended our scavenger hunt at Son Kitchen, an open window shop where outside seating or take away is possible. Son Kitchen also has multiple Branches in Berlin with different concepts. The menu showed a variety of Korean Street food dishes and Fusion dishes. Through a conversation with a staff member, we found out that most customers are either office workers who come to gram lunch or people who live in the neighborhood. The Bestseller of this location is Beef Bibimbap, as there is no difference in price for Bibimbap for the main topping. Corinna and I decided to order Tofu Bibimbap and vegetarian Kimchee Tacos (as written on the menu). The food was ready fast and it was very convenient for takeaway.

All in all, this was an interesting experience and exercise for on-site research in Berlin. I was able to learn a lot for my own future research and am thankful that I got this opportunity. A big thank you to the kind employees that spontaneously answered my questions and made this scavenger hunt as informative and educational as possible.

Katja Perepetschajev is a student in the MA program Global East Asia at the Freie Universität Berlin.

by Ellen Rimkus

As part of our master’s course on qualitative research methods, we went on a small ethnographic field trip to Kantstraße to observe Chinese food culture in Berlin. Kantstraße is known as a hot-spot for East Asian restaurants with around 50 establishments in the area. We took a look at how different Chinese restaurants present and differentiate themselves.

We started Jade Palast. We visited the restaurant on a Monday evening. The restaurant has a very modern feel to it, with big windows and many wood accents on the exterior. Large signs inform potential customers from afar about the “hand pulled noodles.” Surprisingly, despite the warm weather and clear sky as well as the perfect time for dinner, only a few costumers were seated at the many on-street tables. The inside has a welcoming vibe thanks to its well-lit modern and clean interior as well as an open kitchen letting costumers observe the two chefs preparing the food. A look at the menu gave us a clear image of the food offered, thanks to its bright pictures. While all appetizers and noodle dishes bore their names in kanji as well, oddly, with the rice dishes they were missing. Interestingly, many dishes where clearly labeled with official vegan, vegetarian and halal labels. As for the choice of dishes, most seemed rather authentic.

Just a few meters down the road on the other side of the street there is Aroma. While the name itself barely hints at the origin of its cuisine the restaurants outside and interior more than make up for it. Boasting large Kanji next to its name sign and on the windows., the interior is what most people would expect of a Chinese restaurant: many red and gold lacer accents decorating the walls, red lanterns on the ceiling and large wooden tables with a rotating top in the middle. With a giant menu, it was rather surprising that every dish was listed in German, English and Chinese as well. Where the Jade Palace seemed to focus on a few key dishes, Aroma had everything one could wish for on offer.

Finally, we stopped at Lon Men’s Noodle House for Dinner. In stark contrast to the other stores on our tour, Lon Men’s Noodle House was bustling with customers. After waiting for about 20 minutes, we were kindly seated at two quickly assembled tables in front of the restaurant. Even though by far the smallest restaurant of the three, there was a steady influx of new guests and the waiters hurriedly tended from table to table. From the outside appearing like a small bistro, with the stores name both in English and Chinese above the entrance, on a sign it read “Noodle House from Taiwan”. Behind the small entrance stretches a long counter with an open kitchen, with more indoor seating towards the back. The left side of the entrance is decorated with a large picture wall, showing guests and staff alike. The interior is rather minimalistic, giving the feel of a small mom- and-pop shop. With possibly the cheapest menu, it was quite big, offering everything from soups, noodle and rice dishes as well as dumplings, all items listed in German, English and Chinese. A small note on the menu informed customers that all dishes are prepared spicy, but could be made non-spicy on request.

After studying the menu, we settled on a different array of soup, noodle and rice dishes as well as some dumplings to be shared. My “Tofu in Chili Oil with Pak Choy and Rice” was exactly what the name suggested plus a sweet thick soy sauce on top. The portion was a bit on the smaller side so I was happy to have ordered some dumplings as well. Both were incredibly flavorful despite being vegan, something that is not always available together. Surprisingly however, the dish was not as spicy as I had expected from the warning on the menu, so I added some more chili oil from the tray already on our table.

Talking to one of the waiters, he told us that the restaurant had been opened two decades ago by two Taiwanese immigrants and was still run by their relatives. Apparently not all staff are Taiwanese, but authenticity was a major concern of theirs. One key difference he noted, however, was the kind of meat used for most recipes. While Taiwanese cuisine values fatty meats for its rich flavor, in their experience, many Germans are not accustomed to the texture and prefer leaner cuts, which is what they ended up using at their restaurant. The waiter also told us, despite the popularization of Asian food in general, it remains difficult to obtain certain specific ingredients and even when they are available, they tend to be unusually expensive. When asked about the costumer- base, he stated most guests to be locals, however tourists also tend to visit, among them Taiwanese nationals as well. After finishing all of our food we quickly vacated our seats for the next costumers already waiting for a table.

Overall, our visit to Kantstraße showed that Chinese food culture in Berlin is far from uniform. From Jade Palast’s modern and carefully adapted presentation to Aroma’s more traditional visual aesthetic and Lon Men’s Noodle House’s emphasis on Taiwanese authenticity, each restaurant negotiates its own balance between tradition, authenticity, and the expectations of a local German audience. At the same time, our observations suggest that Kantstraße’s appeal lies precisely in this diversity: rather than simply reproducing Chinese cuisine, these restaurants create different interpretations of it within Berlin’s multicultural food scene. Kantstraße may therefore be considered a hot-spot for Chinese restaurants not because all its establishments offer the same experience, but because they demonstrate the many ways Chinese and Taiwanese food culture can be presented, adapted, and experienced in Berlin.

Ellen Rimkus is a student in the MA program Japanese Studies at the Freie Universität Berlin.

by Jasmin B. and Sayaka Y.

When walking through Berlin’s Japanese restaurants and cafés, “Japaneseness” is not always presented in the same way. Some places advertise themselves through words such as “authentic Japanese,” while others create a quieter sense of familiarity through food, language, interior details, or atmosphere. During our ethnographic scavenger hunt for which we visited different Japanese cafés and restaurants along Kantstraße, we began to notice that Japanese authenticity is not simply given, but actively shaped in different ways.

This question became especially interesting because we observed these spaces from two different perspectives: one of the authors is Japanese, while the other is German. Despite these different backgrounds, we both agreed that our first stop, a Japanese bakery, did not present Japaneseness in an exaggerated or overwhelming way. Instead, it felt like a balanced Japanese café, where cultural references were present but not forced. Taste was of course an important part of this impression, especially when thinking about whether the food felt familiar to Japanese customers. However, comfort also became an important point. Interior design, menu structure, smell, sound, staff background, and language use can all become implicit cultural messages. Whether intentionally or not, they communicate how a place identifies itself and what kind of customers it seems to invite. Rather than asking simply whether a restaurant was „authentic,“ our observations encouraged us to think about how different food spaces communicate Japanese identity, who they seem to address, and how cultural familiarity, commercial branding, and ideas of authenticity overlap in everyday practice.

The Japanese bakery offered a good starting point for these questions. Its menu included onigirazu, rice bowls, curry rice, bento, cakes, and mochi, as well as coffee and tea variations such as sencha, hōjicha, genmaicha, and matcha. Some sweets used flavors such as sesame, yuzu, miso, matcha, and hōjicha. At the same time, the café also included elements that fit well into Berlin’s café culture, such as vegan meal options, gluten-free rice cookies, alternative milk choices such as soy and oat milk, bright windows, plants, and a relaxed and cozy atmosphere. The result was not a space that simply “displayed Japan,” but one that combined Japanese food culture with a casual Berlin café environment. The interior reflected this balance as well. There was a small tatami-style corner, Japanese script on the wall, a bookshelf, plants, different styles of tables, and seats by the window. Our fieldnotes described the atmosphere as relaxed, bright, breezy, and good for conversations. Importantly, it did not feel overly “Japanese.” Rather than relying on strong visual symbols, the café created familiarity through smaller details: the smell of freshly cooked rice, the use of Japanese among staff, Japanese food culture in the menu, and a warm but casual service style.

Other restaurants along the route showed different ways of presenting Japaneseness. Fuwa Fuwa, although closed during our visit, already communicated a clear branding strategy from the outside. It labeled itself as “authentic Japanese,” had a colorful front, and offered recognizable dishes such as rāmen, okonomiyaki, gyūdon, udon, side dishes like gyōza and karaage, and even mochi, taiyaki, and melonpan as sweet desserts, which can only be ordered via a QR-Code. With German explanations of dish names and phrases such as “healthy Japanese lunch,” Japaneseness appeared here more explicitly through words, colors, menu language, and familiar food categories. Heno Heno gave another impression. From the outside, it appeared as a more casual and everyday Japanese food space, with rice bowls, udon, soba, onigiri, and vegetarian options. Its izakaya-style atmosphere suggested a form of Japaneseness less connected to trendiness and more to everyday dining. Kuchi, by contrast, seemed more modern, refined, and internationally accessible. Seeing both Japanese and non-Japanese employees there raised the question of whether a “Japanese” atmosphere is produced through staff, interior design, branding, menu, or a combination of these elements.

Through these observations, we began to understand authenticity not as a fixed quality, but as something constructed in relation to different audiences. A restaurant may feel “authentic” because of taste, language, interior design, staff, or customers’ expectations. At the same time, authenticity can also function as a marketing term, making a place more legible to those less familiar with the culture. Overall, the scavenger hunt showed us that even a short field visit can reveal many layers of cultural representation. While we originally approached the route with an interest in Japanese restaurants as workplaces and community spaces, the fieldwork also made us pay attention to how Japanese culture is displayed, translated, and felt in Berlin. Visual observation has clear limits: we could observe menus, interiors, language use, and atmosphere, but not how workers or owners themselves understand these spaces. Still, the assignment helped us see that “Japaneseness” in Berlin’s food spaces can be explicit or subtle, commercial or familiar, carefully branded or casually embedded in everyday details.

Jasmin B. and Sayaka Y. are students in the MA program Global East Asia at Freie Universität Berlin.

by Lara Schwenk

When people think of Japanese cuisine, besides the obvious sushi and rāmen, dishes like curry rice (jpn. karē raisu) or omuraisu might come to mind. Some Westerners might even think of the latter in connection with subcultures such as maid cafés and conclude that it is, in fact, a typical Japanese food. But how do Japanese people perceive such dishes? Surely, when they speak of going out to eat “Japanese food”, they are not referring to omuraisu, right? And yet, many Japanese restaurants abroad also offer it as an item on their menu. Could it be that foods are perceived to be “originally” from different places, depending on where you are in the world?

In a conversation about the distinction between Japanese food (jpn. washoku) and Western food (jpn. yōshoku), my interview partner, a student from Seikei University in Tokyo, explained that, according to her understanding, omuraisu was closer to Western food than to Japanese food. Still, it was clear that this dish represents some kind of in-between: she hesitated, expressing her uncertainty when asked to categorize it. Interestingly, she mentioned that there are two cafeterias at her university which are distinguished by the types of meals they offer. One serves more Japanese dishes, while the other serves more Western food. Though if the line between these two categories is blurred, however, one might ask how they decide on their menus and which options could be seen as surprising for Japanese and foreign students respectively.

This brings us to our next example: avocado sushi. My interview partner had never eaten Japanese food abroad, but our conversation reminded her of a show she had seen on Japanese TV. In this show, the concept of avocado sushi, which is common in Europe, was introduced to a Japanese audience. This surprised her and she recounted feeling torn at the thought of such a variation of sushi. The question was raised whether avocado sushi should even be called “sushi” and whether it is authentic, since this variation is not commonly available in Japan. After a long consideration, my interview partner expressed a cautiously positive attitude towards it, saying that, if this type of sushi will make sushi more widely known internationally, then she is okay with it.

This interview gave both of us the chance to reflect on our own perceptions of food and the varying degrees of authenticity of certain dishes. It reminded me of a curious example one of my Japanese friends had brought up in conversation a few years ago. There’s a cold noodle dish that is literally called “chilled Chinese” (jpn. hiyashi chūka) in Japanese, and many Japanese people believe its origin to lay in China. But as it turns out, in China, the same dish is called “Japanese style chilled noodles”. There are numerous examples of dishes from other countries where the origins are unclear and the lines blur, such as bánh mì from Vietnam or döner kebab from Germany. This shows that food is deeply interconnected with culture, and it is something learned through lived experiences. Depending on what we grew up eating and where we first encountered certain dishes, we might associate different foods with different places and even assume their origins. As food is such a highly personal topic, it can be great conversation material, as this interview has shown. So, next time you are sharing a meal with friends, it might be worth asking about their home country’s national cuisine or their favorite comfort food.

Lara Schwenk is a student in the MA program Global East Asia at the Freie Universität Berlin.

by Cornelia Reiher

Conducting interviews in Japanese is an important part of the methodology course. That’s why I invited someone actively involved in Berlin’s Japanese foodscape to join the class once again this year. In previous years, we visited restaurants and retail shops offering Japanese food and interviewed their employees, owners, or managers. This time, however, I chose a food entrepreneur who runs a pop-up business selling Japanese ice cream in Berlin. Berlin’s Japanese food scene is dynamic, deriving much of its charm from temporary and experimental formats, such as pop-up restaurants, markets, and events, where new food trends are introduced and tested.

Although it was a long trip, Taka was kind enough to come to Freie Universität in Dahlem for the interview. The students had prepared questions. After a brief round of small talk and an explanation of the interview process, the students obtained his consent to record it. Then, they began asking questions, first in English and then in Japanese, about Taka’s background, his business, Japanese food culture, and the concept of Japanese ice cream.

We learned that Taka always wanted to introduce Japanese cuisine to Berlin. However, he realized that Japanese food in Berlin is quite expensive and not everyone can afford it. This is one of the reasons he came up with the idea of selling ice cream; it offers an affordable glimpse into Japanese food culture and Taka loves ice cream. He has documented his ice cream tastings in Berlin and Japan on his Instagram account to find his niche and unique flavor. In Berlin, he collaborates with a local sake brewery, using byproducts from sake production (sake kasu) to make his ice cream. This allows him to combine flavors and create delicious vegan ice cream, since sake kasu is high in protein. Accordingly, his favorite ice cream is sake kasu ice cream. However, he also combines it with other flavors, such as sakura.

Methodologically, we learned that it’s best to conduct interviews in the interviewees’ native language whenever possible, as they often feel more comfortable speaking it. After the interview, the students told me that they felt empowered by the positive experience of conducting a successful interview in Japanese. They now feel more confident doing it on their own. Later, the students transcribed two minutes of the interview recording to learn how much work and time is required to make informed decisions about using interviews for fieldwork in Japan for their master’s theses.

by Cornelia Reiher

As is customary, the “Berlin’s East Asian Foodscape” methodology course included a visit to a Japanese restaurant this semester. Armed with participant observation assignments, the students headed to a restaurant one Friday in June that serves sushi and Japanese home-style dishes, such as donburi.

When we arrived at the restaurant shortly before noon, a crowd had already gathered, waiting for it to open. Since reservations are not accepted, we had arrived right on time and were glad to find a table for our large group among the groups of employees and Japanese women. The waiters immediately placed cups of hot green tea, chopsticks, small bottles of soy sauce, and the menus on the table.

First, we ordered food and ate. During and after the meal, the students observed and documented how the staff communicated with customers and how the restaurant organized its workflows. They noticed the multilingual environment and observed that many of the servers spoke German, English, and Vietnamese. They also found the large number of service staff and the busy takeout service, which operated simultaneously and was quite popular, interesting.

The students took notes after the meal, and in some cases, even during and before it. Due to the large crowd at lunchtime, the table was cleared immediately after we finished eating. Seeing more guests waiting in the entrance area, we left after an hour. This experience taught us that participant observation sometimes occurs under time constraints, as observers must adapt to others‘ schedules.

A week later, we were back in the classroom. We compared and discussed our field notes and findings. Some students had used their phones to take notes, while others used notebooks and pens. The most important insight was that field notes must be rich and precise in order to produce text for a thesis or paper months later. Keeping this in mind, I sent the students off to complete their next observation task: the Ethnographic Scavenger Hunt, this time on their own. They will share their experiences in blog posts in July and August.