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.

by Haru Yokota and Haruna Usui

In May 2026, students from Seikei University and FU Berlin met again for online interviews about food culture and everyday eating practices in Japan again. This collaboration started during the COVID-19 pandemic and we have arranged for our students to meet online every year since then. Thank you, Yoko Kawamura for this wonderful collaboration! In this post, two students from Seikei University report on their experiences.

Haru wrote:

As I don’t have much exposure to Germany or German culture, I was really looking forward to talking with my partner. The interview was conducted in Japanese and took place in a fun and relaxed atmosphere. We talked about our eating habits, Japanese cuisine abroad and foreign cuisine in Japan. In particular, we discussed the definitions of “authentic” and “fusion” cuisines. I’m interested in cuisines from around the world, but I used to find fusion cuisine was a bit of a challenge because it is adapted and differs from what’s actually eaten overseas.

Through the interview, however, I realized that even in Japan, dishes such as curry and mapo tofu have been adapted to suit Japanese tastes, and could therefore also be considered fusion cuisine. Conversely, one example of Japanese fusion cuisine found overseas is the California roll, a type of sushi that originated in the United States. Initially, I viewed this negatively, considering it to be inauthentic Japanese cuisine. However, I realized that adapting dishes for the local population has a positive aspect in that it helps spread Japanese cuisine around the world. I thought that my favorite dish, curry, might be seen as a “California roll” to Indians.

This interview gave me an opportunity to reflect on my own definition of “authentic” cuisine and on the global spread of food culture.

I am grateful for this interview, which has provided me with new insights, and to the teachers who helped facilitate this connection.

Haruna wrote:

First and foremost, I am very grateful for this precious opportunity. As a student who is interested in and studying intercultural communication, this project, which allowed me to connect in real time with a university student living in Germany, was incredibly fascinating to me. Since my partner had experience studying abroad in Japan, we conducted our entire conversation in Japanese. Although we had exchanged emails to set up the date and time, I was initially nervous because it was our first time seeing each other face-to-face. However, she was smiling the whole time and listened to me while nodding along, which helped me relax and truly enjoy the conversation.

The theme of our discussion was Japanese food culture. We exchanged a lot of opinions on topics ranging from small-scale to large-scale, including the characteristics of Japanese food culture, comparisons with other countries, and the presence of Japanese food abroad. Throughout the conversation, three main things stood out to me. First, I realized how deeply my partner understands and loves Japanese food culture. Second, although Japanese cuisine has been highly popular lately, it might not be as widespread abroad compared to other countries’ cuisines. Lastly, I realized that despite being Japanese, I still do not fully understand my own country’s food culture. During the interview, my interview partner asked me very detailed questions about it, and I felt that there were few answers I could give with absolute confidence. Especially now, when Japanese food culture is attracting so much global attention, I strongly feel the importance of reexamining our very own culture. Being exposed to an outside perspective made me appreciate the value of daily “washoku”, which I had taken for granted. Moving forward, I want to properly understand its profound appeal myself and confidently pass it on to the next generation and the rest of the world.

In conclusion, although it may be repetitive, I would like to express my gratitude for being given such an opportunity. Being able to interact with someone who has a different perspective from mine in Japanese was a highly valuable experience full of various insights and inspiration. It was also a wonderful opportunity to experience the depth of language-based communication. Building on this experience, I hope to continue deepening my learning with an even broader perspective. Thank you very much.

by Ahmad Kasbah

In May of this year, we – that is, students of East Asian Studies at Freie Universität Berlin – had the pleasure of conducting online interviews with students from Seikei University in Tokyo. For most of us, this was our first opportunity to gain firsthand experience interviewing someone while struggling with a language barrier. Some of us knew no Japanese, while others knew some. Surprisingly, we were able to conduct some interviews completely in Japanese.

So, what exactly did we do? Let’s start with the topic: Food.

We were tasked with picking interview partners from another part of the world and interviewing them about their experiences with Japanese food culture and trends. After deciding in the seminar who would interview whom, we reached out to our future interview partners via email. We quickly arranged online meetings and prepared interview questions in advance.

The difficult part came afterwards: the interviews. Since not all of us spoke Japanese, we had a wide range of experiences. Some mixed English with a desperate attempt at sign language, some stuck to English, and a few just talked in Japanese. This hands-on method of collecting qualitative data was helpful in various ways since interviewing peers of a similar age is much more enjoyable and casual than a strict or serious first interview. After the interviews, we followed Japanese tradition and thanked our interview partners for their time via email.

Some time later, we received feedback on the interviews from the students in Japan. Surprisingly, they were also very happy with how we used their time. They added that the interviews were valuable to them on a human and cultural level, pointing out that the questions we asked about food sparked their curiosity about why things are the way they are in Japanese food culture.

Ultimately, we had the opportunity to conduct our interviews. More importantly, we were able to participate in a successful method of establishing intercultural connections and interactions from which both parties derived satisfaction.

Ahmad Kasbah is a student in the MA program Japanese Studies at Freie Universität Berlin

by Cornelia Reiher

Spring has arrived in Berlin, the cherry trees are in bloom, and the summer term has just begun. This means that it is time for the next season of the methods course, „Berlin’s East Asian Foodscape,“ formerly known as „Berlin’s Japanese Foodscape.“ As always, I will teach social science research methods to students in the Master’s Programs in Japanese Studies and Global East Asia through hands-on learning. I will continue to do so by studying East Asian cuisine in Berlin, which will enable encounters with people who make, sell, and consume food from East Asia. Together with an international group of students with expertise in various East Asian countries and languages, we will explore new trends, interview participants in Berlin’s East Asian food scene, and attend food-related events to observe the global dynamics of Berlin’s culinary landscape. Since everyone loves to eat and talk about it, students can contribute their expertise, develop their own research projects, and, hopefully, create exciting videos or other formats by the end of the term. Stay tuned to see the results in October! In the meantime, we will share our experiences on this blog from interviews with Seikei University students in Japan, field trips, interviews with food producers, as well as the annual Ethnographic Schnitzeljagd (ethnographic scavenger hunt). I am looking forward to an exciting course with great projects, great encounters and great food!