As Japan tries to revive its faltering campaign to close the gender gap in the workplace, one sector of the country’s food industry is proving staunchly resistant to change.



Despite the global popularity of Japanese food – and the entry of umami into the international culinary lexicon – the kitchen-side of Japan’s sushi counters continues to be dominated by men.

But in a corner of Tokyo’s Akihabara district, Yuki Chizui and her colleagues are challenging the sushi world’s conservatism, one expertly sliced piece of tuna at a time.

Nadeshiko Sushi is one of thousands of sushi restaurants in Japan, but it is the only one where all of the chefs are women.

For the most part, its decor conforms to the traditional image of a sushi restaurant: a long, lightwood counter, minimalist table settings and sliding screens.

As they prepare for another busy evening during the hectic December bonenkai (forget-the-year party) season, Chizui and her assistant are a rare splash of colour in their bright kimonos, decorated with pink blossoms, and headscarves. Hanging on the wall is the motto that encapsulates their approach: fresh and kawaii (cute). Illustrations depict Chizui as a manga character, a nod to the restaurant’s location in the capital of Japan’s geek and pop culture scene.

They chat and laugh as they clean and slice fish in front of a pair of early diners, pausing occasionally to wipe their knives. It is a scene that has horrified traditionalists who prefer their food to be prepared by the archetypal sushi chef: a gruff, older man with short hair and dressed in a simple white jacket.

“It’s all about having the confidence,” said Chizui. “The hours are long and the work can be physically tough, so that’s why some people believe women are not up to it. If they want it badly enough, they can overcome the sexism.”

The 29-year-old textiles graduate, who started working at restaurants after deciding against a career as a designer, is not Japan’s only female sushi chef. But three years after the last man left Nadeshiko’s staff, her restaurant is, incredibly, the only one where there is not a single man in the kitchen or behind the counter.

No official statistics are kept on the number of female sushi chefs in Japan, but they are a rarity among the 35,000 listed by the All Japan Sushi Association.

The sushi at Nadeshiko is not of premium quality, but then the prices are about a third of those charged at, say, a restaurant in the upmarket district of Ginza. Courses start at a very reasonable 2,000 yen (£11) and include sushi staples such as tuna, prawn and squid – all prepared to a standard found at other mid-range restaurants.

Among the appreciative salarymen and tourists who flock to Nadeshiko, Chizui and her fellow chefs occasionally encounter men who are more interested in mocking their knife skills than in eating the food.

“They show up from time to time, but I just regard them as fools,” said Chizui. “We do a good job here, but there are younger staff who still have a lot to learn. Every sushi restaurant has its own style and flavour, depending on how they cook and prepare the rice, which fish they select, and so on. And like everyone else, we have our own style.”

Some of the criticism has come from established names in the industry, including Kazuyoshi Ono, the son of Jiro Ono, whose three-Michelin star restaurant Sukiyabashi Jiro was the setting for a meeting between the prime minister, Shinzo Abe, and Barack Obama in 2014.

The younger Ono has claimed that women make inferior sushi chefs because their menstrual cycle affects their sense of taste. Others believe that women’s higher core body temperature adversely affects fresh ingredients, or that their use of cosmetics interferes with their sense of smell.

Chizui laughs when reminded of Ono’s comments. “We don’t wear perfume or nail varnish, and apply just enough makeup to let diners know that we’re making an effort to be presentable. Not to do so would be rude.”

Most of the chefs at Nadeshiko – a pink carnation that supposedly symbolises the beauty and grace of an “ideal” Japanese woman – have completed a course at Tokyo Sushi Academy, where about a fifth of the students are women.

Becoming a fully fledged sushi chef usually takes a decade. Under the guidance of a mentor, trainees learn the importance of repetition and form, of looking after their knives and treating the rice with as much respect as the fish.

Typically, young chefs do not get close to a knife or slab of prime tuna belly for the first year of their apprenticeship, and instead spend long hours taking deliveries and washing up.

Chizui did not take the traditional route but believes she has put in the time, having started out learning the basics at a chain of sushi restaurants before passing a skills test and opening Nadeshiko five years ago.

At just 29, she already has more than a decade’s experience in the industry, a pedigree she believes is evident in her food. “That’s the best way to answer our critics … to keep proving to our customers that we can make good sushi.”

