Sushi became Japan's most important culinary export because of its elegant simplicity and the sushi chef's focus on allowing the natural flavor of the fish to shine. Outside of Japan, other forces have combined to create a flashy new form of sushi. The “bromakase” sushi restaurant has flipped tradition around to appeal to the hyper-competitive, status-hungry tech world for whom the choice of dining establishment is on par with the decision of which watch to wear. These people, who aren't into elegant restraint, are attracted to bromakase sushi because it’s maximalist and supercharged. It also works well for them on social media, as much of the point is for others to see how they live. The difference between the old sushi and the new sushi resembles the difference between a cozy jazz club and a Vegas-style electronic dance music festival.
As unlikely as it sounds, a key catalyst in the development of this trend is podcast host, Joe Rogan. When Rogan talks to his audience, they take heed. As reported in The New York Times, after dining at Sushi Bar ATX, in Austin, Texas, Rogan posted to his 19 million Instagram followers: “Best sushi I’ve ever had in my life.” By the next morning, the waiting list for the tiny place’s 10 seats was thousands of names long. That began the rise of the bromakase.
“Bromakase,” a term coined by former Times restaurant critic Pete Wells, is a portmanteau of “bro” and omakase—the Japanese word for a meal in which customers tell the chef to serve them the best of what they've got; no ordering necessary. Such meals come with a premium price tag, which the bros are happy to pay because it shows they can pay.
ATX, hidden behind an unmarked door in downtown Austin, isn’t an old-style sushi bar. I assume Rogan can stuff himself there, gratis, with their full array of luxury items, as since his Instagram post the restaurant’s expanded to seven other locations. Their website, like all bromakase places, displays no menu, because there isn't one. Instead, ATX operates on a rotating, 17-course nightly omakase “experience” at $185 per person, plus the cost of drinks. It's the kind of place to go to if you want your sushi served with corn pudding or sprinkled with sourdough bread crumbs.
Bromakase’s all about conspicuous consumption. In a traditional Japanese sushi restaurant, “otoro” (fatty tuna) is the prized ingredient. Its sensual feel on the palate is so satisfying that it calls for no distracting adornments beyond a touch of soy sauce. Nevertheless, ATX serves its otoro with “signature garlic chips and huckleberry gastrique.” ATX’s unagi (eel) is “seared and paired with rich elements like blowtorch-melted Texas bone marrow”; their hotate (scallop) is “served with yuzu kosho and a rich beurre blanc butter.” Butter is antithetical to the culinary ethos of sushi, which is all about clean flavors from the sea. But as the bromakase restaurant is moving into the steakhouse territory as the place for corporate honchos to burn the company's money, butter’s richness fits right in.
Luxury-loving bros look at dining out as a form of social currency—like playing golf at an exclusive course. Bromakase offers them a perfect environment to sit around the sushi bar and banter about how they love popping the egg bubbles in their mouth when they eat the $50-per-bite A5 wagyu beef sushi topped with caviar. Truffles, caviar, and foie gras are part of the attraction of the bromakase experience.
The traditional sushi restaurant promises meditative serenity, while bromakase delivers the showmanship the bros crave to match their “masters of the universe” energy. The bromakase interior design—known in the business as “high-end speakeasy”—lends itself to a performative environment. Moody, subterranean lighting has replaced the soft, diffused lighting designed to put the focus on pristine slices of fish.
Hilo Sushi Omakase in L.A. reflects this new aesthetic with its jet-black walls, white linen tables, and a 1980s pop playlist. Chef Hilo Mahenola tells stories and speaks with diners at his 10-seat counter. He serves a creamy uni (sea urchin) pasta, black truffles over Hawaiian amberjack, and albacore tuna topped with “customized” garlic purees and pickled Maui onion. The chef conducts short interviews with his customers about their specific likes and dislikes, allowing for further customization.
The 10-seat counter that's common among bromakase places signifies more than customer expectation of special attention from the sushi chef. Such restaurants are also selling “exclusivity,” which is the reason that well-heeled diners have been turning away from steakhouses and toward bromakase for special-occasion dinners. Steakhouses, with their expansive spaces, rarely turn customers away, but getting a reservation at places like Apex Sushi and Hilo Sushi is a challenge. Sushi photographs much better than a hunk of beef, allowing status seekers to tweet a lovely-looking bite that’s a statement of elegant taste and testament to one’s ability to get into a place that most people can't. The bromakase’s the perfect vehicle for those who want to show the world how special they are.