COLUMN #203 The Scent of Dashi in Milan: A Japonesque Shift

I left Milan in October 2015 and moved to Tokyo. That year, Milan hosted the World Expo, filled with promises of becoming a truly international city. But back then, the atmosphere still felt modest—there wasn’t even a Starbucks or an Apple Store. Milan was proud and stylish, but not yet global.

Since then, Tokyo has become my base, but Milan remains my second home. As a citizen of the Earth, and as part of my work, I often find myself returning there. I still have a “home” in Milan—a place where I feel grounded, and where I can reconnect with something essential.

Now, in 2025, I find myself visiting Milan regularly. Each time I return, I notice how much the city has changed—not only visually, but culturally. Compared to Tokyo, Milan is a compact city. You can walk from one edge to the other, which makes change feel incredibly visible. Street by street, café by café, the shift is tangible.

This year, as the World Expo is being heldis held in Osaka, I can’t help but look back at Milan’s Expo ten years ago. What was then a vision for the future has now arrived—but not in the way we might have expected. Milan didn’t just become international. It became quietly, unmistakably Japonesque—a French- and English-rooted word that describes Japanese-inspired style and mood, especially as interpreted abroad.

You feel this transformation most clearly through food.

A decade ago, Japanese cuisine in Milan was more of a concept than a real experience. But today, there’s a refined awareness. Terms like umami and dashi are part of everyday conversation, and long queues form outside truly authentic Japanese restaurants. According to the book Guide Japanese Food in Milan, there are now 49 real Japanese restaurants in the city. For a city of Milan’s scale, that number is remarkable.

One day in Corso Como—Milan’s upscale fashion district—I came across Kagurazaka Saryo, a traditional Japanese sweets café I know well from my Tokyo neighborhood. Seeing it there, quietly nestled among Milanese boutiques, felt like witnessing the two cities folding into each other.

Then there’s Pan Milano, a Japanese-run bakery that blends Japanese technique with Italian ingredients. In just three years, they’re preparing to open their third store.

I believe food is often the first point of emotional attachment between cultures. You don’t need language, context, or history to experience it. Through taste and scent, it enters your body. And once something becomes part of your daily rhythm—your lunch break, your weekend café routine—it quietly builds familiarity and affection. From there, interest expands into design, aesthetics, mindset. That is the quiet power of the Japonesque.

For someone who lives between Tokyo and Milan, this transformation feels deeply poetic. Cities are not just physical places—they’re ecosystems of values and rhythms, always learning from one another.

The scent of dashi in Milan carries a bigger story. And it’s still unfolding.