Restaurants In Japan Have The Best Way Of Displaying Their Menu

Japanese ice cream never melts. At least, that's what you might think if you're wandering through Tokyo on a hot day. How else could ice cream shops display colorful cones in their windows, even in the middle of July?

Those ice cream cones are actually plastic — but don't feel bad if you thought they were real. This isn't your grandma's fake fruit, even if fake food decor is making a comeback. Japan takes faux food to a whole other level (and we're not just talking about Japan's love of imitation crab). Those dishes aren't mass produced, but handmade by skilled artisans.

And it's not just ice cream that's on display. In dining spots around Japan, you'll see window displays full of ramen, katsu curry, bento, and more. The models are called sampuru, which is derived from the English word "sample." And, from karaage — the superior way to make fried chicken — to wonderfully Japanese bouncy cheesecakes, they all look exactly like the real deal.

True, the actual food probably doesn't look that pretty. But sampuru are arguably more accurate than the styled and doctored photos you see on fast food menus. The point isn't perfection: Artisans know that real food has blemishes and bumps. To make the displays convincing, they try to stay true to life. And while you can buy off-the-shelf models of popular dishes, many restaurants commission custom models based on the actual food they serve. But why put in all the effort? What's wrong with photographs? 

Some restaurants do use photographs. After all, those handcrafted models don't come cheap. But the practice started around 100 years ago, when food photography wasn't widely available. Western food was the hot new thing, but customers were wary of unfamiliar options. Putting dishes on display let them know what they were getting, but real food went rank fast.

Nobody knows who came up with the idea for sampuru. A man named Takizo Iwasaki gets credit, but the story is up for debate. Even the website for Sample Village Iwasaki, a museum dedicated to his legacy, admits that he wasn't the first to use wax replicas. A few locations were already using wax models before Iwasaki came along. But they weren't widely available or convincing.

In 1931, Iwasaki was inspired by dripping candle wax and started to work on a replica. It took him months to perfect, but the end result — an omelet — fooled his wife. The original omelet is still on display in the company's museum, and remains convincing as ever. The next year, he opened a factory and started selling his models to restaurants. They were a hit.

If sampuru gained popularity as a way for restaurants to educate Japanese customers on foreign foods, they stayed popular for the opposite reason. After World War II, Japan became a hot tourist spot. Thanks to sampuru, foreigners could see restaurant fare for themselves. The visual menus also helped customers communicate across language barriers.

By the 1980s, sampuru companies switched from wax to plastic. After all, a wax ice cream cone will still melt. Today, most sampuru are made from vinyl or resin, though some companies still use wax for special effects.

Mastering the craft takes over a decade. Sometimes, the process closely mimics making actual food. Creating fake rice balls is just like making actual onigiri, or rice balls, but with plastic rice and glue. Often, though, sampuru start with silicone molds, which are filled with liquid plastic and baked in an oven. Once they're done, artisans paint each piece by hand before assembling the final dish.

For custom pieces, restaurants send in detailed descriptions along with images of the actual dish. Artisans examine photos, review recipes, and match dimensions down to the centimeter. Some restaurants send factories their own tableware, and even freeze actual food so the manufacturer can make it into a mold. Iwasaki's company, Iwasaki Be-I, also consults with restaurants on lighting and displays.

Japan is known for some pretty pricey food, and the same goes for sampuru. That attention to detail doesn't come cheap: Simple items start at around $50, and more elaborate dishes cost hundreds per plate. A grilled fish model fetches $17,000. In 2019, the sampuru industry was valued at $90 million USD. There are dozens of factories around Japan, and Iwasaki Be-I dominates 60% of the market. The company's 68 artisans churn out 200,000 samples each year.

As tourists poured into Japan, they fell in love with the fancy fake food. Sampuru soon became hot souvenirs, and earned recognition from the international art world. In 1980, an exhibition at the Victoria and Albert Museum celebrated the craft. A 1985 article in the New York Times described it as part of "the canon of pop art."  By 1990, the Museum of Modern Art in New York City had examples in its permanent collection. 

Fake food is still big business in Japan, but in recent years, sales have slowed. The durable plastic props can last for decades, and new restaurants only bring in so much work. Instead, artists host workshops and sell souvenirs. In Iwasaki's hometown of Gujo, you can learn to make parfaits, tempura, sushi, and more. Can't afford a trip to Japan? Some companies sell DIY kits you can make at home. Sampuru companies don't stop at lifesize models, either. Want a beef rib business card case that'll let you shmooze in style? What about an okra-shaped ear pick or sliced melon smartphone holder? Sampuru manufacturers have you covered. 

The practice goes beyond store displays and kitschy tchotchkes. In the fine art world, Japanese artists use sampuru techniques to create surreal sculptures. Often, the work speaks to culture, consumption, or Japanese identity. After all, fake food has been a part of Japanese culture for a century — and just like a plastic sushi platter, it's here to stay.