Tariffs are eating all the fun out of sushi

OF ALL developments in the Trump tariffs turmoil, this one probably won’t be sending thousands of people into the streets: High-end sushi aficionados in New York City, who already pay exorbitant prices, may soon be confronted with big increases. It’s a tiny market of diners who can afford the US$950-per-person meal at Masa (service included, but wine’s extra, and you still need to pay the 8.875 per cent New York state sales tax); or, less altitudinously, the US$480 at Shion 69 Leonard Street; or the US$280 at Takeda. These restaurants – most with limited counter seating – serve exquisite fish freshly flown in from Japan’s famous markets. The US was about to impose a 24 per cent duty on this painstakingly curated ingredient. Now, it’s only 10 per cent – though that’s just for the next 90 days and pending negotiations… and, if US President Donald Trump doesn’t change his mind again.

It’s just a problem for the 1 per cent, right? But if these restaurants get priced out of business, that may be an indicator of where the US economy is headed.

Except for Canadian tuna and the clams with which his restaurant makes dashi, Shion owner Idan Elkon says practically all the food served by chef Shion Uino at the elegantly spartan nine-seat counter comes from Japan. That includes the wasabi rhizomes that provide the cuisine’s distinctive horseradish-like bite. It’s cultivated in California and the Pacific Northwest nowadays, but the quality of American wasabi isn’t up to snuff for Japan’s chefs. There is apparently also high-quality wasabi from Ireland, but Elkon doesn’t have a supplier from that country – which, like the rest of the world, is also lashed by Trump’s tariffs. Other delicacies will get costlier: The ankimo – monkfish liver – that chef Uino prefers was priced at around US$128 a pound before the tariffs. A favourite – shiro amadai, a specific type of tilefish from the chef’s hometown of Amakusa – costs US$80 to US$100 a pound.

One thing that distinguishes Shion as a sushi restaurant is that it serves a lot of French wine – that’s what its clientele likes, and the restaurant’s become quite adept at matching fish and the fermented fruit of the vine. But that’s also become an issue because the global tariffs are adding 10 per cent to all imports from the European Union, including the wines of France. Wine is similar to sushi – oenophiles will accept no substitutes for what they want when they want it. If a customer expects a Loire Pouilly-Fume, they aren’t going to be happy if a restaurant pours them a Napa Valley chardonnay, excellent though it may be.

But wine is critical to restaurants beyond the clutch of expensive sushi-yas. That’s because a lot of establishments make their way to profit through such sales. US distributors are “incredibly concerned” – in the words of Ben Aneff, president of the US Wine Trade Alliance and founder of Tribeca Wine in New York City – that the European wines are still threatened by the tariffs. The continent and the US have done bountiful business. Aneff says that for every dollar mom-and-pop wine shops put into European wine, they earn US$4.

In the last few years, as Americans have become more discerning drinkers, they’ve taken to the astonishing array of varietals that European vintners – large and small – roll out efficiently, relatively cheaply and bring to market with addictive aplomb. As inflation pumps up food and labour costs, wine has increasingly borne the burden of eking out a restaurant’s profit. Enough tales exist about places that make nothing out of a teetotalling diner who orders a three-course meal. The 200 per cent tariff on wine that Trump threatened to hit Europe with isn’t really off the table (no one knows what’s on-or-off or where the table is, actually, even with the new 90-day pause). So while 10 per cent seems less hysterical, who knows what will come next?

How do more expensive sushi and wine affect the segment of America that loves its fried fillet-of-fish with a can of Pabst? (Not a put-down: I have very good memories of the combination.) The problem with consumer inflation is that it’s slowly corrosive. It can start in many places, but then erodes not just value, but trust in your quality of life. Sometimes, a Pabst can make you aspire to a Pouilly-Fume – but what can you do if there’s no longer any to be had in the country? If the rich have to go downmarket, that means the rest of us will have fewer potential splurges to dream about.

My family moved to the US at the end of the 1970s, during the bad days of the economy when inflation was in the double-digits and interest rates were so high that your money could sit in a bank and earn 20 per cent, a return bigger than some stocks can get you... well not today, but in late 2024. The result, however, was high costs (think 20 per cent mortgages) and a severe lack of capital in circulation to energise the stagnant economy. It was called stagflation, and it was miserable.

Price increases can gradually eat away at life. In the market for high-end sushi, it’s been dramatic. It was already evident in January and February when Manhattan’s expensive sushi counters said business was soft. Anecdotally, some that needed 16 to 20 covers a night to reach profitability were barely getting half that. The cost is one thing but, almost always, the experience is memorable – and snagging a reservation gave you priceless bragging rights and stories to tell for years. Top of the world.

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Dining Out, New York Style

It’s like what they say about fish – expensive, imported or not – corrosion starts at the head. BLOOMBERG