On a humid Tuesday afternoon in Jakarta, 28-year-old food blogger Nadya Rachman lifts the lid of her rice cooker with theatrical flair. A cloud of steam escapes, carrying with it the unmistakable aroma of dashi-seasoned rice—garnished with shiitake mushrooms, mirin, and a handful of thinly sliced daun jeruk, or kaffir lime leaves.

“It’s a twist on takikomi gohan,” Nadya says with a grin, referring to a classic Japanese mixed rice dish. “I just couldn’t resist giving it a bit of an Indonesian kick.”

Nadya is one of a growing wave of Southeast Asian cooks—many of them home chefs, bloggers, and digital creators—who have embraced the comforting simplicity of Japanese home cooking. Her Instagram account, once filled with glossy avocado toasts and latte art, is now a vibrant catalog of homemade bento boxes, miso soups, and tamagoyaki—often with subtle regional tweaks.

“In the past, Japanese food here mostly meant sushi or ramen,” she says. “But now people want to know what real Japanese people cook at home. And they want to cook it themselves.”

From Bento to Viral: The Rise of Washoku in Southeast Asia

Japanese home cuisine—known as washoku—has long been celebrated for its seasonal ingredients, visual beauty, and nutritional balance. In 2013, UNESCO even recognized it as an Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity. But outside of Japan, washoku was mostly eclipsed by more restaurant-friendly dishes like sashimi and yakitori.

That’s changing.

According to the Japan External Trade Organization (JETRO), the number of Japanese restaurants overseas has surged from 24,000 in 2006 to over 160,000 in 2023. But more interestingly, the trend has shifted from dining out to cooking in. Japanese ingredients—like miso, kombu, and mirin—are now regularly stocked in supermarkets across Southeast Asia. Even convenience stores in Bangkok or Kuala Lumpur carry bento box sets and pre-marinated teriyaki sauces.

Food delivery platform Cookpad, which originated in Japan but now has millions of users across Southeast Asia, reported in a 2022 regional analysis that Japanese home-cooking recipes were among the most searched categories in Indonesia, Thailand, and the Philippines. Terms like “easy oyakodon” and “how to make miso soup” regularly trend on YouTube and TikTok.

“It started with lockdown cooking,” Nadya recalls. “People were stuck at home, watching Japanese dramas or anime, and wanted to recreate what they saw onscreen.”

She laughs, remembering how a scene from the show Midnight Diner sent her DMs into overdrive. “Everyone wanted to know how to make the potato salad with cucumber slices.”

A Cross-Cultural Kitchen

What makes Japanese home cooking so appealing to Southeast Asian cooks? Nadya believes it’s the clean flavors, the sense of order, and the meditative prep.

“I love how Japanese home meals are structured—a little protein, a little veg, a bowl of soup, rice, and pickles. It reminds me of how my mom served meals when I was a kid,” she says. “It’s respectful to ingredients, which resonates with a lot of local traditions.”

That doesn’t mean it’s always made strictly by the book. Like many other creators across the region, Nadya has developed what she calls a “pan-Asian washoku”—swapping out ingredients based on seasonality and availability. “I use tempeh instead of pork belly in some recipes. Sambal in place of chili oil. And sometimes I’ll use kecap manis instead of soy sauce if I want a deeper sweetness.”

In the Philippines, bloggers like Isa Reyes have popularized karaage made with calamansi juice. In Vietnam, creators on TikTok are fusing Japanese curry with lemongrass chicken. The result is a kind of regional hybrid—respectful of its roots, but joyfully creative in execution.

“People used to think Japanese cooking was intimidating or expensive,” Nadya says. “Now it’s like, ‘Hey, I have rice, soy sauce, and an egg—let’s make tamago gohan.’”

From Grandma’s Recipes to Digital Fame

Nadya’s journey into Japanese home cooking began five years ago, when she studied design in Kyoto. But it wasn’t restaurant food that captured her imagination—it was the home meals she had with her homestay family.

“Obaachan made the same breakfast every day—grilled salmon, miso soup, and pickled plum rice,” she says. “It was so different from what I grew up eating, but also comforting in a way I didn’t expect.”

She started posting those meals on Instagram. At first, just as a visual diary. But during the pandemic, her following exploded. Today, Nadya has nearly 500,000 followers and runs online cooking classes for a mix of Japanese and Southeast Asian dishes—many of which sell out within hours.

“I try not to be too precious about authenticity,” she explains. “To me, food is about connection. If a Filipino teen is learning how to make okonomiyaki and putting banana ketchup on it, that’s still a win.”

Beyond Trends: A Culinary Exchange

Experts say the appeal of Japanese home cooking goes beyond just aesthetics or flavor. It speaks to broader lifestyle trends. In an era where fast food and chaotic schedules dominate, washoku offers balance, routine, and calm.

“In Southeast Asia, there’s a growing appreciation for slow living,” says a 2023 report by the ASEAN Food Culture Network. “Japanese cooking—with its emphasis on mindfulness and intention—fits into that desire for simplicity and self-care.”

But there’s also a deeper exchange happening. Nadya’s followers often message her with their own adaptations of her recipes—adding Thai basil, tweaking the spice level, or turning a soup into a noodle dish. “It’s not just Japan influencing us,” she says. “It’s us shaping what Japanese cooking can look like in this part of the world.”

Looking ahead, Nadya believes the next wave will involve even more fusion—Japanese dishes that naturally incorporate halal ingredients, tropical produce, and regional traditions. “Why not miso-lemongrass soup? Or teriyaki tofu with sambal matah?”

She shrugs. “Food doesn’t have to be pure to be powerful.”

As she carefully arranges another homemade bento for her next video, Nadya reflects on how much has changed. “Five years ago, I couldn’t tell the difference between miso and mirin,” she says, laughing. “Now, I’m teaching hundreds of people how to make onigiri—and topping it with rendang.”