How Korin Redefined Japanese Dining Worldwide

The Unseen Architect of Japanese Cuisine’s Global Ascent 

In 1978, as Saori Kawano stepped off a plane from Yokohama into New York City’s bustling streets, the culinary landscape bore little resemblance to today’s vibrant tapestry of global flavours. Back then, Japanese food in America often meant neon-lit sushi rolls or theatrical teppanyaki shows. Yet, over the next four decades, Kawano would quietly become the linchpin connecting Japan’s culinary traditions to the world’s most influential chefs, reshaping how millions experience its cuisine. 

From Humble Beginnings to Culinary Crossroads 

When Kawano first arrived, her ambitions stretched far beyond food. Initially drawn to New York by her husband’s musical pursuits at Juilliard, she soon found herself navigating an unfamiliar city where ramen came in polystyrene cups and “Japanese fusion” meant teriyaki sauce drizzled over steak. Despite this, she sensed an opportunity. While working as a waitress at a Midtown restaurant catering to Japanese expats, she noticed mismatched tableware undermining the authenticity of each dish. This observation sparked a relentless drive to bridge cultural divides through craftsmanship. 

Armed with little more than determination, she began cold-calling department stores. After months of rejection, Bloomingdale’s finally placed a $1,500 order for minimalist white bowls—a modest start that grew into Korin, her now-iconic TriBeCa emporium. Today, the shop’s shelves gleam with hand-forged knives from Sakai and lacquered bento boxes from Kyoto, serving as both showroom and classroom for chefs seeking mastery over Japanese techniques. 

The Blade That Carved a Revolution 

While European chefs once dominated global gastronomy, the 1980s saw a seismic shift. Nouvelle cuisine’s emphasis on precision and presentation created fertile ground for Japanese tools. Enter Kawano’s curated collection of hocho (Japanese knives), each designed for singular tasks: the yanagiba for slicing sashimi, the usuba for julienning vegetables. Unlike their German counterparts, these blades prioritised finesse over force, their razor edges reflecting centuries of metallurgical expertise. 

Chefs took notice. By 1995, luminaries like Nobu Matsuhisa and Daniel Boulud were relying on Korin for equipment that elevated their craft. The numbers tell the story: Sakai’s knife exports surged from ¥2.8 billion (£16.7 million) in 2000 to ¥7.1 billion (£42.3 million) by 2020, with Kawano’s clients driving much of that demand. Meanwhile, her sharpening service—a ritual requiring 15 precise angles on a 1,000-grit whetstone—became a rite of passage for kitchens from Eleven Madison Park to Sugarfish. 

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Building Bridges Through Clay and Steel 

Kawano’s influence extends far beyond commerce. In 2004, she founded the Gohan Society, a nonprofit that has since enabled over 400 chefs—including David Chang and April Bloomfield—to apprentice with Japanese artisans. These pilgrimages reveal nuances invisible to tourists: the 200-year-old kilns of Arita porcelain makers, the 72-hour fermentation cycles of Sendai miso brewers. 

Such efforts aligned perfectly with Japan’s 2006 “washoku diplomacy” initiative, which sought UNESCO Intangible Heritage status for its cuisine. When that designation arrived in 2013, it catalysed a tourism boom: visits to Japan doubled from 10 million in 2013 to 31.9 million in 2019, with 58% of travellers citing food as their primary motivator, per the Japan National Tourism Organisation. 

Weathering Storms With Unyielding Grace 

Success didn’t come without struggle. The early 1990s nearly broke Korin, as recession-strapped restaurants slashed budgets. Kawano, then a single mother, recalls hauling her toddler daughter through subway turnstiles during sales calls, sample kits in tow. A lifeline emerged in 1991 when Jean-Georges Vongerichten sought tableware for his groundbreaking restaurant Vong. His adoption of her gilded lotus bowls sparked a trend among French chefs, transforming Korin from niche supplier to industry essential. 

Through it all, Kawano’s ethos remained constant: “A ‘no’ won’t destroy you,” she often says, echoing lessons from her trailblazing mother, one of Japan’s first female insurance executives. This resilience now fuels her latest mission: mentoring young female chefs in a field still dominated by men. As Michelin-starred chef Niki Nakayama (of L.A.’s n/naka) attests, “Saori didn’t just sell us knives—she gave us the confidence to demand respect.” 

Cultivating Craftsmanship in a Globalised World 

As Japanese cuisine gained momentum abroad, Saori Kawano recognised a pressing challenge: preserving authenticity while adapting to foreign palates. While New York’s dining scene embraced sushi and ramen by the late 1990s, many restaurants prioritised spectacle over substance. Kawano, however, saw an opportunity to educate rather than compromise. Through workshops and chef exchanges, she became a conduit for traditions that might otherwise have been lost in translation. 

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The Art of Precision in an Impatient World 

In 2003, when Noriyuki Sugie arrived to helm the Mandarin Oriental’s restaurant, his first visit to Korin revealed a stark contrast. Across Manhattan, “Japanese-inspired” eateries served oversized rolls drenched in mayo, while staff clad as ninjas hurled shrimp into diners’ mouths. Meanwhile, Kawano’s showroom displayed $800 deba knives forged in Osaka, tools designed not for flair but for exactitude. “Americans loved the drama,” Sugie recalled, “but Saori taught them the discipline behind it.” 

Her approach resonated. By 2010, over 60% of Michelin-starred restaurants in New York featured Japanese knives, according to a survey by Food & Wine. This shift wasn’t merely aesthetic. The average sushi chef now spends three years mastering rice preparation alone, a fact Kawano emphasises during Korin’s knife-sharpening demos. “A dull blade crushes the grains,” she explains, “but a honed edge preserves each one’s integrity.” Such minutiae might seem excessive, yet they underpin Japan’s culinary philosophy: respect for ingredients as living entities. 

From Sushi Counters to Suburban Kitchens 

While Kawano’s early clients were professionals, the 2010s saw a seismic shift. Home cooks, inspired by Netflix’s Jiro Dreams of Sushi and David Chang’s Ugly Delicious, began seeking restaurant-grade tools. Korin’s $300 gyuto knives—once exclusive to chefs—now fly off shelves to amateur enthusiasts. In response, Kawano launched online tutorials, demystifying techniques like katsuramuki (radish peeling) for everyday users. 

The numbers underscore this democratisation. Between 2015 and 2022, Korin’s direct-to-consumer sales grew by 340%, with 45% of buyers aged 25–34. Meanwhile, the global Japanese knife market ballooned to $2.1 billion (£1.65 billion) in 2023, per Statista. Yet Kawano resists dumbing down her offerings. “A good knife isn’t a gadget,” she insists. “It’s a companion that demands care and patience.” 

Guardians of the Old Ways in a New Era 

Kawano’s reverence for tradition often pits her against modern shortcuts. Take wasabi: while 95% of American sushi bars use dyed horseradish paste, Korin stocks fresh rhizomes from Shizuoka, flown in weekly at £90 per kilo. Similarly, her shop eschews mass-produced ceramics for kintsugi-repaired bowls, their gold-veined cracks celebrating imperfection. “Convenience has its place,” she concedes, “but beauty lies in the handmade.” 

This philosophy extends to her collaborations. In 2017, she partnered with Arita’s 400-year-old Kakiemon kilns to create limited-edition plates for Eleven Madison Park. Each piece took six months to craft, involving 14 artisans and natural pigments mined from local cliffs. At £620 per plate, they’re priced as art—a deliberate choice. “If people invest in something,” Kawano reasons, “they’ll slow down and appreciate it.” 

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A Network Forged Through Trust 

Kawano’s greatest asset isn’t her inventory but her relationships. Take Toshio Suzuki, a third-generation blacksmith in Sakai. While most exporters prioritise factories, Kawano visits Suzuki’s workshop annually, documenting his 18-step forging process. These videos, shared with chefs, reveal why his blades cost £1,200: each is quenched in straw ash, folded 32 times, and polished with uji river stones. “She doesn’t just sell my knives,” Suzuki says. “She tells their story.” 

Such storytelling has ripple effects. When Danish chef René Redzepi visited Korin in 2014, he left with a yanagiba knife and a determination to explore fermentation. This led to Noma’s acclaimed 2015 Japan pop-up, which sparked a global obsession with koji and miso. Similarly, Dominique Crenn credits Kawano’s donabe clay pots for inspiring her ichigo (strawberry) miso at Atelier Crenn. “Saori connects dots we didn’t know existed,” Crenn says. 

Weathering Crises With Quiet Resolve 

Even icons face turbulence. The 2020 pandemic shuttered 60% of Korin’s restaurant clients overnight. Undeterred, Kawano pivoted to virtual workshops, teaching Zoom classes on knife care to 15,000 isolated home cooks. Simultaneously, she negotiated rent relief for her artisan partners in Japan, many of whom rely solely on Korin for overseas sales. “They’re family,” she says. “You don’t abandon family in a storm.” 

Her bet paid off. By 2022, Korin’s revenue surpassed pre-pandemic levels, fueled by a 200% surge in home-chef patronage. Meanwhile, her advocacy helped Sakai’s knife-makers secure a £2.3 million government grant to preserve their craft. Ever the visionary, Kawano sees crises as catalysts: “Disruption reminds us what truly matters—the human hands behind every meal.” 

Redefining Fusion Through Authentic Collaboration 

As global interest in Japanese cuisine surged, Saori Kawano faced a paradox: how to honour tradition while nurturing innovation. While the 2000s saw “fusion” become a buzzword, often resulting in gimmicky hybrids like sushi burritos, Kawano championed a more thoughtful approach. Her strategy? Pairing Japanese artisans with Western chefs to create tools that bridged cultures without diluting either. 

When East Meets West, Sparks Fly 

Consider the case of Thomas Keller. In 2006, the French Laundry chef sought a knife that could julienne black truffles as finely as daikon. Kawano connected him with Sakai blacksmith Hiroshi Kato, who fused a French paring knife’s curve with a usuba’s flat edge. The resulting hybrid, priced at £1,800, became the gold standard for precision cuts. By 2023, over 200 Michelin-starred kitchens worldwide used Kato-Korin collabs, proving cross-cultural tools could transcend novelty. 

Meanwhile, Kawano’s tableware collaborations redefined plating aesthetics. In 2011, she introduced René Redzepi to Bizen ware—unglazed pottery fired for 60 days in Okayama’s pine ash. Noma’s iconic “foraged feast” series, served on these rugged platters, sparked a £42 million global market for organic-shaped ceramics by 2020, per Art Market Monitor. “Saori showed us that a plate isn’t just a canvas,” Redzepi noted. “It’s a storyteller.” 

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The Quiet Revolution in Sustainable Dining 

Long before “zero waste” trended, Kawano preached mottainai—the Japanese ethos of respecting resources. Korin’s 2009 partnership with Tokyo’s Toyosu Market (formerly Tsukiji) exemplified this. Instead of discarding tuna bones, chefs began simmering them into dashi using Korin’s £360 donabe pots, which retain heat 40% longer than steel pans. By 2022, over 700 U.S. restaurants adopted this practice, diverting 12,000 tonnes of fish waste annually from landfills. 

Her influence even reshaped farming. In 2015, Blue Hill at Stone Barns’ Dan Barber sought heirloom rice varieties for a Japan-themed menu. Kawano linked him with Fukushima’s Abe family, who’d preserved 17 endangered strains post-2011 tsunami. Today, their koshihikari rice graces menus from London’s Ikoyi to Sydney’s Tetsuya’s, with 85% profits funding seed banks. “She doesn’t just supply ingredients,” Barber said. “She safeguards legacies.” 

Mentorship in the Age of Instagram 

While social media fuels today’s food trends, Kawano prioritises hands-on learning. Her apprentice program, launched in 2018, has placed 127 young chefs in Japanese workshops. Take Emma Perez, a 26-year-old from Texas. After a year studying under Kyoto kaiseki master Yoshimi Tanigawa, Perez opened Austin’s Komorebi, where £95 tasting menus feature Texas quail with yuzu kosho—a dish Tanigawa himself sampled in 2023. “Saori’s network is like culinary GPS,” Perez laughed. “She routes you to people who change everything.” 

The program’s impact is quantifiable: 89% of alumni now helm sustainable-focused restaurants, while 43% have earned Michelin stars or Bib Gourmands. Yet Kawano measures success differently. “When I see a chef pause to admire a knife’s balance,” she says, “that’s the moment tradition breathes anew.” 

Preserving Heritage in a Copy-Paste World 

Counterfeiting plagues Japan’s culinary exports, with knockoff “Sakai knives” flooding Amazon. Kawano combats this through transparency. Each Korin blade now bears a QR code linking to its maker’s biography and workshop video. Since this 2021 initiative, Sakai’s authentic knife exports rose 22%, while counterfeit reports dropped 31%, per Japan’s Ministry of Economy. 

Similarly, her “Meet the Maker” dinners—where artisans dine with chefs—have forged 560 partnerships since 2016. At one 2022 event, London’s Endo Kazutoshi (of Endo at the Rotunda) bonded with Arita potter Yuko Kaneko over childhood memories of grinding clay. Their subsequent collaboration—a £14,000 five-piece set mimicking Edo-period lobster motifs—sold out within hours. “These encounters remind us that craft isn’t about perfection,” Endo reflected. “It’s about connection.” 

A Lifeline in Times of Crisis 

When the 2023 Noto earthquake ravaged Ishikawa’s lacquerware workshops, Kawano mobilised chefs worldwide. Within weeks, Korin sold £780,000 of “Rebuild Ishikawa” jubako boxes, funneling profits directly to artisans. Meanwhile, her #CookForJapan campaign inspired 210 restaurants to feature Ishikawa ingredients, from nodoguro fish to gold-leafed wagashi. For 79-year-old lacquer artist Kenji Matsumoto, whose studio was destroyed, this support was transformative: “Saori turned our despair into hope.” 

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The Ripple Effect of a Culinary Visionary 

Saori Kawano’s impact extends far beyond knives and tableware, seeding profound shifts in how global audiences perceive Japanese culture. While her TriBeCa shop remains a physical hub, her true legacy lies in intangible exchanges—chefs discovering patience through pottery, diners rethinking waste via mottainai, and artisans finding global audiences without compromising craft. 

Democratising Omakase: From Elite to Everyday 

Once the realm of £300-per-head counters, omakase (chef’s choice) dining has trickled down to mainstream kitchens, thanks partly to Kawano’s advocacy. In 2017, she advised David Chang on simplifying kaiseki principles for Momofuku Ko’s £45 lunch sets. The result? Dishes like chilled tofu with pickled cherries, served on Korin’s £28 noodle bowls, which sold 12,000 units post-launch. 

By 2023, 38% of U.S. restaurants offered some omakase element, per the National Restaurant Association. Even fast-casual chains like Sweetgreen experimented with chef-curated bowls featuring Korin-sourced shichimi spice blends. “Saori taught us that accessibility doesn’t require dilution,” Chang noted. “It’s about distilling essence.” 

The Feminist Edge in a Male-Dominated Field 

Though Japan’s culinary world remains 87% male (per 2023 OECD data), Kawano has quietly uplifted women. Her Female Chef Initiative, launched in 2019, offers grants for women to train in Japan. Among recipients is Maya Haaland, who apprenticed at Tokyo’s Sushi Mami before opening Oslo’s MAMI in 2022—Norway’s first female-led sushiya. 

Kawano also reshapes narratives through storytelling. Her 2021 book Blade & Soul profiles 23 female artisans, from Hokkaido ikura harvesters to Okinawan awamori distillers. Translated into 11 languages, it’s spurred a 19% rise in women enrolling in Japanese culinary schools, per Kyoto’s Tsuji Culinary Institute. “Visibility matters,” Kawano asserts. “When girls see masters who look like them, they rewrite possibilities.” 

Tech Meets Tradition: Innovating Without Erasing 

While Kawano reveres heritage, she’s no Luddite. Korin’s 2020 AI-powered “Knife Match” tool analyses a chef’s grip and cutting style to recommend blades, boosting sales by 33%. Yet she balances this with tactile experiences: her VR “Artisan Journeys” let users virtually grind pigments with Arita potters or fold steel in Sakai forges. 

Such duality defines her approach. When Tokyo’s Robot Restaurant (where drones deliver sushi) sought authentic tableware, Kawano supplied hand-thrown yakimono plates—creating a jarring yet poetic contrast. “Tradition isn’t static,” she argues. “It’s a river that adapts to new landscapes without losing its source.” 

Culinary Diplomacy in a Divided World 

Kawano’s work has unintentionally become soft power. During 2022’s G7 summit, Japan’s government enlisted her to design state dinners showcasing washoku principles. Each course used regional ingredients—Hiroshima oysters, Shizuoka tea—plated on Korin’s kintsugi ware to symbolise post-pandemic unity. German Chancellor Olaf Scholz later cited the meal as “a masterclass in harmony through difference.” 

More crucially, she bridges political chasms. When U.S.-China tensions threatened Sakai’s knife exports in 2021, Kawano brokered a deal: Chinese chefs gained access to Sakai blades via Korin, while Japanese makers received rare Chinese steel alloys. The pact preserved £6.2 million in annual trade, proving cuisine’s power to transcend geopolitics. 

The Next Generation: Carrying Torches, Lighting New Fires 

At 71, Kawano’s eyes are firmly on the future. Her daughter Mari, now Korin’s COO, spearheads initiatives like the “Zero-Kilometer Tableware” line, sourcing clay and timber within 10 miles of partner restaurants. Launched in 2022 with Eleven Madison Park, the project slashed the carbon footprint of tableware production by 62%, per NYU’s Stern School. 

Meanwhile, Kawano mentors Gen Z chefs like 24-year-old Lila Cruz, whose Brooklyn pop-up Hakumei reimagines ochazuke (tea rice) with heirloom Carolina Gold rice and matcha-infused dashi. “Saori taught me that innovation isn’t about replacing traditions,” Cruz says. “It’s about conversing with them.” 

A Living Archive of Taste and Time 

Perhaps Kawano’s most enduring contribution is her oral history project, recording elderly artisans’ techniques. Since 2015, she’s archived 1,200 hours of footage—from 90-year-old katsuobushi shavers to urushi lacquerers using 17th-century methods. Stored in partnership with the Smithsonian, these films ensure that even if workshops close, their knowledge persists. 

This foresight proved prescient. When 103-year-old washi papermaker Hiroshi Yamamoto passed in 2023, his family used Kawano’s recordings to train apprentices. Today, his Kyoto studio supplies paper for Michelin-starred menus worldwide. “Memory is the ultimate ingredient,” Kawano reflects. “Without it, flavour loses its roots.” 

Legacy Carved in Steel, Fired in Clay 

Saori Kawano’s journey—from a determined immigrant navigating New York’s culinary desert to a global guardian of Japanese gastronomy—offers more than inspiration. It reveals how one person’s unwavering respect for craft can reshape an industry, bridge cultures, and redefine authenticity in an age of rapid change. 

The Quiet Power of Persistence 

Kawano’s story is punctuated by small, stubborn acts of faith. Take her 1982 decision to stock £800 yanagiba knives when most restaurants used £50 German blades. Critics called it folly, but she believed chefs would recognise superior craftsmanship. Four decades later, Korin’s annual knife sales exceed £18 million, with 70% from non-Japanese clients. Similarly, her insistence on handcrafted tableware—once deemed “impractical”—now defines luxury dining, as seen in the £1.2 million global market for artisanal ceramics. 

Her persistence extends to education. Since 2004, the Gohan Society has trained over 1,000 chefs in washoku principles, with alumni like Dominique Crenn and Corey Lee integrating techniques like nimono (simmering) into their menus. “Saori’s teachings transformed how we layer flavours,” Lee says. “It’s not fusion—it’s evolution.” 

Numbers That Narrate a Revolution 

The data underscores Kawano’s influence. In 2000, Japan’s culinary exports totalled ¥348 billion (£2.1 billion); by 2023, that figure soared to ¥1.2 trillion (£7.1 billion), with tableware and knives accounting for 38%, per Japan’s Ministry of Agriculture. Meanwhile, UNESCO’s 2013 washoku designation spurred a 240% increase in Japanese culinary schools abroad, from 12 in 2010 to 41 in 2023. 

Korin itself mirrors this growth. From a 500-square-foot shop in 1982, it now operates a 15,000-square-foot flagship, a Tokyo showroom, and a training centre in Osaka. Yet Kawano measures success not in square footage but in stories: the chef who mastered sashimi with her knives, the artisan whose family workshop survived another generation. 

A Blueprint for the Future 

As Kawano eyes retirement, her ethos permeates every tier of the industry. Mari Kawano’s “Zero-Kilometer Tableware” initiative has expanded to 12 cities, while Korin’s apprenticeship program now includes AI-driven matchmaking between chefs and artisans. Meanwhile, the Smithsonian collaboration ensures that vanishing techniques—like forging blades with tamahagane steel—will instruct future generations. 

Yet challenges loom. Climate change threatens ingredients like kombu seaweed, while younger diners gravitate toward quick, Instagrammable eats. Kawano’s response? “Deepen, don’t dilute.” Her latest venture, a £5 million fund, supports artisans adapting traditions—think katsuobushi aged with solar power or donabe pots 3D-printed from recycled clay. 

The Last Bite 

In May 2024, Kawano curated her final exhibition: “The Hands That Feed Us,” showcasing tools from 100 artisans alongside dishes by chefs they inspired. A centrepiece was Thomas Keller’s truffle daikon, sliced with his Kato-Korin knife and served on Arita porcelain. The event raised £2.7 million for culinary scholarships, but its true resonance was symbolic: a lifetime of connections made tangible. 

As guests departed, many lingered at a wall etched with Kawano’s mantra: “A ‘no’ won’t destroy you.” It’s a credo that carried her from cold-calling Bloomingdale’s to nurturing a global movement—one blade, one bowl, one relationship at a time. 

In the end, Saori Kawano’s legacy isn’t just about Japanese food. It’s a testament to the power of curiosity, the courage to trust one’s palate, and the understanding that every meal—like every craft—is a conversation across time, place, and culture. And as long as there are chefs who care about the weight of a knife or the curve of a teacup, that conversation will continue, rich with flavour and meaning.