Blade Runner, Wild Salmon, and the Meaning of Life

In a movie, Blade Runner, there’s a scene that stayed with me for decades. Deckard, played by Harrison Ford, asks a simple yet unsettling question to a dancer at a club:

"Is that a real snake?"

"Of course it's not real. You think I would be working in a place like this if I could afford a real snake?"

When I first watched this scene in the ’80s, I thought, How could this happen in the future? But a part of me couldn’t shake the feeling—what if one day, wild animals really did become so rare that only the wealthy could afford them? Back then, it felt like science fiction. Now, I’m not so sure.

In 2025, the majority of the fish we eat is farm-raised. In the U.S., approximately 65% of the salmon consumed comes from fish farms. The numbers are even higher for shrimp—over 90% of shrimp in the U.S. is imported, primarily from India, Indonesia, and Ecuador, and nearly all of it is farm-raised.

And Atlantic salmon? Nearly 100% of what’s available is farmed, since commercial fishing for wild Atlantic salmon is now prohibited in the U.S.

This is a drastic shift from the 1980s. Back then, farmed salmon accounted for just 1% of the world’s salmon supply—a mere fraction of what it is today. 99% of the salmon consumed globally came from the wild. Norway was just beginning to scale up salmon farming, and Chile was still an emerging producer. In the U.S., you could still catch wild Atlantic salmon in Maine rivers. Between 1980 and 1986, nearly 5,800 wild Atlantic salmon were reported caught.

Shrimp consumption has also changed dramatically. In 1980, 57% of the shrimp consumed in the U.S. was imported, while 43% was domestic. Today, the U.S. shrimp industry has nearly vanished, with over 90% of shrimp now imported and farm-raised overseas.

What once seemed like science fiction—a world where wild animals are a privilege of the wealthy—is creeping closer to reality. But instead of exotic species, it’s happening with something as ordinary as fish.

And it makes me wonder: How long before truly wild fish become as rare as a real snake in Deckard’s world?

Local, Seasonal, Sustainable

I’m grateful to live in the San Francisco Bay Area, where I can still find locally caught seafood at the market and use it for our sushi classes and catering.

The first time I tasted fresh, locally caught wild salmon, I was stunned. It’s fantastic—the texture, the flavor. You can taste the fresh pacific ocean in which the salmon grew up. Black cod, Dungeness crab, albacore, halibut, sea urchin—each of these carries a distinct, unmistakable taste of the ocean. Have you ever tried wild salmon? If you have, you know what I mean.

As Monterey Fish founder Paul Johnson says, “When I started some 40 years ago, that’s all we had. Local. What’s in season. Sustainable!” Seafood that is in season always ends up tasting better—it’s nature’s blessing.

Growing up in Japan, in a small town facing the Japan Sea, I was fortunate to eat locally caught, seasonal seafood. Crabs in winter, mackerel, belt fish—one of my favorites—clams, shellfish, squid, and various sea vegetables. I don’t ever remember eating farm-raised fish.

Come to think of it, all the vegetables we eat are cultivated—planted, grown, and harvested by humans and machines. Fish is one of the last remaining wild foods we consume. But even that is changing. Truly wild fish is becoming rarer and rarer.

The Simple Joy of Persimmons

This is one of the reasons I love seeing persimmons in stores. As of this writing, persimmons remain one of the few fruits that still mark the season. When I see those bright orange orbs filling a corner of the produce section, it brings me joy. Their presence makes me happy.

I also love how their sweetness deepens as they ripen. I prefer them soft—when they’re hard like an apple, they’re too firm for my taste. The softer they are, the sweeter they become, almost like nature’s candy.

Dried persimmons, called hoshigaki, have a unique texture—firm on the outside, sweet and moist on the inside. They remind me of dates or raisins, with an intense, natural sweetness. They’re my favorite dried fruit, especially paired with green tea or matcha.

Thinking about persimmons reminds me of how seasonal eating used to be the norm. When I was growing up in Japan, we didn’t have strawberries in autumn, grapes in spring, or watermelon in winter. Every supermarket visit was a reminder of nature’s cycles—the arrival of each season was reflected in the food available.

Persimmons mark the arrival of autumn, just as cherry blossoms signal the coming of spring. Their short-lived presence reminds me of something deeply Japanese—how we find beauty in impermanence.

A Lesson From Cherry Blossoms

Cherry blossoms last only one week a year. It is 儚い (Hakanai), fleeting. 尊い (Tōtoi),precious. Because their life is so short, I treasure that one week each year—it becomes a special celebration. This, I believe, is why Japanese culture celebrates cherry blossoms every year. Not just for their beauty, but because their impermanence makes them valuable.

The same is true for food. When something is always available, it loses its specialness.

While farm-raised seafood and greenhouse vegetables provide stability and steady supply, they also change our relationship with food. When running a sushi class and catering company, it’s great to know that there is a stability of the ingredients in the supply chain. When we can buy strawberries in winter and salmon year-round, we no longer see them as a gift of the season. Scarcity creates value.

The endless supply of farm-raised fish may be great—but is it really great 100%? Would eternal life be a blessing, or a curse?

In Bicentennial Man, Robin Williams plays a robot who chooses to become human, knowing he will one day die. Why? Because after watching loved ones grow old and pass away, he realizes: death is part of being a human.

Because our life is finite, it is precious. Because nature’s gifts are fleeting, they are worth celebrating.

So why not enjoy wild salmon while we can, and also find a way to keep the supply of wild salmon sustainable. Let us cherish nature’s blessings—not because they last forever, but because they don’t.