Drinking without Drinking

"Sake Bomb! Sake Bomb! Sake Bomb!"

Six college kids slammed their fists against the table, chanting in unison before chugging their drinks. A loud thud echoed through the restaurant, drawing everyone's attention.

"What the hell was that?" I asked, glancing over at the commotion.

"Oh, just some college kids getting drunk," Toshi said without looking up from his knife.

The group erupted in cheers as they emptied their glasses. Other customers clapped along as if someone had just scored a touchdown.

"What are they doing?" I asked.

"It’s called a Sake Bomb. It’s like a drinking game," Toshi explained.

"How does it work?"

"You place chopsticks on top of a beer glass and balance a cup of warm sake on them. When you slam the table, the vibration knocks the sake into the beer. Then you chug."

"That sounds… stupid."

"It is," Toshi sighed.

But it didn’t matter how ridiculous it was—Sake Bombs were one of the best-selling drinks in the restaurant. And when customers ordered them, they often wanted the sushi chefs to join in.

"Hey, you guys should do a round with us!" one of the college kids shouted at Emma, one of the servers.

Emma, quick on her feet, smiled and said, “Oh, I wish I could, but waitresses aren’t allowed to drink while working.”

It was a total lie—and a good one.

"Okay, then how about those three sushi chefs?" he pointed at us.

Emma turned toward us with a mischievous smile. "You know what's coming, right?"

Toshi exhaled and shook his head. "I have a bad feeling about this."

But we all knew the drill.

We lined up our glasses on top of the sushi refrigerator case so the entire restaurant could see.

"Ready?" Emma shouted.

A moment of silence.

"Sake Bomb!"

Bang.

The sake cups plunged into the beer, and we all chugged the golden liquid. I felt the cold beer first, then the warm, cheap sake—a truly awful combination. But the customers loved it.

"Sushi Chefs win!" Emma shouted as the entire restaurant stood up, cheered, and applauded.

I looked over at Toshi. His face was twisted in a grimace.

"You look exactly how I feel right now," I said.

"Because this tastes terrible," he replied.

The Assumption That All Sushi Chefs Drink

I don’t know when people started assuming that all sushi chefs love drinking. Maybe it’s scenes like this—sushi chefs and customers raising their glasses, chanting Sake Bomb! Maybe it’s the Westernized idea that offering a drink to a sushi chef is some kind of tradition.

The truth is, it’s not.

Yes, in Japan, a customer may offer a sushi chef a drink at the sushi bar, but there’s an important distinction—this practice happens only between a regular customer and a sushi chef who already knows them personally. If you are a first-time visitor or do not have an established rapport with the chef, offering a drink can actually be considered inappropriate.

However, cultural nuances don’t always translate. If a Western customer happened to see this exchange in Japan, they might assume that offering a drink is just part of the sushi dining experience, leading to the widespread belief that all sushi chefs enjoy drinking with their customers.

At Rock ‘n’ Roll Sushi on Sunset Strip in Los Angeles, where I worked, any customer could buy us a drink, no matter if we had just met them or if it was their first time at the restaurant. And we never refused.

Why?

For one, I enjoyed drinking—after all, I was in my thirties. There was no reason to turn down free beer. Besides, what other job allows you to drink while you work, and where management considers it part of the job? But the biggest reason?

More drinks meant more sales. More sales meant bigger tips.

It was a win-win-win.

The Reality of Drinking on the Job

At first, drinking was fun. It was part of the entertainment, and entertaining guests was an essential part of being a sushi chef—especially at a lively sushi bar.

But after months and years of working ten-hour shifts, five nights a week, constantly drinking on the job became physically exhausting. Some nights, multiple customers would order drinks for us—two, three, sometimes even five in one night. And we had to drink them all.

It wasn’t a choice—it was an expectation.

"You have to drink with them, Kaz," Toshi reminded me one night. "They bought us drinks. We can’t just leave them sitting there."

He was right. Not accepting a customer’s offer would be considered rude.

That was the moment I started to question the culture. Drinking wasn’t just for fun anymore—it had become an obligation. As much as I enjoyed my job, this part of it wasn’t sustainable.

How could we accept our guests’ gesture without harming ourselves in the process?

Then, an answer came to me.

One night, I raised my glass, took a sip of beer—but didn’t swallow. Then, when everyone else was busy chugging their drinks, I quickly squatted behind the sushi bar and discreetly spit it into the sink.

Nobody noticed.

"Kaz, what the hell was that?" Kai whispered.

"I've had enough drinks this week," I admitted.

Toshi, overhearing, nodded approvingly. "That’s actually brilliant."

From then on, we found ways to fake it without offending our customers—raising our glasses, saying kanpai, taking small sips, and discreetly getting rid of the rest when no one was watching.

The Unwritten Job Description

Do I wish I had known that entertaining customers was half of my job as a sushi chef?

Honestly, I’m not sure. It certainly wasn’t written in the job description when I saw the classified ad in the newspaper.

But then again, can you imagine a job posting that says:

"Sushi chef wanted. No experience necessary. Drinking is a must. We will train you."

That would be hilarious—and slightly terrifying. Would a restaurant receive a flood of applications from people eager to drink at work?

For me, drinking wasn’t a dealbreaker. I didn’t mind it—to a certain extent. But if I couldn’t drink, it would have been a problem. In fact, one of the sushi chefs I worked with didn’t drink at all, and he never accepted a customer’s offer.

But here’s the thing: entertaining customers isn’t just about drinking with them.

Drinking is just one way to engage guests, but there are many others. A sushi chef can talk about the fish, the techniques, or the history behind sushi—like how the California Roll was invented. A chef can listen to customers' stories and engage in conversations about anything, sushi-related or not.

At the sushi bar, the expectation to drink with customers was always there—but I learned that connection doesn’t require alcohol. Sushi bars offer something no other dining experience can provide—a direct, personal connection between chef and customer. Face to face. That interaction is just as much a part of the service as the sushi itself.

That’s why entertaining customers is such an important part of being a sushi chef.

And that’s why I believe that becoming an interesting person is just as important as becoming a great sushi chef. A chef who only knows how to make sushi but has no stories, no personality, and no curiosity won’t create the same kind of memorable experience for guests.

Since I no longer work at a sushi bar, I’ve found new ways to entertain guests—through private sushi dinners, catering events, and now, through writing. In a way, writing is my new sushi bar. Just like I once engaged customers at the counter, I now engage readers through my words.

So instead of writing "Drinking is a must" in a job description, perhaps it should say:

"Entertaining customers is a must."

Though, if you end up working at a rock ‘n’ roll sushi restaurant, just know that "entertaining" will likely include drinking.