A Culture Rooted in Respect for Food
In Japan, meal portions are modest, and taking leftovers home is uncommon. For many visitors, this comes as a quiet surprise. What they may not realize is that Japan has a deeply ingrained cultural mindset around waste—especially food waste. When we fail to finish what’s on our plate, we say mottainai, a word that loosely translates to “what a waste,” but carries a moral undertone of regret and mindfulness.
From childhood, Japanese are taught to eat everything they are served. In my family, leaving even a single grain of rice in the bowl was frowned upon. But this wasn’t unique to our household—it reflects a national ethic. Food is not to be taken for granted.
This reverence for food is also embedded in the Japanese language. Before eating, we say itadakimasu (いただきます, ee-tah-dah-kee-mahss)—an expression of gratitude for the life of the plants and animals we consume to sustain and nurture our bodies, and for the labor of everyone who contributed to the meal. The word itself means “receiving the gift” or “receiving the offering,” reflecting a deep respect for what has been given. After eating, we say gochisōsama (ごちそうさま, goh-chee-sō-sah-mah)—a phrase that expresses gratitude not only to the people who prepared and served the meal, but also to nature itself, which provided the ingredients. These phrases, simple and routine, are daily affirmations of gratitude and humility.
Early Lessons from the School Lunch Tray
A good place to observe this cultural norm in practice is the Japanese elementary school lunch system. In a typical classroom of thirty students, children are divided into groups of five, with each group taking turns to serve lunch to their peers. The school provides aprons, hats, and—since the pandemic—face masks for this task. Large containers holding the day’s meal—main dishes, sides, and soup—are wheeled into the classroom, and students serve each other on real dishes, not disposable trays.
I recently confirmed with my sister, who is raising a child in Japan, that this system remains unchanged since my own school days. Students still rotate weekly through service duties. They take the aprons and hats home for laundering before handing them off to the next group. This process teaches not only responsibility, but also the importance of fairness and awareness of others.
When I was in school, the rule was strict: finish everything you’re served. Today, students are allowed to return food they don’t think they can eat to the communal pot. Those who want more can help themselves. On days when a popular dish like curry appears, students play rock-paper-scissors for seconds. It's a playful but telling example of valuing food and not wasting it.
In my Los Angeles cooking classes, I’ve observed a stark contrast. When guests are invited to serve themselves, some tend to over-serve their own plates—sometimes to the extent that it becomes immediately clear there won’t be enough left for others. This has made me wonder: does a lack of experience in serving others affect one’s ability to portion food with shared awareness?
When I ask a participant to portion a dish for the group, they often divide it equally across all plates—without considering whether the portions might be too large, or even welcome. On one occasion, a guest served an entire vegetable dish evenly, leaving no room for seconds or adjustments. I hadn’t shown a sample portion in advance and silently regretted it.
If I had asked a Japanese guest to serve, they likely would have started small, knowing that not everyone may want the same amount. Since then, I’ve made it a point to guide guests by explaining that we begin with modest servings, and anyone is welcome to return for more. This way of thinking—being mindful of others before serving oneself—is typical in Japanese culture, where consideration for the group often shapes individual behavior.
Mindful Eating and Less Is More
In Japanese culture, leaving food uneaten is considered impolite. It’s more respectful to decline a dish politely in advance than to leave it half-eaten. We order with care, often starting with a few small dishes and adding more as needed. Finishing one’s plate feels not just polite, but virtuous—an act of responsibility. This approach aligns with Buddhist teachings on mindful eating: know what you need, appreciate what you have, and avoid waste.
Ironically, I sometimes fail to uphold this principle when leading culinary tours in Japan. Eager to introduce visitors to local specialties, I tend to over-order. But not all dishes suit foreign palates, and food is occasionally left untouched. I feel a pang of guilt and often apologize to the restaurant staff.
At one izakaya known for its overflowing bowl of ikura (salmon roe) on rice, a server reminded me—gently but firmly—to order only what we could finish. I hadn’t expected the warning, but it underscored how seriously food waste is viewed. I wondered at first if the caution came because I was with foreign guests—but thinking back, I suspect it’s something they would say to anyone, Japanese included. The phrase, “Don’t even leave a single roe,” echoed something my grandmother used to say. It was a familiar reminder: every grain, every morsel, matters.
In many cultures, abundance at the table is seen as a symbol of generosity. In Japan, however, over-serving can cause discomfort. Guests may feel obliged to finish everything out of politeness, which can lead to guilt or unnecessary waste. To avoid this, Japanese hosts typically take a more modest approach—serving smaller portions at first and offering more only if it’s truly desired. This isn’t about frugality; it’s about respect—for the food, for the chef, and for the experience of the guest.
Small Habits, Shared Consequences
During my sushi classes, I often point out how much soy sauce participants pour into their small dipping plates without much thought. Some leave them nearly full at the end of the meal. In contrast, Japanese diners typically pour only a small amount—just enough for the sushi or sashimi they're eating—and often leave little to none behind.
I’ve even heard that some Japanese restaurants in Los Angeles have started using cheaper soy sauce, as it’s disheartening to see good-quality sauce routinely wasted. It’s a quiet but telling response to customers’ habits.
As I often say, the Japanese dislike over-serving—and over-plating is just as unwelcome. Even when it comes to pouring soy sauce, filling the small dipping dish to the brim is something we don’t appreciate. Typically, about 80% of the dish is considered full capacity, though in my mind, it’s better to pour even less than that. If you start with the minimum, you can always add more later.
We live in a world of shared consequences. The choices we make—even small ones—shape the systems we live in. Embracing the spirit of mottainai means becoming more aware: of what we consume, how much we waste, and the invisible labor behind each meal. For travelers, these cultural subtleties may be hard to catch, especially without language fluency. But if you pay close attention, you’ll start to notice the difference. And perhaps, like many Japanese, you’ll find a deeper sense of satisfaction in eating with care.