In Japan, (shokuhin sampuru (食品サンプル), taken from the English "sample") are widespread. During the early Shōwa period, in the late 1920s, Japanese artisans and candle makers developed food models that made it easy for patrons to order without the use of menus, which were not common in Japan at that time. Paraffin was used to create these until the mid-1980s, but because its colors faded when exposed to heat or sunlight, manufacturers later switched to polyvinyl chloride, which is "nearly eternal". The plastic models are mostly handmade from polyvinyl chloride and sculpted to look like the actual dishes. The models can be custom-tailored to individual restaurants and even common items such as ramen can be modified to match each establishment's food. During the molding process, the imitation ingredients are often chopped up and combined in a manner similar to actual cooking.
Many restaurants in Japan use replicas to display their popular dishes in their windows and attract customers. The plastic food manufacturers fiercely guard their trade secrets as business is lucrative; the plastic food industry in Japan, by conservative estimates, has revenues of billions of yen per year. A single restaurant may order a complete menu of plastic items costing over a million yen. The plastic replicas are much more expensive than the food they imitate, but can last indefinitely. For this reason, many companies that manufacture fake food have stagnant or declining profits. In recent years, Japanese plastic food manufacturers have been targeting markets overseas, including China and South Korea.
The craftsmanship has been raised to an art form. Japanese plastic food models by the Maizuru Company were exhibited at London's Victoria and Albert Museum in 1980. Regular competitions are held in making fake food dishes out of plastic and other materials.
A balance between realism and aestheticism
“The trick is in striking a balance between realism and aestheticism – the model that looks the most delicious isn’t necessarily the most realistic,” says Kaneyama, whose 10 full-time artists produce as many as 130,000 samples a year, made from durable PVC rather than wax. “And the most realistic models might not look all that tasty.”
In the shop attached to the Sample Kobo workshop, lines of tourists fill baskets with key rings, fridge magnets, USB flash drives, pencil sharpeners and other souvenirs, and try their hand at making fake tempura and lettuces.
The replicas don’t come cheap, however. Some of the more intricate models can cost several hundred dollars, and all items cost more than the dishes they represent.
The artists at Sample Kobo, like at other replica firms, make every item by hand, painting and airbrushing each morsel until they’re practically indistinguishable from the real thing.
Kaneyama, though, dismisses concern that the industry will be overtaken by 3D printing technology. “3D printers make a decent product, but it actually takes longer and costs more than you’d think.”
The replicas don’t come cheap, however. Some of the more intricate models can cost several hundred dollars, and all items cost more than the dishes they represent.
The artists at Sample Kobo, like at other replica firms, make every item by hand, painting and airbrushing each morsel until they’re practically indistinguishable from the real thing.
Kaneyama, though, dismisses concern that the industry will be overtaken by 3D printing technology. “3D printers make a decent product, but it actually takes longer and costs more than you’d think.”
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