壽司的共產主義：Omakase 是高價的中央計畫

 

壽司的共產主義：Omakase 是高價的中央計畫

所謂的「Omakase」（おまかせ，大廚發辦），這個備受推崇的日式頂級用餐體驗，其實遠不只是一頓飯。它是一種高價、精緻、由上而下高度控制的料理模式：每一道菜、每一種食材、上菜的順序，都由單一權威 —— 廚師 —— 全權決定。從這個角度來看，Omakase 不只是一種烹飪風格，更像一個小型的中央計畫體制，宛如一個社會主義經濟的縮影，由中央計畫者決定生產什麼、生產多少、分配給誰。

想像一下：一間高級的吧檯餐廳，最多十個座位。主廚就像一位廚房裡的委員長，早在數天前就規劃好每一道菜。沒有套餐外的單點菜單，沒有主菜選擇，你不能挑菜，只能服從。主廚決定用什麼魚、用什麼米、用什麼醬料搭配。食客不是消費者，而是參與一場嚴密控制、類似「國家配給」制度的系統。

這就是高級餐飲的社會主義。廚師是中央計畫者，訂定價格、限制供應、精確分配份量。菜單是固定的，供應量是有限的，變更不被允許。唯一缺少的，就只是「糧票」與「人民食堂」了。

其實，兩者的邏輯非常相似。在社會主義經濟中，國家決定生產什麼食物、有多少可供應、以及誰能分到多少份。沒有自由選擇的市場，只有依照意識型態或官僚體制所定的計畫分配。在 Omakase 裡，主廚扮演同樣的角色：「意識型態」是料理的完美，「官僚體制」是廚房的階級。唯一的貨幣是金錢（與預約名額），但運作機制是相同的：計畫性分配、定量份額、不退換、不替代。

對比一下居酒屋或一般西式餐廳：在那裡，顧客可以自由選擇想吃什麼、何時吃、花多少錢。價格會隨供需調整，廚師雖然有招牌菜，但食客是主權擁有者。在 Omakase 中，這種主權卻被讓渡。食客支付高價，不只是為了食材，更是為了「被指示吃什麼」的特權 —— 就像在計畫經濟中，民眾付錢換取國家配給物品的資格。

而「職人米券」，就是預約系統。在許多頂級壽司店，拿到一個座位，就像拿到一張糧票：數量稀少、常由熟客或關係人優先取得，有時甚至要加價交易。所謂的「人民食堂」，正是 Omakase 的吧檯本身：在這個地方，每個人吃同樣的套餐、以同樣的順序上菜，無法客製化。唯一的差別是等級：有些人花更高的價錢，坐在「高級席」，有些人則接受「標準席」，形成一種階級化的取得權 —— 這和社會主義體制下的資源分配，何其相似。

下次再坐上 Omakase 嗎台時，請記住：你不僅在吃一頓飯，你正在體驗一種奢華版的中央計畫 —— 主廚是計畫者，菜單是國家計畫，你的錢包，就是進入國家晚宴的入場券。美味嗎？是的。昂貴嗎？非常。但同時，也是一場精緻、深沉、又帶點黑色幽默的社會主義盛宴。

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諷刺詩一首：

一席席上定菜單，
主廚為令眾人安。
無得自選魚與肉，
但隨時間次第餐。
米券如珍難入手，
高座高低價差寒。
若言此是自由宴，
何如共產食堂歡？

Omakase Is Expensive Central Planning — A Socialist System in the Kitchen

 

Omakase Is Expensive Central Planning — A Socialist System in the Kitchen

Omakase, the famed Japanese “chef’s choice” dining experience, is far more than a meal. It’s a high-end, curated, top-down menu where every course, ingredient, and serving order is dictated by a single authority: the chef. In that sense, omakase is not just a culinary style — it’s a microcosm of central planning, echoing the logic of a socialist economy, where a central planner decides what is produced, how much is produced, and who gets it.

Picture this: a small, exclusive restaurant, perhaps ten seats around a counter. The chef, like a kitchen Commissar, plans every course days in advance. There is no à la carte menu. No choice of main dish. You don’t order; you obey. The chef decides what fish is served, what rice is cooked, and what condiments are matched. The diner is not a consumer, but a participant in a tightly controlled, state-like system.

This is the socialism of fine dining. The chef is the central planner, setting prices, rationing supply, and allocating portions with precision. The menu is fixed, availability is limited, and deviation is not allowed. The only thing missing is the rice coupon and the People’s Canteen.

In fact, the logic is scarily similar. In a socialist economy, the state determines what food is produced, how much is available, and who gets how much. There’s no free market of choices; instead, there’s a planned distribution according to ideological or bureaucratic priorities. In omakase, the chef plays the same role: the “ideology” is culinary perfection, and the “bureaucracy” is the kitchen hierarchy. The only currency is money (and reservations), but the mechanism is the same: planned allocation, rationed portions, no returns, no substitutions.

Compare this to a market-style izakaya or a Western restaurant. There, customers choose what to eat, when to eat, and how much to spend. Prices adjust with supply and demand. Chefs may offer specialties, but the diner is sovereign. In omakase, that sovereignty is surrendered. The diner pays a premium not just for ingredients, but for the privilege of being told what to eat — much like a citizen in a planned economy pays for access to the state’s rationed goods.

The “pro’s rice coupon” is the reservation system. In many elite sushi-ya, getting a seat is like obtaining a ration card: it’s scarce, often allocated to insiders or loyal regulars, and sometimes traded at a premium. The “People’s Canteen” is the omakase counter itself: a place where everyone gets the same meal, served in the same order, with no customization. The only difference is class: some sit in the “premium” section for a higher price, while others get the “standard” set — a hierarchy of access, just like in a socialist system.

So the next time you sit at an omakase counter, remember: you’re not just having dinner. You’re experiencing a luxury version of central planning, where the chef is the planner, the menu is the plan, and your wallet is the ticket to the state dinner. Delicious? Yes. Expensive? Very. But also, deeply, darkly socialist.

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