Anime is a fine work of literature. Long ago, ukiyo-e prints were used only as packing paper, but now they are Japanese culture that we can show to the world. Anime will also become something that should be kept in university libraries someday.

Then, what kind of work can last through time?

The theme of Oishinbo is to look for the “Ultimate Menu” while showing the wrong common ideas and the shallow knowledge about good food and cooking. But it is not a simple cookbook. The story and content have many lines and layers. Like a mille-feuille, it makes a rich and complex taste.

The main line of the story is the strong fight between Shiro Yamaoka and Yuzan Kaibara.

The conflict between father and son challenges the “beautiful family” that people often praise as safe and close. It shows that this family image can be a made-up story.

In fact, even if the level is different, such conflict is more real and common in today’s society.

Young people in youth often suffer and fight with the misunderstanding of their fathers.

In the movie Otoko wa Tsurai yo, there is a wedding of Sakura and Hiroshi. Hiroshi left high school and once cut ties with his family. At the wedding, his father (played by Takashi Shimura) makes an unusual silence of 22 seconds.

This acting shows, without words, how deep the conflict between parent and child is. It is a famous scene.

However, the conflict between Shiro Yamaoka and Yuzan Kaibara in Oishinbo is explicit, violent, and even exaggerated. Both men have complicated and somewhat twisted personalities. Yamaoka could have thrown away the knowledge and skills that his hateful father drilled into him and chosen a different path in life.

Yet, by a strong irony, he confronts the father he hates on the same stage, using the very senses and techniques that his father trained. In other words, his refined taste and skill—gifts from his father—become the tools for their duel.

In fact, that is exactly why the project of creating the “Ultimate Menu” was necessary. It provided a clear arena to push Yamaoka—normally a lazy office worker who loves horse racing—into a direct, serious confrontation with his father.

Zeami’s Fūshikaden says, “Art is the person.” It means that an artist’s work and an artist’s character are two sides of the same coin. Personality appears in the art, and one’s way of life colors the style of the art.

This idea raises an old and difficult question: Do great works of art and the artist’s humanity always correlate, or can we judge a work and a person separately? People have asked this for a long time.

How, then, should we evaluate Yuzan Kaibara’s view of running a family and raising a child? Was it strict but excellent, like a master craftsman’s training? Or was it family abuse by a man whose behavior amounts to harassment?

Human beings must often sell their time and labor to a company in order to live. But how possible is it to resist this way of life while still staying inside the company system? This is a serious question.

Where can we find the chance to recover rich humanity and sensitivity, which are often lost by “diligently” working only for efficiency and profit? This problem has been discussed for a long time, and it is not easy to answer.

Shiro is both a rebel against the capitalist rules and social morals, and at the same time just an ordinary salaryman. He acts freely against the rules of his company and the common sense of society, yet he never gives up his suit and tie. That is the very thin borderline between being a company man and being a natural human being.

A realistic work reflects the social mood of its time. Kurita’s favorite idol is “Higashi,” that is Noriyuki Higashiyama from Shonentai. Today, he has even become the president of the new company that was created after the Johnny’s scandal.

There are only four women in the culture department. This probably shows the age, soon after the Equal Employment Opportunity Law was passed in 1985.

We also see a party in a traditional Japanese restaurant. A wide tatami hall, with people sitting cross-legged in front of trays, using armrests in a lordly style. For young people today, it must feel like a distant world.

At the Tōzai newspaper company, there is no elevator. From the outside it looks like a seven-story building, but still no elevator. That is why Kurita, looking for Shiro, bumps into Hanamura on the landing of the stairs.

At that time, even in public housing blocks with many floors, elevators were often not installed. On office desks, there were green desk mats, probably covered with a clear vinyl sheet. People would put important business cards, the internal phone list, small notes, and even children’s photos under it. This was the good old office before computers were introduced.

Working while smoking was normal, and ashtrays were essential. In the later train travel scene, you can even see an ashtray under the window. At first glance it looks like a power outlet for a smartphone or laptop, but it is really an ashtray.

On the sidewalks at the Ginza crossing, there were ashtray stands for people waiting at the traffic lights to smoke (Volume 1, “Tofu and Water,” page 4). To draw things realistically is to record such history with accuracy.

Even in crowded trains, salarymen used to read folded newspapers. Nobody said, “Put that paper away, it’s in the way.” One reason for this habit was the half-size evening paper Yūkan Fuji, very popular among salarymen because it was easy to read while standing. It has just been discontinued, which is a sad thing.

Shiro is often seen sleeping on the office sofa, but this was nothing unusual. In those days, staying overnight at the office was common, especially in a newspaper company. On the eve of a national railway strike, male workers had to spend the night at the office. There would be mahjong games in the hallways, or drinking parties in the night-duty rooms. Such “wasted time” actually helped build trust and friendships among colleagues. In other words, there was space for human relationships to grow softly, right at the edge of company rules.

It was not rare for people to nap on sofas, go out during work hours to buy horse-racing tickets, or spend long hours in coffee shops watching baseball from Koshien or sumo matches on TV. The average office worker wanted to survive inside a big company, act lazy without being fired, and still secure his salary. Shiro was not unique in this.

The line “I was the dealer in the last round…” is mahjong slang, suggesting that last night there was a mahjong game with the boss included. Even with a hangover, showing up at the office was most important. It was a time when very human relationships and tolerance existed.

This is why in Volume 22, Korea Cooking Match I, the theme is food that cures hangovers. Even the editor-in-chief appears hungover, which makes the Korean journalist remark, “Japanese newspaper companies are really wonderful.”

The other main line of the story is the relationship between men and women. This storyline is skillfully made, and it keeps readers interested until the very end. Many different pairs of men and women create stories that give color to the background of the main plot.

Even Shiro, bold and careless as he is, never takes off his tie. What is more, he keeps it loose even in front of the company owner. That is the fine line between a free man and a company man. The tie was like a collar for the salaryman’s neck.

Although each episode finishes in one chapter, unique characters appear again and again, crossing into other stories. In the end, these many small stories connect and become one big narrative. This structure keeps the readers’ attention to the last page.

In today’s world, company events like year-end or new-year parties, company trips, and sports festivals have almost disappeared. Now, many people meet through matching apps. Because of this, it is much harder for romance to grow in the office, surrounded by co-workers’ jokes, support, or encouragement.

If someone makes jokes or comments too freely today, it may even be judged as harassment. This is one of the big differences between the past and the present.

Some readers may notice differences between the manga and the anime, or have their own views about the foods that appear. There may also be opinions for or against handling political themes in anime. But I remember learning about world affairs and the dark side of society from the strongly political and violent Golgo 13. Compared to that, Oishinbo feels almost gentle. Even if an anime has political messages, they can make the “mille-feuille” taste of the story richer.

Themes such as destruction of nature, the loss of food culture through capitalist greed, and the way mass society is swallowed by consumerism appear again and again. At the same time, there is a strong wish to keep and pass down the simple but rich food traditions that humans have created through long history.

The small happiness in our hands is deeply connected with the world’s hidden darkness. This connection lies in the “invisible hand” of capitalist economy and in the ways society cleverly controls human desire.

Children climb trees and pick cacao without even knowing what it will become. They work under very hard conditions. At the same time, many young people enjoy or worry about Valentine’s Day without knowing the truth about the chocolate companies that make and sell these products.

Can we just watch their simple happiness with amusement, while not thinking about the hidden side of chocolate?

Yes, that is true.Not knowing can sometimes be happiness.