Sushi Tacos: The Caricature of Fusion Cuisine?

Sushi tacos? This unusual Latin-Japanese union—born in the United States, the cradle of “forced marriages” in fusion cuisine—has been making a quiet entrance in France.

So I took the plunge and tried this hybrid culinary creation at Tanori, where it's offered in various versions featuring cooked tuna, grilled eel, fried crab, or even breaded chicken. I went for the most classic option: the tacos sake, made with salmon tartare, rice, avocado, daikon, fish roe, and a ponzu jelly sauce. To be precise, the “taco” isn’t made from corn flour—it’s just a piece of fried seaweed that serves as a shell for the salmon filling.

When it comes to flavor? Nothing remarkable or unforgettable. It’s just... okay. But the concept feels misleading: there’s nothing remotely Mexican in this dish. And more importantly, as I finished the last bite, one question lingered—what’s the point?

Much like ramen burgers (where noodles replace the bun), foie gras pizza, or Nutella-filled naan, the sushi taco seems more like a marketing stunt than the result of a thoughtful, inspired culinary fusion. Does innovation and boldness justify every combination—every cultural mashup and flavor pairing?

Fusion cuisine has existed since the earliest spice trade routes—Indian and Indonesian spices being among the first to cross continents. These ingredients, centuries ago, disrupted Western palates by introducing now-familiar blends: apple and cinnamon, cream and vanilla, or more recently, curry with meat.

But today’s global wave of “fusion” risks becoming a frantic, pointless pursuit of novelty under the pretense of blending the best of every food culture. And on the plate, the result often veers dangerously close to culinary nonsense.