Who is Eijun Mitsubori?

Eijun Mitsubori is the third-generation owner of a traditional wagashi (Japanese confectionery) shop in Yokosuka, Kanagawa, which has been in business for over 70 years. At the same time, he is the founder of “Kado Ichika-ryu” (The Way of Sweets, One Confection Style), a performance-centered approach to wagashi that transforms the intricate process of crafting and presenting vivid, artistically designed nerikiri confections into a refined way of thinking, etiquette, and philosophy. Mitsubori’s work has gained acclaim not only in Japan but also in Paris, the heart of Western confectionery culture. In this interview, we explore how “Kado Ichika-ryu” came to be and what drives Mitsubori’s passion to uplift wagashi from an outsider's standpoint.

Table of Contents

• What is "Kado Ichika-ryu"?

• Wagashi Should Also Establish Global Individul Brands

• A Collective Expression of Refined Japanese Gestures

• The Importance of Otaku Sensibilities

What is “Kado Ichika-ryu”?

Could you start by explaining what “Kado Ichika-ryu” is and how it came about?

As the third-generation owner of Wagashi-shi Izumiya, I’ve felt firsthand how wagashi has been steadily losing ground to Western sweets. I often asked myself what I could do about it. Around the age of 33, I appeared on the popular TV show TV Champion on TV Tokyo. That experience in the entertainment world reignited the feeling I had when I once pursued a career as a musician. It also made me realize the disconnect between wagashi artisans and the world of performance.

While TV producers wanted to highlight wagashi-making as a visual and performative art, many artisans didn’t quite know how to adapt. It’s wonderful to be passionate about your craft, but the producers, who also had their own professional pride, wanted to shoot close-ups of expressions and hand movements. I ended up pitching shots to them myself and asking them questions like: “This is the kind of shot you want, right?” because I genuinely wanted to draw attention to wagashi through television.

In my late 30s, Izumiya's karinto manju became a best-selling product, and I also won TV Champion R's Western and Japanese Sweets Artisan Championship. I rode the wave, thinking the TV buzz would last a year at most, so I went all-in selling karinto manju across department stores nationwide. But then the family business started crumbling.

What happened?

Izumiya, which had been like a local shop selling 50 or 100 manju at a time, suddenly had to produce 10,000. We grew too fast and couldn’t keep up. The biggest issue was the shortage of wagashi artisans. Even over 30 years ago when I was in pastry school, there were three classes for Western sweets and only one for wagashi. It’s always been less popular, so the shortage is no surprise. As I tried to gently bring the business back down to earth, I realized something else: I harbored a deep jealousy toward Western sweets.

You were envious of their popularity?

It wasn’t the popularity itself; it was the way the value of Western pastry chefs skyrocketed. Around 30 years ago, the word “pâtissier” emerged. Local cake shops became patisseries. Cream puffs became choux à la crème. Prices surged. It was brilliant branding. You could still buy affordable sweets at supermarkets or chains, but if a cake is made by a pâtissier, people willingly pay 800 or even 1,000 yen. The name alone signifies craftsmanship and value.

Wagashi still hasn’t achieved that. It’s not uncommon for wagashi from long-established shops to be cheaper than convenience store dorayaki. With declining demand for ceremonial gifts, the industry lacks a clear answer. That’s when I realized wagashi needs a kind of "reverse import."

Western confectionery gained status thanks to training and awards in Paris. When you zoom out, you see the same situation happening with Hokusai, Jakuchu, even Japanese swords and bonsai. All were re-evaluated abroad first. Once they were praised overseas, they returned to Japan with a renewed status which was “Cool Japan.” That’s the exact model I aimed to replicate with “Kado Ichika-ryu.”

Wagashi Should Also Establish Global Individual Brands

How does “Kado Ichika-ryu” express this overseas vision?

First, by focusing on wagashi as performance rather than a commercial product. For example, in Paris, luxury chocolatiers craft sculpture-like pièce montée for competitions. Winning adds prestige. If a roll cake sells for 2,000 yen, it’s considered reasonable within that context. Wagashi needs the same: bold, fantastical creations that evoke wonder and status.

That’s where “Kado Ichika-ryu” comes in through its vivid, surreal nerikiri that don’t even look edible, and elegant performance gestures that elevate the experience.

Another key is putting the artisan’s name front and center. In wagashi, the noren tradition emphasizes the shop, not the individual. Take Toraya which is famous for its yokan, but can you name its head artisan? Meanwhile, Western sweets highlight names like Pierre Hermé. Branding individuals leads to higher perceived value and drives competition. That’s why I created the personal brand “Kado Ichika-ryu,” separate from Izumiya. I believe this vision could even help make our karinto manju mainstream.

I call my wagashi performance an otemae, like in tea ceremony. I wear elaborate costumes inspired by Paris Fashion Week to infuse it with non-daily luxury. The tearoom itself is a not a space for a daily gathering. The deliberate creation of formality just to drink tea expresses a unique Japanese beauty. I wanted to mirror that intensity in my own performances.

In tea ceremonies, each component: the tea master, the calligraphy, the flower arrangement, etc. is credited to an individual artist. But the sweets? Only the shop name is mentioned. That imbalance convinced me: wagashi artisans, too, must step forward. We also need to be branded as an individual world, and for this, I felt I needed to become a “confectioner” (kadoka).

A Collective Expression of Refined Japanese Gestures

What does becoming a confectioner actually entail?

It starts with refining one’s gestures. My biggest breakthrough came when I was doing live demonstrations at Hankyu Umeda in Osaka. The audience came from affluent areas like Ashiya and Takarazuka, people familiar with tea ceremony and kimono culture. Tea instructors in the crowd began offering advice, like how I should always fold and place towels precisely or how I shouldn’t bend my back when reaching for tools.

Their tips made me realize I was showing my craft, not just making sweets. In tea ceremony, the very act of preparing tea with straight shoulders and elegant movements is itself a form of hospitality. Wanting to bring that refinement to my nerikiri-making, I even studied ballet. One instructor told me my arm movements were unrefined. In ballet, you lift your arms without raising your shoulders. That was eye-opening. All of it, I absorbed into the evolving world of “Kado Ichika-ryu.”

What do you hope to convey through your performances?

My nerikiri confections are ephemeral, dream-like objects, something you can’t get from factory sweets. The whole process, performed with refined gestures, is the experience. One crowd favorite is a 10-minute performance where I sculpt a crimson ran-giku (wild chrysanthemum) to music. Then, I have someone come forward and destroy it with a spoon.

That moment of destruction, of beauty vanishing, is moving. The audience feels it deeply. It’s just sweet bean paste, but in that emotional context, people say it’s the best they’ve ever tasted.

If we can normalize these high-value experiences, maybe someday people will look at store-bought strawberry daifuku and think, “This isn’t like the ones from a wagashi shop.” That’s the future I’m working toward, one performance at a time.

The Importance of Otaku Sensibilities

You've done more overseas performances recently. Any memorable experiences?

When I started planning global expansion, I thought to myself: it has to begin in Paris. However, someone with connections there warned me: “Don’t go until you’re invited.” They told me to build credibility in Asia first.

So I set up in Shanghai and toured places like Hong Kong and Taiwan. Eventually, I was invited to Vietnam and Thailand. From there, Europe took notice. In 2017, I was invited to Paris’s Salon du Chocolat, supported by the French Foreign Ministry.

Once again, I was warned: “Don’t show up with a whole Japanese cultural entourage. Come alone. Otherwise, it looks like an Asian in-group and turns people off.” So, I did just that.

From 2017 to 2019, I was invited to Salon du Chocolat for three straight years. In 2019, I had a booth right in the center. The impact of European recognition was huge, and I’m determined to return to Paris someday.

Lastly, do you have a message for the readers?

I’d love for those who come to Japan with an interest in its culture (not just wagashi) to truly immerse themselves in the real Japan. And if possible, I hope they get to experience a version of Japan that’s not pre-packaged or curated. Something a little deeper, perhaps even a bit "otaku" in nature.

Even when it comes to creating a movement around wagashi, I believe this kind of otaku-level sensibility is essential. When something that’s widely and vaguely known starts to attract people who dive deep into it, its true value begins to gain traction globally.

Take sushi, for example. These days, there are sushi restaurants in Bangkok or Hong Kong offering quality on par with what you’d find at Tsukiji. But what really launched sushi into global culture was the California Roll. It’s a roll made in America with crab sticks, avocado, and mayonnaise, with the seaweed on the inside—it was initially dismissed as “not real sushi.”

But thanks to the California Roll, the word “sushi” spread worldwide. And in reaction, people started to seek out “real sushi.” That’s when the sushi otaku were born—people who came to Japan to learn authentic sushi-making, and then spread that knowledge across the globe.

In the same way, I hope the seeds I’m planting around the world for wagashi will eventually sprout into otaku-like passion and lead people to rediscover the essence of Japanese wagashi. I truly believe that this kind of reverse-import route is just as important for the future of wagashi.