By the time autumn’s scarlet and gold had left the slopes around Sapporo, I found myself seated with a small group at a heavy wood table with a charcoal grill in the center. A chef tended channel rockfish over the coals—its flesh sweet and melting, a pale pink from a shrimp-rich diet. Over the long evening he seared one local prize after another: mackerel, king crab, live abalone and fat scallops farmed in nearby Lake Saroma. The method was robatayaki, the dramatic seaside grilling style born of Hokkaido fishermen, where flavor and theater go hand in hand.
We dined inside one of the oddest buildings in Japan: Noa Hakobune, Nigel Coates’s concrete, Brutalist imagining of Noah’s ark. Rooms feel sculpted, murals weave biblical and Greek tales, and the whole place captures something of Sapporo itself—a city with a lively, idiosyncratic food culture and a quietly adventurous wine scene. My friend Megumi Nakajima, who makes semiannual pilgrimages “for the food,” warned me to “bring two stomachs.” She’s far from alone—flights between Haneda and New Chitose are among the world’s busiest.
Much of Sapporo’s character comes from Hokkaido. The island holds roughly a quarter of Japan’s land area but only a sliver of its population. Cold seas yield prized uni and crab and supply seafood to top sushi counters; mountain springs feed intensely flavored vegetables; and expansive pastures support beef, lamb and dairy not commonly used elsewhere in Japan. The result is an eclectic food scene: comforting staples like miso ramen, Jingisukan lamb and spicy soup curry sit beside increasingly ambitious restaurants.
One indispensable meal is Cucina Italiana Magari. Seated at a compact counter beneath hacienda-style decor, my partner and I watched chef Teruki Miyashita and his team marry Italian technique with Hokkaido ingredients. A starter of figs and prosciutto nodded to Italy, but other plates were unmistakably northern: grilled pieces with the oyster-like texture of cod milt, a mackerel pâté, and a creamy soup that recalled New England chowder made with mantis shrimp, milt and fugu, all brightened with Parmigiano-Reggiano. We drank cold white Burgundy from a wine list heavy on France. Magari feels like a restaurant that could only exist in Sapporo.
Sapporo’s signature dish is probably miso ramen, said to have been born in the Nijo Market after World War II. Rather than the tourist-packed Ramen Alley, my guide Alex Kotchev steered me to Menya Saimi, a sleepy suburban shop. We stood in a downpour for 45 minutes before being seated beneath fluorescent lights at a cafeteria table. The room offered no promise of magic; the bowl delivered it: soft yellow noodles, buttery roasted pork shoulder, bean sprouts, scallions and grated ginger bathed in a miso broth built from pork bones, vegetables, mushrooms and kelp simmered from 5 a.m. The soup had depth and generosity—the kind of simple perfection that lingers.
After ramen I returned to JR Tower Hotel Nikko Sapporo, lodged in Hokkaido’s second-tallest building and home to an onsen on the 22nd floor. Afternoons were for soaking in 108-degree water pumped from 3,300 feet below ground, watching mountain ridges turn lavender as the sun slid away.
We took a short overnight to Jozankei near Shikotsu-Tōya National Park and stayed at Kasho Gyoen, a secluded ryokan with in-room hot springs. In a stone tub overlooking old-growth forest, Elijah and I soaked until the air sharpened with the season’s first snow. Dinner was crab from Nemuro and a roasted Tokachi beef fillet served in kimono by a pond; after a garden stroll, a snowfall began and guests spilled outside to watch large flakes drift down. Someone shaped a handful into a duck and handed it to me—small moments that feel uniquely Hokkaido.
Ice cream is practically a regional obsession in Sapporo. Soft serve is everywhere, but the unflavored sweet cream—the pure Hokkaido milk version—is sacred. Hokkaido’s climate and animal care, together with gentle pasteurization and high fat content, produce milk with remarkable depth. Near the Ōdōri Bus Terminal we visited Gyokusuien, a tiny tea shop run by the Tamaki family since 1933. Brothers Yasuo and Sachio welcomed us; they sell tea, ice cream and a curious venison rice dish finished with green tea. Yasuo cooks a milk-rich ice cream from dawn, reducing milk to concentrate flavor. It tasted like fine French butter with a whisper of sweetness.
For theatrics at the very end of a night, nothing beats a shime parfait. Nanakamadou in Susukino constructs towering desserts—one I saw rose over a foot tall and was crowned with a six-inch burnt-sugar spire and nearly twenty layered components: sorbets, creams, puddings and jellies in a confection to study as much as to eat.
We moved from JR Tower Nikko to Royal Park Canvas Sapporo Odori Park, a minimalist “party hotel” whose rooms come equipped with turntables and hi-fi systems and whose rooftop features a bar, firepits and views of the Sapporo TV Tower. Its restaurant, Hokkaido Cuisine Kamuy, focuses on simply prepared local small plates and offers one of the city’s most complete local-wine selections. Hokkaido’s climate and terrain make it an exciting wine region, and I tasted experimental bottles with Toru Takamatsu, the world’s youngest master sommelier and an advocate for Hokkaido wines. The island also produces tiny-lot Pinot Noirs by winemakers such as Takahiko Soga, whose releases are contested and coveted abroad.
We caught a train to Yoichi to meet Soga. In a modest warehouse at the base of his vineyard he and apprentices scrubbed French barrels, then sprinted up a hill to show us Nana-Tsu-Mori (“Seven Forests”), vines planted in 2010 that are now producing notable fruit. He explained how Hokkaido’s silky snow insulates vines through brutal winters. His Nana-Tsu-Mori Pinot Noir tasted of cedar, mushrooms, black earth and a coastal umami—elements he traced to place and practice.
Near the end of my stay I sampled regional specialties: soup curry, gamey Jingisukan lamb grilled on dome-shaped grills, and a long, ceremonial lunch at Suginome, one of Sapporo’s oldest ryōtei where private rooms once hosted geisha and deals. There, craftsmen from the Ainu made the wooden serving dishes and a two-and-a-half-pound horsehair crab was steamed and shelled at the table.
Our final and favorite meal was at Tempura Masa, a tucked-away tempura counter where chef Masayuki Murai elevates the flash-fried craft into a long, delicate course. Batter fried in sesame oil becomes as light as frost; a whole shishamo encased in that wafer-thin shell still lingers in my memory. After a fragrant shiitake tempura, Murai produced a bottle of Domaine Takahiko Pinot Noir—permitted only with that umami-rich mushroom course—and the night closed with a plain, grainless ice cream made after 14 hours of simmering. Murai watched over the service like a tired, triumphant matador, amused by the lengths taken to perfect something so simple and satisfied by the memory it created.
Where to stay
– JR Tower Hotel Nikko Sapporo — onsen and skyline views.
– Royal Park Canvas Sapporo Odori Park — rooms with turntables, lively rooftop.
– Kasho Gyoen (near Shikotsu-Tōya National Park) — secluded ryokan with in-room onsens.
Where to eat
– Noa Hakobune — theatrical robatayaki in a Brutalist “ark.”
– Cucina Italiana Magari — Italian technique married to Hokkaido produce.
– Menya Saimi — suburban miso ramen worth the wait.
– Tempura Masa — high-end tempura counter with an impressive wine list.
– Kamuy (Royal Park Canvas) — local small plates and strong Hokkaido wine selection.
– Suginome — historic ryōtei with ceremonial meals.
– Nanakamadou — extravagant shime parfaits.
Sapporo’s food identity is inseparable from Hokkaido: oceans, mountains and pastures produce ingredients that encourage risk and generosity in the kitchen. The city’s relaxed, frontier energy—people who will wear shorts in the cold and trade stories with strangers—makes it an ideal place to eat, drink and linger.
