Table of Contents
Meeting Karl Palma in Osaka
I first came across KARLSBALLS in an advertisement for a Japan festival while visiting New York City in 2023. Intrigued by the idea of an American running a takoyaki business, I reached out to interview the owner, Karl Palma, but our schedules didn’t allow us to meet in person during my stay. I continued to follow his growing business through Instagram, and in time Karl let me know he would be in Osaka in October 2025. The best way to get to know someone like Karl is through a shared love of food, so I took him to two of my favorite takoyaki stands: Sanchan in Nakatsu and Tetchan near Chidoribashi Station.
Visiting Takoyaki Sanchanya
Sanchanya (3ちゃん屋 )has been located in the same spot near Nakatsu Station for over 50 years. Since writer William Harding already covered this restaurant in a previous article, I asked Karl to write down his impressions of meeting the Takoyaki legend.
Karl Palma: “We were the first two customers, just the two of us. But even then, the energy was already there, like the space had a heartbeat. You’d crouch down, pass through the fabric walls, and sit on this tiny stool… inside this tiny universe. San-chan is a character in the best way. A perfect host. Gruff Osaka-ben, direct and sharp, but warm. Aggressive, funny, welcoming, like only Osaka can pull off without itfeeling fake. He doesn’t just cook. He is the show. He reads people instantly, and makes you feel like you’ve been there before, even if it’s your first time.”
Karl Gets Behind The Grill
Sanchan was very happy and surprised to learn that Karl had a takoyaki business in New York City. He even called his friend to come down to meet such an esteemed guest. After making our takoyaki, which he seasoned with kuroshichimi, black pepper from Kyoto, Sanchan announced that he had to go outside to run an errand. He asked Karl to take over on the grill for the next order. Personally, I don’t think there was any errand, he just wanted to give Karl a chance to prepare takoyaki in Osaka.
Karl Palma: “I didn’t want to make a scene of myself. I came to observe quietly. But he insisted that I cook. I hesitated because it wasn’t my business, and I didn’t come here to turn it into “about me.” But he was adamant, like he needed to step away for a minute—maybe for a smoke, I don’t know. Whatever the reason was, he trusted me enough to put me behind the grill.”
Finding his Rhythm
There was one other customer at the time, a woman who said she was 80. While shooting a video of Karl, she suddenly stood up to help San-chan hold a sheet of aluminum in front of a light bulb to make a spotlight MacGyver style. I asked Karl how he felt to pinch hit for a legend.
Karl Palma: “The first thing I noticed about the grill was the heat: medium to low. I’m used to cooking fast, and immediately my rhythm was off. I found myself trying to force the pace, because that’s what I’m used to. Once San-chan took over, I realized it wasn’t about speed or even technique, it was about environment. He created this party-type atmosphere that made it very fun. The pace made time to talk, laugh, watch, comment, drink, and create this environment for people to really enjoy each other.”
Visiting Takoyaki Tetchan
After having a nice meal at Ikoi, an izakaya that has been in business since 1958, we took the train to Chidoriobashi Station in Konohana Ward to visit Tetchan (たこ焼きBAR てっちゃん), another very famous Takoyaki master who has been profiled on NHK and in The Japan Times. Shockingly, Tetchan told us that the building that houses his restaurant is scheduled to be torn down and he hasn’t found a new location. I hope Tetchan decides to continue because is such an amazing character with a big heart.
Impressions of Tetchan
Karl Palma: “My first impression of Tetchan was jester energy, this playful, larger-than-life character who just happens to craft really delicious takoyaki. And his shop setup? It’s exactly the kind of setup I want in NYC: small, intimate, fun, funky… and tasty. It feels like a place you can actually hang out, not just grab food and disappear.”
“Tetchan makes takoyaki in that modern Osaka style sauce, mayo, ao nori, katsuobushi, but it’s done with intention. Osaka has endless takoyaki, so what makes each one tick? Just like San-chan, Tetchan is a character. His outfit. His presence. His command of the grill. The way he runs the room. Everything works in harmony. People don’t just come to Tetchan for takoyaki, they come for Tetchan.The icing on the cake is that the takoyaki is legitimately delicious.”
“Meeting Tetchan gave me a lesson on personality, not necessarily “being a jester,” but having a vibe and energy that pulls people in. And then I realized something deeper: his energy is in the food. It made me think about what energy I’m putting into my own cooking. How do you stay genki and project that into the food? And even if it’s not “genki,” how do you put something loving and positive into it anyway?”
Osaka.com 40 Question Interview with Karl Palma
In an age of reels and soundbites, the long-form interview is increasingly seen as a relic, dismissed with the familiar refrain, “Who has time to read all that?” But for those who make it to the end of this conversation, the reward is a deeper appreciation of how takoyaki is made and the real challenges of introducing it to the city that never sleeps. And if any Hollywood producers are looking for their next unlikely biopic, Karl can be contacted directly. This interview was conducted both in person and via email over the course of several months.
Background & Early Life
1) Can you tell me about your hometown and what it was like growing up there?
I was born in Mount Holly, New Jersey. It was kind of a working man’s town, and we lived close to the hospital where my mother worked. I remember having good friends, riding my bicycle, and being taken care of by my babysitter, Mrs. Merkle, who was like a grandmother figure to me.
Before first grade, we moved to Mount Laurel. At that time, it was a relatively new development, there wasn’t much built yet, and my family was one of the first to move in. I remember it being mostly a white neighborhood. Later in middle school and high school it became more diverse, but there were still lots of micro-cliques and social circles I didn’t feel part of. I stayed a bit outside of that and focused on my own thing, which was music.
Festivals and Filipino Food
2) Were there any local traditions, festivals, or foods that really influenced you?
I remember going to county and farm fairs. They were full of circus-style music, lights, games, the sound of people yelling and laughing—it felt alive and busy. I loved funnel cake in particular. Hot, crispy, sugary—it made a strong impression as “festival food.”
At home, my mother was an excellent cook. Everything she made was gold. I didn’t really see our Filipino food as “different” from what other people ate at school events; I just knew my mom’s food was always delicious. I remember classmates’ mothers asking for her noodle recipe, pancit. We ate at home a lot. McDonald’s was an occasional treat, and we didn’t eat a lot of pizza or burgers unless it was a special thing. Looking back, we ate very well.
Drumming and Music
3) From an early age you were involved in music. What was that period like, and how did it shape you?
Most of my earliest memories are tied to music. I played a lot of piano as a kid and was basically a wind-up toy for family parties—people would ask me to play, and I’d sit down at the piano and go. I was already “performing” from a young age.I started music around age five at the New Jersey School of Music, learning piano through the Suzuki Method. My first teacher was Japanese, I believe. I wasn’t great at reading music, but I had a good ear and could hear what was going on. I remember hearing big band jazz—especially “Sing, Sing, Sing”—at a family wedding. I was dancing nonstop and completely drawn to the sound of the drums. That moment really stuck.
In school I played trumpet and later baritone horn. From 6th to 8th grade, I was one of the better middle school players in All South Jersey. I became friends with a great musician named Nick Marchione, who came from a jazz family and introduced me to jazz more seriously. I wish we had stayed in touch, he was a big influence. As I got older, drums took over. I loved them more than anything. My whole youth was focused on music and performance, and as I got more serious about that, I cared less about traditional academics.
Getting into Jazz
There was also some friction: in high school, a band teacher kept telling me, “You’re not a drummer, go back to your horn. Karl, get off the drum set.” It really rubbed me the wrong way and still bothers me sometimes when I think about it. Years later, when I was already an established drum teacher, I went back to get my transcript and saw him in the hallway. He asked if I’d like to coach the marching band drumline. I told him, “Sorry, I’m too busy gigging.” That whole journey gave me stubbornness and a need to prove myself through my work.
Drifting Years
4. How did these early struggles shape who you are now?
I barely passed high school. I went to community college for a year without any real direction. Music was the only thing I cared about, and eventually I found my drum mentor, Tony DeNicola. Studying with Tony gave me discipline, technique, and belief, but I still lacked real-world experience. I had chops, but I didn’t yet know how to exist in the music world.
I tried to pursue jazz seriously and enrolled in the Jazz Performance program at the University of the Arts. That experience broke me. I didn’t have jazz ensemble experience, only rock, funk, and fusion, and I was placed into lower-level ensembles despite knowing I could play. I was older than my peers, the only Asian drummer there, and completely outside the social circles that mattered. At the same time, I was teaching drums, giving private lessons, and waiting tables just to survive.
Under Pressure
5. Sounds like you were under a lot of pressure at the time
I became overwhelmed, disconnected, and mentally unwell. The school eventually pulled me out of class and required that I see a therapist between lessons. I dropped out. After leaving UArts, I stopped playing drums completely.
I pivoted into physical discipline and enrolled in a personal training program at another community college. I threw myself into lifting weights obsessively. Training gave me structure and helped quiet my mind, but it didn’t replace music. From there, I transitioned into automotive school. I was good with my hands, and driving at high speeds gave me focus and relief. Still, something was missing.
Losing a Mentor
During that period, I tried to return to drums by taking infrequent lessons with Tony, but I was broke, ungrounded, and inconsistent. Sometimes I practiced hard and showed up prepared, and Tony was genuinely happy when I did. Other times I disappeared. I wanted to commit, but I didn’t have the stability or clarity to sustain it.
Then Tony passed away.
6. That must have been devastating.
At his funeral, I met his former students. Many of them were already established — one became a music teacher, another went into business, another into real estate. They talked about how Tony had asked each of them what they wanted out of life and then guided them toward a practical path. They listened, and they followed through.
When it came to me, I realized Tony had never redirected me toward anything else. He never told me to teach or to choose another career. He only ever said, “Keep taking lessons with me and you’ll be OK.” That realization stayed with me. I didn’t know whether it meant he believed I should keep playing, or that I never stayed long enough for him to guide me properly. Either way, once he was gone, there was no one left to ask.
Working Odd Jobs
7. Did you go back to music?
After his death, I tried studying under other teachers, but none of them had what Tony had, not just musically, but as someone who understood me. Something in me shut down. I drifted again. I worked odd jobs, taught drums when I could, waited tables, and played music sporadically. I completed a program at SAE Institute and interned at Grand Street Studios in Brooklyn, then transferred to Kampo Cultural Center in Manhattan, a Japanese-based recording studio that I loved. When Kampo went bankrupt in 2010, I lost my footing again. The following year was about survival, taking whatever work I could find, losing confidence in the recording industry, and questioning my place in music.
My closest musical partner, Damien Anthony, and I formed a band again, but despite how good the music was, it wasn’t being recognized. The music felt ahead of its time, and the lack of validation was deeply frustrating. Eventually, Damien disappeared from my life while dealing with his own struggles. That loss hit me harder than I realized at the time.
Looking back, all of those failures stripped away ego and illusion. They taught me humility, patience, and endurance. They also taught me how to keep going when nothing is working, lessons that would later define how I approached cooking, business, and craft.
Discovering Japanese Drumming
8) When did you first become interested in Japanese drumming?
After years of drifting, I was still teaching drums, waiting tables, and playing in a funk/jazz cover band in Philadelphia. Music was present, but it no longer fed my soul. Losing my closest musical partner, Damien, as a creative collaborator left a void, and I was searching for something that could ground me.
I remembered seeing Japanese drumming years earlier on Sesame Street as a kid and later in the film Rising Sun. Around that time, meditation became a daily survival tool for me. That search led me to Hoh Daiko, a Japanese community taiko group based in Seabrook, New Jersey. From the moment I joined, I committed fully. Taiko didn’t care about background, age, or status. You showed up, endured the training, respected hierarchy, and contributed to the group.
Hoh Daiko became my second family. Rhythm returned to the center of my life. That was my true entry point into Japanese culture — through discipline, embodied practice, and community. Food came much later.
Working at the New York Buddhist Church
8) How did your involvement with Buddhism and working at a temple in New York come about?
My interest in Buddhism deepened during the same period when everything else in my life felt unstable. Meditation helped me learn how to observe instead of react. While I was involved with taiko, I moved to New York for a nine-month intensive program in audio engineering. Hoh Daiko was affiliated with the New York Buddhist Church, which also houses Soh Daiko, the oldest taiko group on the East Coast. After graduating, I was accepted as the live-in building manager of the New York Buddhist Church. Living and working at a Buddhist temple meant serving people at their most vulnerable, weddings, funerals, grief, and celebration.
9. What has Buddhism taught you?
Buddhism taught me humility and restraint. Discipline isn’t about forcing outcomes; it’s about showing up fully and letting go of what you can’t control. That mindset became foundational to how I live, cook, and work.
Working at Otafuku Takoyaki in NYC 2011-2013
10. When did you first encounter Takoyaki?
I first encountered takoyaki while working at Otafuku in New York’s East Village in 2011. At the beginning, I wasn’t cooking. I was hired through the Japanese community and started out working the register. All of my coworkers were Japanese, and I didn’t know much beyond yakisoba. Takoyaki and okonomiyaki were completely new to me. For the first three months, I was a part-time cashier—the lowest position. I couldn’t speak Japanese, and my manager was very strict. She yelled at me often, but I tried my best. Eventually I became pretty proficient on the teppan grill. I got good at okonomiyaki and yakisoba, but I didn’t really touch the takoyaki grill much at first. I wasn’t good at it yet.
Trying Takoyaki for the First Time
11. Did you like Takoyaki from the get-go?
Takoyaki wasn’t love at first bite. When I first had it, I thought it was good, but I didn’t understand it yet. That understanding came later, through repetition and observation. It wasn’t until I started watching how it was made that it began to sink in. I noticed how small changes in timing, heat, and movement completely changed the texture. When management changed, the owner offered me the General Manager position. I needed the financial stability, so I accepted. That meant learning how to cook everything so I could train new staff. In that process, my confidence grew, and my approach evolved.
Takoyaki hooked me because it is unforgiving. It exposes every mistake, poor heat control, fatigue, hesitation. When it’s right, the outside is thin and delicate and the inside is soft and creamy. When it’s wrong, everyone knows immediately. Later, I was interviewed and filmed by the Food Film Festival, starring in the short documentary TAKO NY by Kris Bertain, along with spots on The Cooking Channel and early YouTube / influencer blogs. The Food Film Festival was huge, it let me introduce takoyaki to a much wider audience. Those years at Otafuku gave me the foundation that eventually led to KARLSBALLS.
Takoyaki Method, Philosophy
12) When you talk about Osaka-style takoyaki, what does that really mean in terms of texture, ingredients, and technique?
When I talk about Osaka-style takoyaki, I’m thinking about fuwa-toro texture, Kansai-style dashi, and real control over heat and timing.Fuwa-toro means a thin, delicate shell on the outside and a soft, creamy interior—not a dense, crispy fritter. The batter itself has to taste good from the dashi. I base my cooking on Kansai-style “kansai-ryori” dashi, using awase-dashi as a backbone. Octopus quality is huge: I want a slight pop on the first bite, then it melts together with the batter.
Technique-wise, it’s about being aware and conscious of everything: pan temperature, heat, wind, humidity, how fast or slow the batter is moving, how the copper reacts. You’re constantly adapting to the environment, mastering fire, timing and speed. There’s also a personal influence from temple life and shojin-style thinking—respecting ingredients, not wasting, and paying attention to small details. That’s my point of view. These types of subtleties—dashi, fuwa-toro, octopus prep, and environmental awareness—are usually not reflected in American takoyaki. It’s disappointing to see how often it gets reduced to something frozen, heavy, and covered in sauce.
Starting KARLSBALLS in 2015
13) When did you realize you were ready to start your own takoyaki business? Was there any hesitation or doubt?
I didn’t really start because I felt “ready.” I started because I got married and felt pressure to make an occupation for myself. I had to deliver. At first, I actually wanted to open an okonomiyaki place because it seemed easier. But by then I had already been on some food YouTube videos, had help from the Food Film Festival, and starred in TAKO NY. Takoyaki kept tugging at me
In the very beginning, I thought it would be cool to do “American-style” takoyaki with Cheetos and silly toppings. But guilt came quickly. It felt irresponsible to the craft and to the culture. I was experimenting in the temple kitchen, and Rev. Earl Ikeda started feeding me techniques, ideas, and gentle advice. Looking back, I can see he was steering me toward the shokunin path.
I didn’t start the business to be a “cultural representative.” I started it to create work and stability for myself and my wife. But as time went on, the weight of cultural responsibility started to sit on my shoulders. I had (and still have) a lot of doubt. Even though I’m confident in my recipes, I still get nervous and second guess myself. I still feel like I haven’t reached my full potential. That feeling keeps me pushing.
Origin of The Name
14) How did you come up with the name Karl’s Balls? Did you consider any other names?
The name came out of the way people talked about my food. At events, people would say, “You gotta try Karl’s balls,” or “Karl has the best octopus balls.” It stuck. I decided to spell it as one word, KARLSBALLS, in all caps, and without an apostrophe. My name starts with a K, so I used that, and I made it one word because I didn’t want the possessive joke—“Karl’s balls”—to go too far. I wanted the humor, but I didn’t want it to be only about innuendo.
KARLSBALLS started out as something fun, and it still is, especially when I think about Osaka-style comedy. It’s easy to remember, and people associate the brand with quality and fun. But as time went by and I thought more about being responsible to the craft and the culture, my feelings about the name evolved. There’s a lot of serious work hiding behind that joke.
Making Authentic Osaka Takoyaki
15) You say your mission is to represent real, authentic Osaka takoyaki. What does that mean to you personally?
When I started deep diving into food preparation, my first obsession was octopus. I wanted to prepare it like a sushi chef would, carefully and consistently. hen I focused on making my own takoyaki sauce, because I knew that shops in Osaka always have their own. After that came dashi, and that really grounded me in the fundamentals of cooking. kept pushing into the unknown, chasing authenticity.
Over the years, I ended up with a personal definition: if I can create a taste that brings up nostalgia, especially for someone from Osaka, then I’m doing something right. Good food brings up good memories. That could be a hot dog, a shrimp cracker, a glass of milk, a hot cup of tea. My vehicle just happens to be takoyaki. Not all the time, but sometimes a customer will say my takoyaki brings back memories of Osaka. That drives me to pursue perfection even more. Authenticity, to me, is about respecting where the food came from and trying to evoke those memories honestly.
Ingredients and Equipment for Takoyaki
16) What are the most important ingredients authentic Osaka-style takoyaki?
The most important ingredients or equipment, in my opinion, are: Kombu and dashi. Real kombu (Rausu, Rishiri, Ma, etc.) is non-negotiable. You can boost flavor with powdered katsuobushi or niboshi, but real kombu is the base. Of course, using all 3 from scratch is the base of my recipe.
However for home cooking, I highly recommend using real Kombu. Usukuchi shoyu (light soy sauce), which is essential in Kansai cooking. Higashimaru is my favorite brand. Nagaimo for texture. Soft wheat flour and high-quality eggs. Of course, there are many regional and local variations. Some shops use chicken dashi, others use different seafood dashi. That’s the beauty of Japan. But my recipe is based heavily on tradition, and I haven’t moved far from that, because there’s still so much to learn and refine.
Gas Griddles and Copper Plates
17. What about equipment?
A solid gas griddle. I really like the Iwatani butane gas griddle because you can control the heat and get real power. One more thing that’s a must for me is a digital scale. It has to measure in grams, ounces, and pounds. I don’t use measuring cups. I measure everything down to the gram, and then rely on my taste and instinct to decide where my heart wants to go.
18) Why do you use copper takoyaki plates and a gas grill instead of more conventional setups?
I use copper plates because they conduct heat quickly and evenly. When you’re trying to create a thin, delicate shell with a creamy inside, that level of responsiveness matters. If the plate heats unevenly or too slowly, you either burn the outside or overcook the inside.
I stick to gas because it gives immediate, visual feedback. I can see the flame, hear it, adjust it quickly. Electric units—especially low-watt ones—don’t give me the same control or power. For real Osaka-style takoyaki, where texture and timing are everything, copper plus gas lets me respond to the environment in real time.
Three Principles of making Takoyaki
19) On your website, you mention three principles: ingredients, technique, and timing. Can you walk us through how each of those plays a role?
Ingredients: I look for the best ingredients I can afford. In Japanese food, you really pay for what you get. Quality kombu, the right flour, good eggs, and good octopus all matter. I pay attention to things like flour protein percentage, because that affects how the batter behaves. Each shop in Osaka has its own way; I do my best to study what makes each one interesting.
Technique: Once you have good ingredients, you have to apply the best technique you can. That includes how you mix the batter, pour it, how you move the picks, and how you treat the griddle. My team uses what I think are some of the best griddles for takoyaki, but gear alone isn’t enough—you have to know how to use it.
Timing: try to time prep as close to the event as possible. For special events, I boil the octopus about 1–1.5 hours before service so it’s still at room or body temperature. During service, timing is critical—when to pour, when to cut, when to flip, when to lower the flame. It’s very hard to explain unless we’re standing side by side at the grill. Timing is something you feel through experience.
Sourcing Ingredients for Takoyaki
20) How do you source your dashi, octopus, and other key ingredients?
Around 80% of my ingredients are from Japanese vendors. Things like scallions/leeks and some flour I source locally. I still drive around to different markets looking for the best vegetables and hand-pick them myself. Sometimes I rely on delivery, but often the vegetables don’t arrive in a condition I approve of. For flour, I use a product called Wondra. After a lot of trial and error, it’s what works best for me. I’m not sure if it’s available in Japan. For octopus, I’ve probably tried every seafood vendor in New York City. Octopus is special, and I have to make sure it’s always in stock—or at least my preferred type. So I keep several vendors on my call list to maintain the quality I want.
Octopus Preparation for Takoyaki
21) Your octopus preparation is very detailed. What is the process like, and why did you choose a three-day method?
The octopus prep is a three-day process.
Day 1 is the brine: I do a 24-hour defrost brine in salt water that mimics the salinity of the sea where the octopus is sourced. It defrosts slowly in the refrigerator while brining.
Day 2 is massage and boil: I rinse the octopus out of the brine with cold water. Then I massage it with full strength in a bowl for about 30–45 minutes—sometimes an hour. It’s all by feel, but minimum 30 minutes.
I prepare a stock pot with hojicha tea and sake, and keep that simmering, usually starting it on Day 2 so it becomes a strong tea. Then I weigh each octopus and calculate the boil time by weight. Each octopus gets a timed boil. After boiling, I flash-chill it in ice water, then transfer it to a colander and refrigerate it.
Day 3 is cutting and storing: I slice all the octopus and store it in 1 kg bags, then refreeze it for later events. If I have an event later that same day, I’ll try to boil as close as possible to service for maximum taste and texture.
The reason I made it a three-day method is that after the boil, the octopus releases a lot of water. I catch the water in a bowl under the colander. Because I have to refreeze for high-volume events, I don’t want to refreeze all that excess water. The extra day for cutting and draining helps make sure I’m refreezing octopus, not ice.
External Factors in Creating Takoyaki
22) How much do factors like weather, humidity, or wind affect your cooking, and how do you adapt your technique?
Weather, humidity, and wind affect us a lot. When it’s humid, I can feel the batter change. We always bring extra flour and extra dashi to make adjustments. Usually our first batch of the day is a test batch to make sure things are working properly.
When it’s windy, our griddles lose heat. When it’s rainy, that’s the worst—I worry about the condition of our copper plates and equipment getting wet. The absolute worst combination is cold, windy, and rainy. We experienced our fair share this year. I also worry about my staff’s health. I make sure to talk to them about wearing appropriate clothing for outdoor events. On hot days, I zip-tie huge commercial fans to our tent frame to keep staff cool and push hot air out. In winter, we wrap the griddles in aluminum foil to keep them from dropping in temperature and to deal with wind. We do whatever it takes to stay ahead of the conditions—always in control, never surrendering to Mother Nature.
Achieving Fuwa-Toro Texture in Takoyaki
23) You aim for a soft, creamy fuwa-toro texture. How do you achieve that, and why is it so important?
Fuwa-toro is the goal: a thin outer shell and a soft, creamy interior.
To get there, I focus on: 1. Batter design – the ratio and type of flour, egg content, nagaimo, and liquid. Things like protein percentage in the flour are essential. Each shop has its own way; I study and research what makes each one interesting. 2. Timing – this is something I can only really explain in person. Eventually a student understands, but they have to be tuned in with all their senses. 3. Octopus prep – my octopus prep enhances the texture of the takoyaki: a slight pop on the initial bite, then it melts in sympathy with the batter. That’s something customers have to experience themselves.
Fuwa-toro is important because it’s what Osaka-style takoyaki is about. If you lose that, you lose the soul of the dish.
Takoyaki Sauce
24) Tell us about your takoyaki sauce. How did you develop it, and what makes it unique?
BALLSAUCE—what a funny name. One of the first things I wanted to do was create a sauce for takoyaki. I didn’t do heavy R&D at first. I looked at basic frameworks for okonomiyaki/takoyaki sauce and made my own. The original idea was to make something that would be delicious on steak and takoyaki—something like A1 Steak Sauce meets takoyaki. People liked it. The original had more of that A1 tang.
Due to recent tariffs and limits on imported ingredients, I had to overhaul the recipe completely. I kept tweaking ratios and did a lot of R&D. Eventually I came up with a new takoyaki sauce that is very fruit-based—around 85% fruit pulps. I’m really excited about this new version. It works great with steaks, okonomiyaki, and takoyaki. Ten years later and I’m still experimenting. The original sauce leaned more A1-tangy; this new one is deeper, more fruit-forward, and still very versatile.
25) Are there other ingredients, toppings, or variations you’ve experimented with along the way?
In the early stages, I thought it would be cool to do American-style takoyaki with Cheetos and silly toppings. That was my first instinct. But pretty quickly, I felt guilty—it didn’t feel responsible to the craft or the culture. Over time, I’ve experimented with various toppings, sauces, and textures, but I always circle back to a more traditional Osaka-style framework: good dashi-based batter, carefully prepared octopus, my BALLSAUCE, Japanese mayo, and a few thoughtful toppings. I’m not against creativity, but I never want the gimmick to overshadow the takoyaki itself.
Challenges of Running a Takoyaki Stand
26) What are the biggest technical or logistical challenges of cooking takoyaki the right way in a mobile or pop-up setting?
Logistically, the days are long. I wake up early and drive from my uptown apartment downtown to our kitchen to load everything there. I don’t load at home. A staff member usually comes to help. Everything is temperature-controlled—we use triple-insulated coolers to keep the octopus, sauces, mayo, and anything that needs refrigeration very cold.
We usually cook for about eight hours.
Add another hour for setup and breakdown, plus at least two hours to load and unload back into the kitchen and about 30 minutes of cleaning. When I get home, there’s laundry, counting sales, and planning for the next day. Overall, my days are around 12–14 hours, starting around 6 a.m. and finishing around 9–10 p.m.
Technically, the biggest challenges are managing consistent heat outdoors, keeping the batter stable over long service, and maintaining food safety while moving fast. It’s a lot.
27) How do you train your staff to achieve the consistency and technique you require?
My training is very basic, slow, and gradual. I emphasize repetition and consistency instead of giving them a full lecture of “who, what, where, when, why.” I don’t explain too much at once. I give them one or two things to focus on and see how they react and whether they retain it. These skills take a lot of time to develop, and I’m always refining my teaching method. Everything evolves—my recipes, my technique, and the way I train people. Nothing is static.
Physical and Mental Demands
28) How do you manage the physical and mental demands of operating at 60 to 80 events per season?
I don’t really know how I’ve done it, honestly. Every day and every week is chaotic. My schedule is always changing. Because I insist on prepping as close as possible to the event so everything is fresh, I put myself under a lot of pressure. The day after an event, I usually sleep about 10 hours—that’s a lot for me. I keep telling myself I have to just keep pushing.
Takoyaki Truck: The Ballmobile
29) Your website mentions a Kei-tora mini truck. Can you tell us more about that, and what your vision for it is?
The kei truck came into my life by accident. Around 2021, one of my customers messaged me about a kei food truck coming into Staten Island on a boat. They wanted to give me first dibs. I didn’t have much money, so I took out a loan. Everyone was pushing me to get it.
It’s a 1994 Daihatsu Hijet that was spray-painted black with a very old box on top. It’s an old-style kei kitchen truck that used to be a karaage truck somewhere in Osaka. When I bought it, the truck itself was in good shape, but the box wasn’t. My father and his friend redid the interior and the electrical, and we installed an exhaust hood. It’s a very cool little truck. We named it the Ballmobile. Just like the Batmobile is to Gotham, the Ballmobile is to New York City.
At the time, I don’t think anyone in the U.S. had a kei kitchen truck like that, so I might have been the first. It’s a relatively low-volume truck. I can’t produce the same numbers I do at a full-on Japanese street festival, but people love the concept of a mini takoyaki truck. We use it to collaborate with restaurants and do private pop-ups. I sit on my drum throne as the seat and cook out the window. I’d love to have it as a full-time takoyaki truck, but that would require a complete overhaul to meet NYC requirements. For now, it’s a second platform where I can cook without brick-and-mortar overhead.
Competition and Imitators
30) How do you deal with imitators or competition, both in New York and more broadly?
In truth, I’m upset about a lot of what I see. NYC is huge and there is room for everyone, that’s true. But I really believe that time is limited and people should strive to do the right thing—cultivate delicious food and not just capitalize on someone else’s craft.
I’m happy to see takoyaki done the right way. Those businesses I’ll support and help, even consult for. But fake takoyaki and frozen takoyaki have truly hurt my business this year. I won’t sugarcoat it. People eat that and then are hesitant to try mine. They think, “Oh, I’ve already had takoyaki,” when what they had wasn’t representative at all.
What I do now is put out as much educational content as I can on social media—explaining what real takoyaki is, what goes into it, why I do things the way I do—and hope people can appreciate the amount of work behind it. Everything I learn in Japan, I try to absorb, respect, cultivate, and then explain here in the States.
People who imitate me without understanding the craft usually don’t get very far. I’ve taken a lot of hits and I’m still standing. Many who tried have quit within a year. I’m not so much disappointed in them personally; I’m disappointed in the intention. If you’re going to make a business with food as the vehicle, be prepared to take all the hits. It’s not a glamorous life. Any food I would cook, I would always look at the culture behind it and do my best to learn and respect it.
Memorable Moments Making Takoyaki
31) Do you have any particularly memorable events or moments that stand out to you?
One moment I remember clearly is when a Japanese man ate my takoyaki and said, “This tastes like home.” He actually teared up. When Japanese customers say “gochisousamadeshita” and bow, that means a lot to me too. It’s a deep kind of thanks. also love when my team is in sync—moving and grooving like one unit. Sometimes I step back, look at my staff and the customers, and tell people in line, “Thank you for hanging in there, I hope the wait isn’t too long.”
For about five years, I rarely went out and socialized with other chefs in the Japanese community. I remember my first Japanese food expo in the city—people recognized me: “Hey, you’re the takoyaki guy,” “Karl-san!” We exchanged cards and talked. I never felt I was “good enough”; I just kept pushing forward. Recently, a couple of famous Japanese chefs visited. I told them how much I admired them and congratulated them on their success. One of them said, “Karl-san, you’re next.” Moments like these—the tears, the bows, the rhythm with my team, the recognition from people I look up to—make all the struggle, exhaustion, and self-doubt worth it. It takes a lot for me to summon the courage to get up every day, but when I think of the people rooting for me, I don’t want to let them down, or myself.
Visiting Japan for Takoyaki Research
32) What motivated you to go to Japan to research takoyaki, and how did those trips influence your craft?
I saw the movie Jiro Dreams of Sushi, and it influenced me a lot. One part that stuck with me was Jiro talking about creating delicious food without really knowing what “delicious” is in some absolute sense. When I created KARLSBALLS, I had never actually tasted authentic Osaka takoyaki. I was in survival mode, trying to build a business to create some stability for myself and my wife. So when the idea came up to finally visit Japan in 2017, I made it my mission to eat as much takoyaki as I could.
On that trip, I think I ate at around 20+ shops in about two weeks. Some shops I didn’t care for, and many I loved. Each one had a different feel—different energy, batter texture, level of hospitality. I already had a deep interest in food craftsmanship, but those trips made me want to dig even deeper into Japanese cooking and craftsmanship as a whole. Japan has a level of hospitality and a certain vibe that I really miss—it’s hard to find that here. Those trips pushed me to refine my takoyaki, my dashi, and my whole approach.
I’ve been to Japan around 6 times since then, every time making the effort to visit takoyaki okonomiyaki and yakisoba shops for R&D.
Recognition by the Japan Konamon Association
33) You are the only non-Japanese takoyaki business recognized by the Japan Konamon Association. How did that come about, and what does it mean to you?
Around 2019 at Japan Fes, I met Mana Kumagai (熊谷 真菜), the founder of the Japan Konamon Association (日本コナモン協会). We exchanged business cards. I wasn’t thinking much of it at the time, but we kept in touch over the next couple of years. During Covid-19, I started going deeper into all my recipes and really tried to improve every aspect of my cooking. Fearing that everything could end, I looked at it like I needed to make the “swan song” recipe I could die with content.
Teppan Kaigi in Osaka
In 2022, the Japan Konamon Association created Teppan Kaigi (鉄板会議 Iron Plate Conference) . In 2023, my team and I were invited to attend and participate as guests. I was suddenly face-to-face with Osaka legends I had studied from afar. We shook hands, exchanged business cards, and shared drinks. We were invited to the post-event social hour, and I introduced myself to a crowd of Osaka cooking legends.
In the official 2023 Teppan Kaigi booklet, KARLSBALLS isn’t only mentioned in the history timeline of takoyaki under the year 2015; it also appears in sections about sub-genres, tools the stores use, and a description of our takoyaki. My takoyaki was seen as equal to the gods I worshipped. Something that started in a New York temple kitchen ended up printed in an Osaka booklet alongside the shops and masters I respect.
Returning to the Teppan Kaigi in 2024 as the First Foreign Guest Speaker
34) What was it like being the first foreigner invited to speak at the Teppan Kaigi?
In 2024, Mana invited me back as the theme of the conference was takoyaki. I stood on stage as the first foreigner, introduced myself to the conference, and explained everything about my food business—my octopus preparation, my hardships, and what it’s like running an authentic Osaka-style takoyaki business in the U.S.
I made a lot of friends in Osaka. The shops I looked up to and tried to emulate. I was taking pictures with them, bowing, shaking hands, drinking beers. They became not only my teachers and coaches, but my peers. I also came back to Osaka in 2025 when the theme was okonomiyaki. That time I was more in “student mode,” learning and watching.
After The Speech
All of this affects my future plans. It makes me want to keep returning to Osaka, improving my Japanese, visiting more shops, and deepening those relationships. I want to keep refining my recipes and my technique so I can honor the people who supported me. also still don’t speak Japanese that well. In the future, I hope I can speak fluently so I can let my peers, teachers, mentors, and friends know how much I appreciate them through words, not just actions.
Osaka Takoyaki Community
35) What has your relationship been like with the Osaka takoyaki community?How has that influenced what you do?
Ever since Teppan Kaigi 2023, my relationship with the Osaka takoyaki community has felt surreal. But even before that, I had met some great craftsmen there—some in person, some through online communication. Whenever I go to Osaka, I try to visit, hang out, and support their businesses as much as I can. My friend Ryo, who used to cook with me in New York and later moved back to Osaka, has been crucial. He helps me get where I need to go, and we often eat takoyaki together. Thank you, Ryo.
All the people I’ve met in Osaka have helped shape me into whoever I am in the kitchen now. Whatever my customers and friends see in my cooking is a reflection of them. I still don’t see myself as a “chef”—just a guy trying to be responsible to the craft that chose him. I try to live my life in gratitude to them. I don’t want to do things wrong; I want to keep learning with humility and an open mind.
The more I learn, the more I want to eliminate my own deluded mind and ego. Sometimes I think I’m so good at what I do; in reality, I’m just a small bug with a small footprint—a tiny ripple in a big pond.I keep knocking on myself that I need to improve my Japanese as soon as possible. It feels like I’ve traveled a thousand miles, and at mile 1000 I see another 1000 miles ahead. I need to stay focused and keep learning as much as I can.
Osaka vs Tokyo Style Takoyaki
36) You have written about why you chose not to follow the more common Tokyo-style or frozen takoyaki approach. Can you tell us the story behind that decision?
Takoyaki was born in Osaka. So it was crucial for me to study the origins. Tokyo-style and frozen takoyaki have had their place in the U.S. for a long time. People here eat frozen takoyaki and think, “This is Japanese food.” Tourists go to Japan, eat at Gindaco for the first time, and think, “This is takoyaki.” But honestly, very few people in Osaka eat Gindaco regularly. I loved Gindaco the first time I tried it. I immediately understood why it’s so popular in Japan and overseas—there’s a big contrast of flavors and textures that makes it easy to eat.
Osaka-style is more complex. Dashi is the focus. It’s a softer, more subtle taste, and that’s a harder sell. For me to claim that KARLSBALLS cooks authentic takoyaki while leaving out the nuances of Osaka felt like a disservice. So I went back to the beginning and started from there. There are many aspects to making great takoyaki. It’s very hard. It feels like an anomaly when everything lines up. I liked the challenge. I’ve been met with many hardships, but I still see the light at the end of the tunnel.
Global Appeal of Takoyaki
37) How do you see takoyaki culture spreading globally, and what role do you believe you’re playing in that movement?
I think Mana Kumagai and the Japan Konamon Association are at the center of preserving and spreading takoyaki and Konamon culture. Her commitment to documenting, organizing, and celebrating these foods has a huge influence on how they’ll be seen in the future.
Outside Japan, takoyaki is still often seen as something frozen or gimmicky. A lot of people’s first experience isn’t Osaka-style at all. My role is smaller: I’m trying to represent real Osaka-style takoyaki in New York as honestly as I can, and share what I’ve learned through my stand, the Ballmobile, collaborations, and social media. I talk about octopus prep, dashi, texture, and all the behind-the-scenes work.
Whatever Mana-san decides and wants to include me in, I’d be honored to help her with her vision. If I can be a bridge between Osaka and New York, even in a small way, that’s enough.
American Customers vs Japanese Customers
38) How do Americans respond differently to takoyaki compared to Japanese customers? Have you made any adaptations for the U.S. market?
Americans and Japanese customers react very differently. Americans mostly have no idea. They often complain that it’s undercooked. They’re used to dense, crispy things—almost like a savory donut. I usually describe takoyaki as a “savory seafood / octopus creampuff” so they know to expect a soft, creamy interior. Japanese customers often complain about the price. They’re used to grabbing takoyaki cheaply in Japan. Some are also used to Gindaco-style takoyaki, which is very different in texture from mine. I don’t really adapt the core of my takoyaki for the market, I educate. I don’t compromise. The only adaptation I made was the playful business name, KARLSBALLS, because I knew it would stick in people’s minds. Deep down, past the humor, the intent is very serious.
Appearing on Japanese Television
39. Have you gotten any coverage in Japanese media?
Several times. One of the biggest responses to my takoyaki was around 2016, when a producer from NHK BS1 (Osaka-born) approached me to make a documentary about my takoyaki and life. That became a feature on Japanese TV and gave me a small foot in the door to a global audience.
The KARLSBALLS Takoyaki Experience
40) What do you hope people take away from experiencing KARLSBALLS?
Hisao Hanafusa (花房久夫), the founder of Miya Shoji in NYC, once asked me, “What is good food?” I answered with my philosophy: ingredients, technique, and timing. He shook his head and said, “Good food evokes a good memory.” I think about that a lot. Hisao-san recently passed away, and that encounter never left my memory.
For Japanese people, especially those born in Osaka who now live in the States, I hope my takoyaki will evoke those memories—of home, of a favorite shop, of a certain street or festival. For Americans, I hope my takoyaki will influence their soul to try other Japanese foods, or to visit Japan, or visit Osaka.
I don’t need people to analyze the philosophy behind it or sense all the work that went into it. I just hope that when they eat it, they simply think: “That was delicious.” If that happens, the rest will take care of itself.
Bonus Question: What is your favorite Japanese music and anime?
Japanese music: Ningen Isu, Hanabie, Uchikubigokumondoukai, The Takosan, Boris, Mono, X Japan, and Tsunekichi Suzuki. Anime: Hajime no Ippo, Initial D, Baki The Grappler, Wangan Midnight.
