You’ve probably seen the cover. It’s iconic in that "why does this exist?" kind of way. A middle-aged man in a suit, looking slightly bewildered, flanked by two women—one in a kimono, one in what looks like traditional Eastern European attire. They’re holding a giant salami. This is The Jewish and Japanese Sex and Cookbook, a title so bizarre it sounds like a glitch in a 1960s algorithm. But it’s real.
Published in 1969 by Jack Douglas, this book is one of the most misunderstood artifacts of mid-century humor. If you're looking for actual recipes for matzo ball soup or a deep manual on tantric intimacy, you’re going to be disappointed. Or maybe pleasantly surprised? It depends on your tolerance for Borscht Belt humor and a very specific type of suburban satire that dominated the late sixties. Honestly, the title is a total bait-and-switch. It’s not a cookbook. It’s barely about sex. It’s a memoir of a cross-cultural marriage that used the most "shocking" keywords of the time to move units.
Why the Jewish and Japanese Sex and Cookbook actually exists
Jack Douglas wasn't a chef. He wasn't a sex therapist either. He was a comedy writer for icons like Jack Paar and Red Skelton. By 1969, Douglas had carved out a niche writing "shaggy dog" style memoirs about his chaotic personal life. He had married Reiko Hashimoto, a Japanese singer and actress, and their life together became his primary source of material.
The title was a joke on the publishing trends of the era. The late 60s saw a massive explosion in "ethnic" cookbooks and "sensuous" manuals following the success of books like The Sensuous Woman. Douglas basically looked at the bestseller lists and decided to mash every trending topic together into one ridiculous header. He wanted to see if he could trick the public into buying a book about his suburban life by promising them something scandalous. It worked. The book became a cult classic, not because it taught anyone how to cook, but because it captured a very specific, slightly neurotic perspective on interracial marriage during a time when that was still a major talking point in American society.
It's definitely not what the title says it is
Let’s be real: if you open this book expecting a recipe for "Teriyaki Brisket," you’ll find exactly zero instructions. There are no measurements. There are no oven temperatures. Douglas uses the idea of food as a vehicle for storytelling. He writes about the "culinary wars" in his household, where his Jewish-American sensibilities clashed with Reiko’s Japanese heritage.
The "sex" part? Even more misleading.
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In 1969, putting the word "Sex" on a book cover was a guaranteed way to sell copies in airports. But Douglas’s brand of humor was more about the domestic grind. He wrote about the absurdity of being a "Jewish" father to a "Japanese" son in a house filled with dogs, wolves (yes, he kept wolves), and eccentric neighbors. The book is really a series of vignettes. One chapter might be about the difficulty of finding good rye bread in the middle of nowhere, while the next is a dry, sarcastic observation about the sexual revolution happening "out there" while he’s stuck dealing with a leaking roof. It’s self-deprecating. It’s dated. It’s very, very dry.
The cultural context of 1969
You have to remember what the US was like when this hit the shelves. The Supreme Court had only struck down laws banning interracial marriage a few years prior in Loving v. Virginia (1967). While Douglas treats the "Jewish and Japanese" angle as a punchline, it was actually quite progressive for its time to portray an interracial couple as a "normal," bickering suburban unit.
He leans heavily into stereotypes, sure. He plays up the "Jewish mother" tropes and the "stoic Japanese" tropes for laughs. But beneath the 1960s-era cringe, there’s a genuine affection. He wasn't mocking the cultures so much as he was mocking the world’s reaction to them. The "cookbook" part of the title reflects the mid-century obsession with assimilation through food. If you could eat the food, you could understand the people. Douglas flips this by showing that even after sharing a kitchen for years, his wife’s culture remained a mystery to him—and vice-versa.
Is it actually funny today?
Humor ages like milk. Some of Douglas’s wordplay is genuinely clever if you like that rapid-fire, Groucho Marx style of delivery. Other parts? They feel like a relic. The way he describes Reiko can sometimes feel patronizing to a modern reader, though she often gets the last word and is portrayed as the only sane person in the house.
What makes The Jewish and Japanese Sex and Cookbook stay in the public consciousness isn't the prose—it's the audacity of the marketing. It’s a pioneer of the "clickbait" title before clicks even existed. It’s a textbook example of how to package a mundane story (life in the suburbs) inside a sensationalist wrapper. Collectors hunt for original hardcovers today because the jacket art is a masterpiece of kitsch. It represents a moment when American publishing was transitioning from the buttoned-up 50s to the "anything goes" 70s.
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The "Recipes" that aren't there
People often search for the "Salami and Eggs" recipe mentioned in the book. Again, you won't find a 1-2-3 step guide. Instead, Douglas describes the experience of the dish. To him, Jewish food was comfort, anxiety, and tradition. To Reiko, it was often an alien curiosity. The humor comes from that friction.
If you actually want to bridge these two incredible culinary worlds, you’re better off looking at modern "Mash-up" cuisine. Think about:
- Miso Matzo Ball Soup: Using a white miso base for the broth adds a nutty depth that standard chicken bouillon lacks.
- Challah French Toast with Matcha: The brioche-like texture of Challah is perfect for soaking up green tea-infused custard.
- Pastrami Gyoza: Using the salty, smoked meat of a deli as a filling for a traditional Japanese dumpling.
These are things people wish were in the Jack Douglas book. Instead, he gave us stories about his wolf biting the postman.
How to approach this book if you find it
If you stumble upon a copy at a thrift store or a used bookstore, buy it. Don’t buy it to learn. Buy it to observe. It’s a time capsule.
Jack Douglas was a master of the "short-form" humor that would eventually evolve into the observational comedy of guys like Jerry Seinfeld. He focused on the minutiae. The annoyance of a specific sound. The weirdness of a specific social interaction. By titling it The Jewish and Japanese Sex and Cookbook, he essentially pulled the greatest prank in 20th-century bibliography. He forced people who wanted "filth" or "food" to read a book about a man who loved his wife and was confused by his life.
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Actionable Insights for Collectors and Readers
If you are looking to dive into this weird corner of literary history, here is how to handle the "Jewish and Japanese" phenomenon:
Check the Edition
The original 1969 Putnam edition has the best color reproduction on the cover. If you’re buying for the "aesthetic," avoid the later mass-market paperbacks which often lose the vibrant, ridiculous colors of the original photography.
Read it as Satire, Not Fact
Do not take his descriptions of Japan or Judaism as ethnographic truth. He is a comedy writer first. He exaggerates everything for the sake of a rhythm. If a story sounds too absurd to be true (like the wolf in the kitchen), it probably is.
Look for the "Sequels"
Douglas wrote several books in this vein, including Shut Up and Eat Your Snowshoes and My Brother Was an Only Child. If you find you actually enjoy his voice, those are arguably better written because they don't have to carry the weight of a deceptive title.
Try the Modern Fusion
Since the book won't help you cook, look into the "Shalom Japan" movement in New York City. Chefs are finally doing what Jack Douglas's title promised: creating a legitimate, high-end fusion of Sephardic/Ashkenazi flavors with Japanese techniques. That is where the real "Jewish and Japanese" culinary magic is happening today.
The legacy of this book isn't in the kitchen or the bedroom. It's in the art of the "hook." Jack Douglas proved that with the right title, you can get anyone to read anything. Even a story about a guy, his wife, and their very large salami.
Next Steps for the Curious
- Search for "Jack Douglas Reiko Jack Paar" on YouTube to see the couple's chemistry in real-time; their old TV appearances provide the context the book sometimes lacks.
- If you're looking for a legitimate fusion, look up the menu for "Shalom Japan" in Brooklyn to see how these two cultures actually taste when mixed by professionals.
- Verify the ISBN (0399104442) if you are hunting for the specific 1969 first edition to ensure you aren't getting a later, stripped-down reprint.