I used to think nothing could top my German grandmother’s potato salad. Then I went to Japan. After two months of traversing Tokyo’s vibrant (and vast) neighborhoods, I headed west to Nara via my first-ever shinkansen, or bullet train. But before I hopped on, I followed a commuter’s rite of passage and bough an ekiben—a bento box sold exclusively at train stations.

Warmly lit shops inside Japan’s most chaotic stations—think Tokyo, Osaka, Kyoto, Nagoya and the like—are stocked with meticulously made and prettily packaged to-go lunches for your travels. You’ll find boxes with a variety of dishes, from grilled eel over rice and tempura to sandwiches and sushi, all surrounded by side dishes.

My entree was a bang bang shrimp of sorts, but the tiny portion of potato salad stole the show. Creamy, tangy and crunchy, the salad was loaded with crispy carrots and cucumbers—and instantly changed my worldview on how potato salad should taste. Why do we overcompensate with mayo at every summer barbecue? Why are we holding back on vinegar? And, more importantly, why aren’t we throwing in more veggies beyond the small cup of alliums?

The good news is you can bring my favorite Japanese potato salad to all of your summer cookouts—and potentially upstage your own grandmother. It’s so much better than any “tried-and-true” American version. There’s some mayo, but not so much that it obscures the other tangy, savory flavors. It gets great crunch from quick-pickled veggies, which highlights the creaminess of partially mashed Yukon Gold potatoes. Savory-richness from hard-boiled eggs and diced ham round things out. Each spoonful makes me patriotic (for Japan). I’m off to convert my grandma.

How potato salad became big in Japan

Like the macaroni salad, omurice, korokke and mentaiko pasta you’d find all over Tokyo or Osaka, this dish falls under the umbrella of “yoshoku” cuisine. In the 1850s, after centuries of sakoku, or isolation, Japan opened its doors to foreign trade and travelers, who brought never-before-seen ingredients (and dishes) to port cities. Japanese chefs were hooked, but put their own spin on things to honor what they knew and suit native palates.

This ushered in a yoshoku-style, or westernized, food movement that’s still present today. A peek at any western-themed restaurant menu will reveal rice gratin, curry (a riff on a riff of British-style Indian curry) and Napolitan, a ketchup-y spaghetti full of sautéed onions, mushrooms, green peppers, sausage and more. (No one tell the Italians.)

Other examples of yoshoku cuisine, like French croquettes, hamburger steak, tonkatsu and “mikkusu” sandwiches, line the shelves of convenience stores. If you’re ever on the way to catch a bullet train, scoop up an ekiben to jazz up the ride. Chances are one of the tray’s corners will be dedicated to this crunchy potato salad.

Creaminess, without the cream

In Japan, cooks partially mash some of the potatoes to form a creamy consistency when preparing potato salad. This is a tip straight out of our cookbook, “The New Rules,” Rule #21 reads: “Create creaminess without the cream.”

Peeling and half-mashing the spuds gives us 1) a mashed potato-adjacent binder that holds the ingredients together and 2) a reason to use less mayo, resulting in more concentrated flavors and texture. (And less poolside slop.) Plus, half of the potatoes will remain in ¾-inch pieces, so you’ll still get those tender, chunky bites you know and love.

Our potato of choice is the Yukon Gold. In our testing, super waxy potatoes—like new, fingerling or red varieties—didn’t mash uniformly; overly starchy russets became waterlogged post-boil, losing structural integrity. Yukons are firm enough to keep their shape when boiled in salted cooking water and soft enough to collapse under a fork. (Just make sure you insert a skewer into your potatoes after 12–15 minutes of boiling to confirm they meet no resistance.) Seasoning the coarsely mashed potatoes with rice vinegar and black pepper is also key: the vinegar penetrates the spud while it cools, providing tangy flavors you can’t get from mayo alone. Introducing a little acid also helps spuds keep their shape for longer.

How to make your own Japanese-style mayo

There is one common denominator in all creamy salads of Japan: Kewpie. Unlike American mayo, Kewpie pumps up the tang and complexity factor with rice vinegar, egg yolks (as opposed to whole eggs) and MSG. These ingredients introduce extra richness and a smoother consistency to many dishes, like those 7-Eleven egg sandos I yearn for.

But what if you don’t have Kewpie on hand? We accounted for that. That splash of rice vinegar (a source of mild acidity) will penetrate the potatoes as they cool, for tangy and piquant notes. And that’s not all: An extra hard-cooked yolk—remember, Kewpie is solely made with yolks—is mixed into the salad for full-bodied flavor. So yes, you can use your favorite American mayo—I prefer Duke’s for the “twang”—and still get that Kewpie flavor.

Quick pickles for quick texture

The crisp bite of quick-pickled veggies is arguably the showstopper. (That’s saying a lot, since this is a potato salad—not a pickled one.) It’s all thanks to the asazuke treatment, a Japanese pickling method known for its short prep time. You simply rub or coat your veggies—in this case red onions, carrots and cucumbers—with 2 teaspoons of salt, which draws out moisture as it sits.

You’ll need to rinse the excess salt and hand-squeeze the veggie mix to remove leftover liquid—because no one wants to leave the pool wet and soggy and dig into a potato salad that’s also, well, wet and soggy. Proper drainage (and a hand workout over the sink) will leave you with bright, crispy ingredients in every bite.

More textural delights include half-mashed potatoes and hard-boiled eggs. The mix of coarsely smashed potatoes and the conserved chunks provide a creamy, fluffy and toothsome bite that won’t weigh you down. (Even if you go back for seconds.) Speaking of fluffiness, those boiled eggs contribute a bouncy quality and rich flavor that's lacking in a lot of potato salads. And by adding an extra hard-cooked yolk, you’ll thicken and color the dressing.

Even better? We throw in diced deli ham for a savory punch and finish with scallions for an extra crunch—if there wasn’t enough already. It’s an added bonus even your German grandmother will love.

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Francesca Furey

Francesca Furey is the Commerce Editor at Milk Street. A writer passionate about the intersections of gastronomy and culture, she edits and produces content for the Milk Street Store, blog and more.