{"id":109753,"date":"2026-04-17T07:20:40","date_gmt":"2026-04-17T10:20:40","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/ubirataonline.com.br\/of-course-coachella-has-375-nobu-omakase-now\/"},"modified":"2026-04-17T07:20:43","modified_gmt":"2026-04-17T10:20:43","slug":"of-course-coachella-has-375-nobu-omakase-now","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/ubirataonline.com.br\/en\/of-course-coachella-has-375-nobu-omakase-now\/","title":{"rendered":"Of Course Coachella Has $375 Nobu \u2018Omakase\u2019 Now"},"content":{"rendered":"


\n<\/p>\n

\n
\n

There\u2019s an expression (I believe it was originally derived from this clever 2018 tweet<\/a>) that Los Angeles is \u201cshitty heaven\u201d and New York is \u201cfun hell.\u201d As someone who\u2019s lived in both cities for significant periods of time, I strongly agree with this neo-Dickensian comparison. But if there\u2019s anything that can be both <\/em>shitty heaven and fun hell, it\u2019s Coachella<\/a>.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Like all great music festivals, Coachella has always been a study in extremes: agony and ecstasy, filth and transcendence. One minute you feel near death, in a patch of dead grass near the water station, worryingly close to the sea of Porta-Potties, dehydrated and disoriented, your phone with no service; the next, you\u2019re eating Dippin\u2019 Dots and watching Radiohead perform an extended version of \u201cEverything in Its Right Place\u201d while the sun disappears over the horizon, briefly convinced that maybe humanity isn\u2019t entirely doomed. The friction is unavoidable: Without a little suffering, there\u2019s no payoff.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

That said, I understand, intellectually and from personal experience, that Coachella is no longer really a music festival. It is now largely an elaborate backdrop for content creators to go photograph their Revolve outfits in the flattering desert light and assemble as many not-so-humblebrags as possible within 72 hours. The food has also evolved: This year\u2019s full lineup<\/a> includes not one but two birrierias, plus Dave\u2019s Hot Chicken<\/a>, Tacos 1986<\/a>, and a small army of upscale burgers.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Fine. Great, even! But the real headline is an on-site, book-ahead Nobu omakase experience for $375<\/a>, tucked inside a Red Bull-branded pyramid. Danielle Dorsey from the Los Angeles Times<\/em> documented the experience<\/a>, which, to me, looks less like upscale omakase and more akin to eating someone\u2019s Sugarfish leftovers. For the same price as a plane ticket, you\u2019ll receive a glorified Red Bull-vodka in a plastic cup, a few pieces of sashimi on disposable plates, a super-standard lineup of nigiri, and a couple of hand rolls and maki. If I paid $375 for this meal, I would consider myself Fyre Festivaled.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

If I paid $375 for this meal, I would consider myself Fyre Festivaled.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n

I\u2019ve been to Coachella three times and its gradual but extreme vibe shift has been impossible to ignore. In 2004, it was dusty, chaotic, perfect. Festival food meant corn dogs and dry falafel wraps (fine for me; I was 17); photographic evidence is minimal; everyone was sunburnt and sweaty but smiling. (My friend was temporarily blinded by squirting sunscreen in her eye and got lost for five hours and we still had a great time.) When I returned in 2012, things had already started to change \u2014 expanded VIP sections, Instagram quickly establishing dominance, ramen stands and truffle fries replacing the county-fair-like concessions that came before.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

When I returned for a third time last year, 13 years later, it had fully tipped into functioning primarily as an influencer trade show. The food options were notably elevated to restaurant-mukbang status \u2014 Prince Street Pizza, a Kazunori hand roll bar that feels like the spiritual precursor to the Nobu thing; I saw Emma Chamberlain waiting for a Sweetfin poke bowl \u2014 but also beside the point. Even while biting into my frankly delicious slice from Prince Street, as I looked around at the sea of selfie-taking and brand activations, I thought to myself, This is really, truly, absolutely the last time I will ever go to Coachella.<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Festivals, at their best, create a shared experience. They\u2019re one of the few remaining spaces where we all abandon some creature comforts and lie on the ground together, where everyone is a little bit unkempt and a little bit lost, where the memory of a moment matters more than how it looks. The more we layer in hyper-exclusive, hyper-controlled experiences, the more we lose that.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

It\u2019s not just Coachella. This is part of a broader shift in how we think about travel and events; as experiences led by consumption and performativity rather than emotion. It\u2019s no longer enough to simply enjoy something good<\/em> \u2014 privacy and exclusivity have become luxury\u2019s final frontiers, and food has followed suit. Meals are no longer just meals: They\u2019re flexes, proof of access, content in waiting.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

As someone who\u2019s attended more festivals than I can count in my adult life, my best food memories from these events rarely look like that. Here are three that stick:<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n