But Maas knows he’s an outlier, having figured out how to capitalize on a microclimate similar to regions of Japan that have long produced wasabi. The reason the authentic product is imported is because it’s so hard to grow outside its native environment without producing a bitter taste. In fact, most of what’s sold as wasabi to U.S. sushi eaters is a horseradish-based substitute, Maas said.
Jeff Roller, who runs Half Moon Bay Wasabi some 30 miles south of San Francisco, agreed that high price tags can make niche farming seem enticing.
“They see the dollar signs,” he said of prospective growers, but creating a clientele of consumers and chefs for uncommon ingredients can be just as hard as cultivating them.
Matthew Rendine, the director of merchandising for Baldor Specialty Foods, a major restaurant distributor in the Northeast, is optimistic about these domestic alternatives, which bypass expensive air freight costs and can sometimes be cheaper than importing.
“If we can offer our chefs the same quality and flavor and consistency of an item, and have it be grown in California, I’d rather give our chefs that product versus something that’s 8,000 miles away,” he said.
Rendine works with many small farms that have diversified their crops by adding niche produce to their lineups. But while these items can be lucrative for dedicated growers, many farmers and hobbyists struggle.
A lot of agriculture is trial and error, he cautioned. “Everybody fails at certain things.”
Megan Shanley has had her share of successes and failures. She took over her Morro Bay, California, family farm from her father, who tried a myriad of specialty crops. After goji berries and organic figs were a bust, she has moved on to finger limes.
The Australian fruit is dubbed “citrus caviar” for the small pearl-like vesicles inside. Outside of high-end restaurants and her son’s school playground — where Shanley said the kids have grown to love them — finger limes aren’t widely eaten in the U.S. Her business is buoyed for now on passionfruit and avocados, and the jury’s still out on whether finger limes will land in the win column.
“If the finger limes take off and we earn what we can potentially earn, I can’t just walk away from that at this point,” Shanley said.
Patience is key, said Pat Martin. She started a truffle farm in Rixeyville, Virginia, in 2007 that didn’t produce its first mature truffle until 2018.
“We are harvesting, so that’s good, but we are not at full harvest potential yet,” she said. “It’s certainly not making a profit.”
Over 75% of U.S. truffle imports come from Italy, worth some $16.4 million in 2022, according to data from CEPII, a French government economics institute. Selling her winter black truffles at $85 per ounce, Martin said her prices generally compete with Italian cultivators’. It’s a key reason she said she’s seen strong interest from restaurants, but she doesn’t produce enough to promise a consistent supply.
“The demand for truffles is high, and I think it would take us a long time, if ever, to flood the market,” she said.
Sierra Reece started a small farm in Rockford, Michigan, in 2023 that grows lavender, which isn’t as rare a domestic crop as truffles or finger limes. American-grown lavender notched over $16 million in U.S. sales in 2019, federal data shows. But Reece grows a culinary-grade variety, which is less common and comes mainly from France and Bulgaria.
After investing in 6,000 plants across two acres, Reese said she’s now turning a profit, which smells of victory after years of brushing off doubters.
“That was kind of my competitive edge,” she said: “‘Let me prove you wrong.’”
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