You're selling tofu wrong

Soybeans had a PR problem. For decades in parts of Central Europe, it meant deprivation: filler in bad salami, a symbol of scarcity. Today, the same ingredient shows up as high-margin edamame in every poke bowl from Vienna to Bucharest.

We dug into 15+ years of Google Trends data to see how interest in tofu has shifted across Austria, Hungary, and Romania, and when it peaks. Demand is rising, but it's intensely seasonal. If you're planning a menu around plant-based protein, timing matters: we'll show you exactly when to put it on the menu.

• But first, where to get the best fresh, artisanal (single-origin, free-range, small-batch, heritage varietal, etc.) tofu in CEE?

It’s probably the Erste Wiener Tofu Manufaktur at the Karmeliter market. It makes tofu fresh from Lower Austrian soybeans using traditional Chinese methods, to take away or enjoy on the spot. A bowl of crisp tofu pieces in pumpkin seed oil sauce comes highly recommended.

Brought by the Habsburgs, maligned by Ceaușescu, redeemed by the Orthodox Church

Vienna being the tofu capital of CEE is not entirely surprising, this is the city where soybeans arrived in Europe on 1 May 1873.

That morning, thousands gathered in the Prater for Vienna's first world's fair. Among them was agriculturalist Friedrich Haberlandt, who made straight for the Japanese and Chinese pavilions. Alongside lacquerwork and porcelain, these nations had brought something few Europeans had encountered: soybeans. Haberlandt was searching for inexpensive ways to improve the empire's nutrition. He planted his first seeds in a university garden in central Vienna. Before long, soy would spread across the continent.

But soy's journey through Central Europe hasn't been straightforward.

In Romania, "You never had to eat soy salami" remains a reproach that survivors of Communist food scarcity throw at those who didn't live through it. In the 1980s, when the country was exporting everything to pay external debts, the few foods available were pseudo-charcuterie made from pink slime and soy. The ingredient became synonymous with hunger and dictatorship.

Its redemption arrived through the church.

After 1989, religious practices suppressed under communism returned, including the strict Orthodox fasts. When Romanians fast for Christmas and Easter, they go full vegan: no meat, eggs, or dairy. Tofu became a way to keep traditions while eating something beyond potatoes and beans.

Today, ramen places, sushi counters, and salad bars all display edamame. It's exotic. It's expensive. It's soy (even if most people have no idea).

Taste, both biological and moral, is highly susceptible to the effects of context, which shapes perception. “In this case,” says anthropologist Adriana Sohodoleanu, “the context is created by placing the food within different logics: soy salami belonged to the logic of the rational diet promoted by a duplicitous political regime that lacked legitimacy and consumers’ trust; soybeans/edamame, on the other hand, fit into the logic of cool consumption, the kind that constructs and sustains social identities.”

Interest is rising, but remains seasonal

We tracked 15 years of Google search data across Austria, Hungary, and Romania and the seasonal pattern has direct implications for your menu planning.