Prism13%
The hidden cost of America’s supermarket sushi boom 6%
By Victor Maung3%
7/29/2026, 2:58:50 PM
BS Summary: This article contains 30 faulty reasoning types, including Availability Heuristic, Representativeness Heuristic, and Hasty Generalization, with Negativity Bias as the most egregious example at 8.4% saturation with 257 hits. Analysis detected 2,756 faulty-reasoning hits from 3,057 analyzed words, generating a BS Score of 18.9% and a BS Rank of 6% (21,686 of 22,840 articles). This article is better (less manipulative) than 94.90% of the article peer group.
For most of her career, Myat Hnin Mar balanced ledgers, not raw fish and vegetables within bamboo mats.
Back in Myanmar, previously known as Burma, she worked as an accountant until the country's economy unraveled after the military seized power in 2021.
The 52-year-old never imagined that after immigrating to the U.S., she would spend her days making California rolls behind the sushi counter of a Ralphs grocery store.
But after arriving in San Diego in 2023, sponsored by her U.S. citizen daughter, she discovered that rebuilding her professional life was far more difficult than she anticipated.
By the time she received her green card in 2024, accounting jobs were out of reach, and her limited English made it hard to compete in her field.
Like thousands of other Myanmar immigrants and refugees, she accessed employment through community networks, which led to making sushi at a supermarket sushi bar, a franchise of Advanced Fresh Concepts (AFC) Franchise Corp., one of the largest retail sushi companies in the nation.
“There, I got firsthand experience working as a sushi chef at a supermarket sushi franchise,” she said.
“What troubled me most was that company staff frequently made surprise inspections.
They imposed fines of hundreds of dollars whenever they found what they considered a violation of the franchise rules.”
AFC Franchise Corp. monitored every aspect of the location where Mar worked, she said, including conducting unannounced inspections.
The company also required the sushi counter to be constantly staffed and only allowed the use of AFC-approved ingredients.
At closing time, workers were required to send a time-stamped photo of the display case to document unsold inventory.
The company was so strict that any issues with DoorDash orders could result in a fine.
The company also expected franchisees to produce more sushi than customers were likely to purchase, requiring at least 25% of each day's production to remain unsold at closing, according to Mar.
Franchisees were penalized if inspectors found too few boxes left over.
“Sometimes we sold almost everything, and only had a few boxes left at the end of the day,” Mar recalled.
“That was actually bad news because we had to make more sushi to meet the quota.”
Mar would later learn that many sushi workers from Myanmar often earned below minimum wage, working 12-hour days for flat daily or monthly pay.
Overwhelmingly, these are asylum-seekers waiting for work authorization, international students, or undocumented immigrants.
Most have no health insurance or employment benefits.
The experiences of these workers form the basis of a lawsuit filed last month by the San Diego County District Attorney's Office against five of the nation's largest supermarket sushi franchisors, who are being accused of misclassifying sushi chefs as independent franchisees to skirt California labor law and exploit workers.
“Sham arrangements”
A recent industry report shows that the U.S. grocery store sushi market is now worth an estimated $2.4 billion in annual deli sales.
Kroger, which has roughly 12,500 locations nationwide, hosts more than 1,850 sushi counters.
Powering this multibillion-dollar supermarket sushi boom is a “sham” franchise system that exploits workers by misclassifying them as independent franchisees, according to the lawsuit.
“Franchisees,” as they are referred to by parent companies, are responsible for almost every expense: annual franchise fees; expensive, company-approved ingredients from company-approved suppliers; training; travel; insurance; uniforms; and equipment, plus a share of profits owed to both the sushi company and the grocery store.
Revenue is first divided between the supermarket and the sushi company under their own agreements, and franchisees get a share of what's left, out of which they still owe taxes, labor costs, and insurance.
The lawsuit, filed on June 17 by County Counsel Damon Brown on behalf of the people of California, alleges that companies systematically misclassify sushi chefs as independent contractors and then exercise extensive control of franchisees.
The lawsuit names five California-based companies: AFC Franchise Corp., FujiSan Franchising Corp., Fuji Food Products Inc., Ace Sushi Franchise Corp., and Asiana Management Group Inc.
Each company is accused of setting menu prices, dictating suppliers, assigning workers to stores, conducting inspections, and imposing fines—all while avoiding their obligations as employers.
“According to Defendants’ business model, a single grocery store location is ‘franchise’ which is then operated by a ‘franchisee’ according to the terms of Defendants’ boilerplate franchise agreements,” the lawsuit says.
“Often, the so-called franchisee is the sushi chef who toils every day performing the work necessary to fulfill Defendants’ contractual obligations to grocery retailers, all under Defendants’ direction and control.”
“These ‘franchises’ are truly sham arrangements under which sushi chefs pay to work while defendants evade numerous labor laws,” the lawsuit adds.
Mar was shocked to learn of the lawsuit, convinced that there would never be any public acknowledgment of the conditions workers faced behind the sushi counter.
Because the lawsuit was filed in the county where she lives and specifically named AFC, the company she previously worked under, she hoped it might finally change the grueling conditions of the supermarket sushi industry she left behind.
But the lawsuit also resurfaced memories of the relentless pressure she experienced every day on the job.
The longer Mar worked as a sushi chef, the more stress she felt to deliver on the company’s overwhelming expectations.
She was also struck by the quiet resignation of her employer, a Myanmar refugee who resettled from Malaysia and later became a U.S. citizen.
The woman seemed under constant financial strain.
“She had children to support and a mortgage to pay every month,” Mar said.
“I felt bad for them because they were just scraping by.
After the company deducted franchise fees, fines, operating costs, and taxes, there wasn’t much profit left.”
The long hours and relentless requirements became too much for Mar, and after nine months at the supermarket sushi counter in San Diego's Poway neighborhood, she decided to leave.
Looking back, she considers herself one of the fortunate ones.
Her employer complied with California labor law, paying her $18 an hour for an eight-hour shift with a one-hour lunch break, she said.
Only after joining Burmese-language Facebook groups for supermarket sushi workers did she realize how different her experience had been from many others.
“I found that many of them were getting paid as little as $7 an hour,” she said.
“I recently spoke with a young man from Myanmar on a student visa.
He told me he had run out of money to pay his tuition and started working at a sushi bar for cash.
He worked long hours.
One day he burned his hand at work but couldn’t afford to get medical treatment.”
Prism spoke with multiple sushi workers and franchise owners nationwide whose experiences mirrored each other.
“They give us nothing”
More than 2,500 miles away from California in Maryland, a franchisee named Ko Yoke Soe described similar conditions.
“[Parent companies] controlled the prices.
They controlled which products we could use,” he said.
“They never formally told us how many hours to work, but they constantly made surprise inspections to make sure someone was always at the sushi bar.
If the sushi sold out, they expected us to make more.”
Aung Thein Kha, a former franchisee who had operated counters for three different sushi franchises in the Washington, D.C., area, said the sushi franchise model leaves operators carrying nearly all of the financial risk.
“Practically, they give us nothing,” Kha said.
“The cost of raw materials keeps increasing.
Delivery fees keep increasing.
As profit margins shrink, franchisees have no choice but to rely on cheap labor just to survive,” he explained.
According to Kha, for workers, the greatest challenge isn't cost but labor.
Even a moderately busy counter must produce around 60 boxes of sushi a day.
The work is usually done by just one person, who works from 6 a.m. to 7 p.m, he said.
High-volume counters typically generate enough revenue to hire employees, while many mid-level locations occupied what Kha described as an “unprofitable middle”—they were too busy for one person, yet not profitable enough to afford to hire additional staff.
With few benefits to offer, owners often recruit through family and community networks, or turn to hiring workers new to the U.S., further enticing them by offering housing.
“Most franchisees recruit people from their own community.
That’s why people from Myanmar have become such a dominant force in the in-store sushi-making industry.”
Aung Thein Kha, former sushi grocery franchisee
“This requires strong personal connections,” Kha said.
“Most franchisees recruit people from their own community.
That’s why people from Myanmar have become such a dominant force in the in-store sushi-making industry.”
According to the lawsuit, these workers are being exploited.
The suit follows an investigation by San Diego County’s Office of Labor Standards and Enforcement (OLSE), which found that many sushi workers labored seven days a week for more than 50 hours at a single store.
Some worked over 70 hours if they were assigned to multiple locations.
These workers were allegedly denied minimum wage, overtime, sick leave, breaks, workers' compensation, and expense reimbursement.
In a press release announcing the lawsuit, OLSE Director Branden Butler characterized the employers’ actions as “exploitation hiding in plain sight.”
“Some workers earned so little they struggled to meet basic needs,” Butler said.
“If they got sick, they weren’t paid.
If a store closed, they bore the losses.
That is not what independent business ownership is supposed to look like; that is workers carrying the risk while companies keep the control.”
The case is currently pending.
Brown, the county counsel, declined to comment, citing the ongoing litigation.
Following the lawsuit, some franchisees circulated statements from their parent companies.
AFC Franchise Corp.
President and CEO, Vincenzo Calcagni said in a statement that the company disputes “how the lawsuit characterizes the franchise program,” noting he intends to fight the lawsuit.
The statement also instructed franchisees not to respond to media inquiries and instead refer them to the company's human resources department.
FujiSan Vice President of Operations Keith Maeda said in a statement that the company was “working closely with our legal team to review, defend, and successfully resolve the claims.”
Prism contacted each of the five companies named in the lawsuit; none responded by publication time.
A regional manager for AFC, who requested anonymity because he wasn't authorized to speak publicly, called the lawsuit “a complete misunderstanding” of the franchise relationship.
“The franchise agreement does not stipulate how many hours a franchisee is required to work,” he said.
“The agreement simply requires that the sushi counter be open when the grocery store opens.”
Whether franchisees work those hours themselves or hire employees is at their own discretion, he said.
He also alleged that supplier restrictions exist for food safety, not to limit independence.
Prospective franchisees have about two weeks to review the agreement with the parent company, and they are encouraged to get the document translated and consult a lawyer, he said.
Workers say mere encouragement is insufficient.
Franchise agreements are always in English, and Kha said many franchisees cannot afford to get documents translated or reviewed by attorneys.
Most have no familiarity with American contract law and sign based on translations they get from Google.
“Even with Google Translate, we can't fully understand the contracts because we don't understand U.S. legal terms,” Kha said.
“In my experience, more than 80% of the terms and conditions favor the company over the franchisee.”
A largely invisible workforce
The multimillion-dollar grocery store sushi industry has prospered on the backs of the vulnerable, fast-growing Myanmar community.
“In almost every state I’ve visited, I’ve met people from Myanmar making sushi in supermarkets,” said Nay Tin Myint, a former political prisoner from Myanmar and longtime community leader in New York.
The industry has become one of the easier entry points into the U.S. workforce for newly arrived immigrants and refugees, he said, since many bars will hire and train workers with limited English and no prior experience.
Some workers eventually save enough to become franchise owners themselves.
Tamara “Tammy” Ho, a University of California, Riverside associate professor who studies Myanmar refugee resettlement through food industries, said the pattern reflects a broader story about immigration, entrepreneurship, survival, and labor.
A 2024 report from the Network of Myanmar American Association estimates that more than 190,000 refugees from Myanmar have been admitted to the U.S. since 1990; these refugees also accounted for roughly two-thirds of the Myanmar population counted in the 2020 U.S.
Census.
Since the military seized power in 2021, Myanmar has descended into civil war, economic collapse, forced military conscription, and widespread displacement.
“The coup has definitely driven people out of the country [or] into refugee camps, or activists needing asylum to avoid being killed or imprisoned,” Ho explained.
“It has intensified the push factor that drives immigration.”
Thousands of these refugees spend up to 12 hours a day making sushi in grocery stores across the U.S., and chances are they will not become one of the industry’s rare success stories.
One story often celebrated within the sushi industry is that of Philip Maung, the Myanmar-born founder of Hissho Sushi, now a multimillion-dollar company headquartered in Charlotte, North Carolina, that has more than 2,500 franchised locations across the country.
Maung arrived in the U.S. with $13 in his pocket, according to Hissho Sushi’s website, and went on to build one of the country's largest supermarket sushi companies.
Maung’s success, though incredibly rare, has catapulted him into the “American Dream mythology,” Ho said.
Maung’s trajectory is exceedingly rare, especially during one of the most anti-immigrant periods in American history under the Trump administration.
Those able to reach the U.S. through refugee resettlement, asylum, or family reunification arrive with limited English proficiency, few credentials recognized by American employers, and an urgent need to earn a living.
Within Myanmar communities across the country, supermarket sushi became a niche occupation.
Jobs are found through relatives and community networks, require relatively little English, and provide on-the-job training.
These same conditions create incredible vulnerability, Ho said.
Refugees’ willingness to work hard, paired with unfamiliarity with U.S. labor law, has made the workforce an attractive target for exploitation, she said.
“A number of these companies are taking advantage of the fact that many of these refugees are not American-born, are not fluent in English, and don’t necessarily know their rights as workers.”
Tamara “Tammy” Ho, University of California, Riverside associate professor
“A number of these companies are taking advantage of the fact that many of these refugees are not American-born, are not fluent in English, and don’t necessarily know their rights as workers,” Ho added.
The San Diego County lawsuit has sent ripples through Burmese-language Facebook groups.
Once mostly devoted to job postings and franchise listings, these online forums have increasingly turned toward discussions of workers' rights.
Ho, who follows several of the largest groups as part of her research, said the case has prompted many—including people who don't work for the five companies named in the suit—to share experiences they'd previously kept private.
“People coming out of Myanmar know that if you ask too many questions, you can get in trouble,” Ho said.
“In that sense, it does make them vulnerable to certain forms of labor exploitation that refugee workers aren't always prepared for, or don't know how to fight back against.”
The AFC regional manager acknowledged that the lawsuit has created anxiety among franchisees, but urged them not to act on what he referred to as “peer pressure.”
“Think about what you want out of this lawsuit,” he said.
“Think about how much compensation the plaintiffs could actually receive, even if the lawsuit is successful.”
One of the central questions the lawsuit raises is whether reclassifying sushi workers and franchisees as employees would improve their livelihoods and overall well-being.
Not everyone agrees that employee status would help.
Kha supports reforming the franchise system but doubts employee status alone would guarantee better livelihoods.
He said fewer hours would likely mean less sushi produced.
Whether that helps anyone's finances depends on whether companies keep earnings comparable, he told Prism.
“I think we should remain franchisees, but with two changes,” he said.
“First, we should negotiate a higher percentage of profit-sharing for franchisees.
Second, companies should stop forcing franchisees to purchase items they don't actually need.”
Ho told Prism that reclassifying sushi workers as employees would improve their working conditions in terms of fair pay, more fair labor practices, and compliance with standard worker protections such as paid sick leave.
More broadly, the lawsuit seems to have inspired workers to organize.
Within the Facebook groups, some members have proposed creating a union or other structure to represent franchise owners and workers, arguing that collective action could give them greater bargaining power with parent companies.
But workers and franchisees who spoke to Prism acknowledged that organizing the community would be difficult.
Myanmar’s immigrant population is made up of numerous ethnic groups with different migration histories, languages, and community networks.
Beyond the sushi industry, many workers have few connections with one another, making collective organizing a challenge.
Still, Ho said the lawsuit's significance extends beyond its legal outcome.
Regardless of how the court rules, the legal action draws attention to a largely invisible workforce, including workers such as Mar who toiled in the shadows of one of the fastest-growing segments of the U.S. food industry.
After leaving the franchise system, Mar found work at a sushi restaurant, using the skills she developed behind the grocery counter.
As a lawful permanent resident, she now has more options than newly arrived immigrants, namely the ability to receive regular wages, benefits, and greater workplace protections.
But she hasn’t completely left the supermarket sushi world behind.
She still follows the Facebook groups where sushi workers and franchisees trade job postings and share horror stories.
Occasionally, she offers advice to newcomers.
She hopes the lawsuit will lead to meaningful reform, not only for the workers in California, but ultimately for the thousands of Myanmar immigrants and refugees who prepare sushi in supermarket kiosks across the country.
Whether the lawsuit changes the current franchise structure remains to be seen.
But for many Myanmar workers, the lawsuit has already accomplished something significant: giving a voice to a community that has spent years quietly enduring exploitative working conditions.
Editorial Team:
Tina Vasquez, Lead Editor
Lara Witt, Top Editor
Rashmee Kumar, Copy Editor
Analysis
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