Most large restaurant chains use detailed manuals to ensure uniform flavor, but at Nobu we don’t go that far. Perhaps we would need that kind of manual to control quality if our goal were merely to expand the number of Nobu restaurants. But personally, I believe that food should be made by people; it should never feel mechanical. No matter how big Nobu becomes, I want it to keep that quality of being handcrafted, to make sure that it still retains my spirit. In the end, it is not manuals or recipes that determine the flavor, but the chefs, and, while I know that I’m exaggerating, I think that when chefs pour their heart and soul into creating a meal, it will still taste good, even if they mistake sugar for salt.
While the dishes served at Nobu are all part of the style that I created, there is still room for our chefs to express their own creativity. We take pride in offering food with this kind of personal touch. And it can lead to changes that I myself could never have anticipated. That is why Nobu cuisine continues to evolve.
When Nobu chefs come up with new dishes, some of them inform me conscientiously, while others don’t. Nobu sauces and dressings are based on Japanese cuisine, and if a chef uses these when coming up with new recipes, the results will rarely deviate from the Nobu Style. Gregorio Stephenson, a chef at Nobu Malibu, for example, originally trained in Italian cuisine. Utilizing this background, he invented an artichoke salad. While at first glance this might appear to be un-Japanese, the dressing is made with yuzu juice and Nobu brand Dry Miso, which means that any Japanese person would instantly recognize it as having a Japanese flavor.
CREATING NEW TASTES
Cuisine is always evolving. This is not limited to Nobu. Fifty years ago, for example, people used to discard toro, the fatty meat from the tuna. No one used sea urchin or salmon roe in sushi, either. The caliber and creativity of a chef is demonstrated by the ability to utilize newly discovered ingredients and techniques.
A case in point is the story behind the invention of Dry Miso, a Nobu signature seasoning made of freeze-dried granulated miso that we sprinkle on things like salads and sashimi. One day, I opened the fridge in my New York apartment and found that the lid had been left off a package of miso. The surface was hard and dry. Most people would have discarded the stale crust, perhaps feeling a little guilty about wasting it, but instead, I took a nibble. It was crisp and quite tasty. When I returned to Matsuhisa in Los Angeles, I began rolling out miso and letting it dry. When I sprinkled a little on sashimi and then drizzled it with olive oil and yuzu juice, the flavor was quite different from that of fish dipped in soy sauce.
But it took time to make this dried miso. Sun-drying took about a week, and even oven-drying took a whole night. I could make enough to use at Matsuhisa with these methods, but not more than that. I was still pondering this problem when I was contacted by Hikari Miso, a manufacturer in Nagano Prefecture that was very eager to sell me their products. Their miso was made with organically grown soybeans and was free of additives or preservatives. At Matsuhisa, however, I had been using one brand of miso in my recipes for a long time. To switch to another brand would impact the flavor of all the dishes that called for miso. I could not possibly change brands. The company, however, was so passionate in their sales pitch that I found myself thinking about what other ways I might be able to use it.
Black Cod with Miso was a signature dish so I could not use a different miso for that, but perhaps miso soup . . . I tried it and discovered that it was delicious. Then, suddenly it hit me—dried miso! I contacted the sales representative and explained that I was currently experimenting with a particular idea and that if they would be willing to dry the miso for me, I would use their product. I am sure they must have been surprised by this suggestion, but they had a freeze-drying component in their factory and, within a few weeks, presented me with dried miso. I love it when people act quickly like this. Hikari Miso has been manufacturing our Dry Miso ever since, and it is used as a seasoning in Nobu restaurants worldwide. Our miso soup is also made with Hikari Miso.
To return to my point, in the past, no one would have thought of using dried miso as a seasoning to sprinkle on salads and sashimi. The more orthodox might protest that sashimi should only be eaten with soy sauce and wasabi, but I believe that there are endless possibilities for evolution in cuisine.
Sashimi Tacos is another example of such evolution. Tortillas and tacos are common in Mexican cuisine, but no one had ever considered using them in Japanese cooking. Curious, I made some mini taco shells and filled them with chopped sashimi, such as tuna or salmon, making sure that the sashimi remained the star. I dubbed them Sashimi Tacos. Tacos are a Mexican soul food, and Los Angeles residents with Mexican roots found them irresistible. Nobu chefs in each area have come up with their own local variations. In Miami, for example, they use wonton shells instead of tacos, while in Malibu they fill the tacos shells with meat cooked in a soy-based sauce.
JAPANESE CUISINE IS THE HEART OF NOBU STYLE
Many people refer to my cooking as “fusion,” but personally I don’t see it that way. I would rather people called it Nobu Style. Japanese cuisine forms the bedrock of my cooking. I pride myself on having added spices or flavors that aren’t part of our traditional cuisine but that allowed Japanese food to win a worldwide following. But what exactly is Japanese cooking? What makes a particular cuisine part of any one nation’s culture?
This is a difficult question to answer. Personally, I think that a cuisine unique to a certain country or culture is one that utilizes the umami distinctive to that region. Umami is an internationally recognized term for a savory taste discovered by a Japanese scientist. Parmesan cheese, for example, would be the umami of Italy. I often tell Nobu chefs to study umami carefully.
In Japan, we make dashi, a soup stock extracted from such ingredients as kelp and bonito flakes. It forms the basis of all flavors used in Japanese cooking. To this are added basic seasonings, such as salt and sugar, and sometimes a few spices. Together, these provide the basic framework for Japanese cuisine. Nobu Style is based on Japanese dashi, but with restaurants on five continents, I enjoy discovering ingredients that represent the umami native to other regions, using them to develop new recipes, and incorporating these into our menu. It is my firm grounding in Japanese cuisine that allows me to do this. In my opinion, cooking that lacks a clear foundation is confusion, not fusion. I call my approach to cooking Nobu Style because it is Japanese cuisine that belongs anywhere in the world.
WHY I SPEND TEN MONTHS A YEAR TRAVELING AROUND THE WORLD
Some people might be puzzled by the fact that I spend so much time and effort traveling to every Nobu restaurant. It would seem more efficient to make a complete Nobu Style manual that explained my approach. But that wouldn’t work. Many aspects can’t be expressed in words alone. If I tried to force them onto paper, those words would take on a life of their own, and before I knew it, Nobu would no longer be Nobu.
That is why I take great care to communicate my ideas directly to our staff, and not just in words. I demonstrate with passion and then let them try it. I want them to pick up the things I teach by feeling them rather than by thinking about them. This is why I spend ten months a year like a traveling missionary, going from one restaurant to another to communicate the Nobu philosophy.
At every restaurant, I start off by sitting down at the sushi counter and asking the chef to make me two or three pieces of sushi. As soon as I taste it, I can tell immediately if the rice is too tight or too loose, can detect how the chef’s hand has shaped it, and can determine whether or not the toppings have been prepared correctly. The ingredients, such as the type of rice and vinegar, and the recipe, including how to prepare the seasoned vinegar, are standardized, but the taste and texture of the sushi will change with the weather conditions and any slight alterations in the chef’s handling of the ingredients.
Once, I noticed that a chef had applied a little too much pressure to the rice. There was no air between the grains, and this made it dense and chewy. The man
had had almost twenty years’ experience as a sushi chef and had joined Nobu eight years earlier. “The rice is too dense,” I said. He looked startled. I later learned that the restaurant had been so busy, he had started pushing himself to work faster. My comment had made him aware that rushing was causing him to squeeze the rice. Sushi rice should be gently molded in the hand to keep air between the grains. This is the most basic rule of sushi making. He was shocked to realize he had forgotten to keep this in mind, but I later heard that he was very happy I had told him, which, of course, made me happy, too.
Japanese cuisine, on which Nobu Style is based, makes the most of Japan’s four distinct seasons, featuring ingredients and flavors specific to each. I encourage Nobu chefs to learn about these and then to explore and develop their own variations. Another distinguishing feature of Japanese cuisine is that the dishes on which it is served often have one side that is considered the shomen or “front.” I don’t think this concept exists in the West, or at least, I have never noticed it with plates used for such Western dishes as pasta or pizza. In Japanese tea ceremony, for example, the teacup is always presented with the front side facing the guest. To show humility, the guest then turns the cup slightly to avoid drinking from the front. Again, in the West I haven’t seen this kind of sensitivity and attention to detail so typical of Japanese hospitality etiquette. I ask Nobu chefs to keep these concepts in mind when they are preparing food for our guests. For example, sashimi should be arranged quite differently on a plate for only one or two people sitting at the counter than on a plate intended for a table of four or five guests, in which case it will be viewed from all sides.
Many people will never notice such things, and there is no need to explain. But when we take care of such details as a matter of course and someone who does understand notices, then this effort becomes a thing of great value.
WHY I PAIR LOCAL CHEFS WITH NATIVE JAPANESE CHEFS
Food is fleeting. It’s gone within seconds. First, it delights the eye, and then, the palate. The chopsticks move busily, until all that is left is an empty plate. This is a chef’s greatest joy. We use our creativity to invent dishes that our guests will consume with pleasure. That is how Nobu signature dishes such as New Style Sashimi and Black Cod with Miso were born. While some criticized these as not being pure Japanese cuisine, my guests embraced them as Nobu Style. My stance is to stay firmly rooted in Japanese cuisine while adding innovative touches so that people in a particular location can enjoy my food.
Still, there are certain dishes that will never be included in the Nobu lineup. There is a line that cannot be crossed. This standard, however, is hard to explain.
When Nobu opened in Hawaii, the local chefs decided to come up with original dishes as ideas for our menu. One of them used sausages in his recipe, but from my perspective, sausages and Nobu Style are completely incompatible. Not only are sausages un-Japanese, but they are a processed food, and that is not the Nobu taste. Therefore, regardless of the kind of sausage used or how it’s presented, it can never become a Nobu dish. We do have seafood dumplings in Japanese cuisine, so fish sausages handmade by the chef in the restaurant might be considered Nobu Style, but I would never think of using store-bought sausages. Serving anything processed or store-bought is simply not Nobu Style. This is why cheese is only used as a seasoning at Nobu restaurants.
The chef who came up with the idea, however, saw nothing wrong, probably because sausage is such a common ingredient in Hawaii. I told him point-blank that that was not Nobu Style. “Never put fish with sausage,” I told him. “You can’t taste the fish.” He understood what I meant and continued to develop. A year later, he came to Nobu Los Angeles as a junior sous chef. I was surprised and delighted to see him, but I didn’t know his name yet. “Sausage Boy,” I said, “what are you doing here? No sausage on my fish, right?” His name is Jason Benavente, and he went on to become the executive chef of Nobu Los Angeles.
This is one of the reasons I always have a local chef and a Japanese chef manage the kitchen of every Nobu. There are some things about the spirit of Japanese cuisine that it takes a Japanese mind to understand. Likewise, it takes a local chef to understand the preferences of the people who live in that region. Having two main chefs who can complement and support each other in this way means that Nobu restaurants can adapt to any location.
My philosophy cannot be passed on as “know-how.” But people can grow and change if they are given the opportunity. Lessons gained through a flash of insight become firmly rooted. The only way I can help all of our staff to understand the Nobu philosophy is to continue sharing it until it clicks.
I ASK MY STAFF TO AIM FOR MY BEST
In this way, with the occasional mistake, the Nobu menu is continually being renewed. I think this is one of the reasons our regulars love Nobu. They know that anytime they come, they can count on enjoying their favorite dishes and on discovering something new.
New dishes are not created in one go. When a chef comes up with an idea, the first thing I do is taste it. Although my personal preferences will influence me a little, I can still tell immediately if it is delicious or not. Cooking is very truthful. A dish made by a chef who longs with heart and soul to explore new things tastes very different from a dish made by a chef who feels obligated to come up with something new for Nobu to try.
After I have tasted it, I will share my ideas about what I might have done or how it can be improved. Based on this advice, the chef uses his or her ingenuity to refine the recipe and then lets me taste it again. We then repeat this over and over again. For example, Sobagaki, a dish developed at Nobu Tokyo, took over a year to perfect through this process. Sobagaki is really just buckwheat flour kneaded with hot water, but it is very difficult to get the right consistency. Every time I went to Nobu Tokyo, I would taste it and suggest that perhaps it needed to be a little firmer, and the chefs would rewrite the recipe. In the end, the product that gained my seal of approval was really delicious. The perfect firmness will differ from one person to the next. What I consider to be just right is really just my own preference; it’s not absolute. But I still ask my staff to aim for what I consider the best. That becomes Nobu Style and spreads worldwide.
I love people who respond immediately to my advice. This makes it easier for me to share my ideas and results in their rapid development. On the other hand, people who respond cheerfully enough, but don’t put my advice into action, progress much more slowly, which is a waste. Then, there are some chefs who, even when I give them advice, still insist that their recipe is superior. In such cases, I take more time to explain what I would do and why. Every person has their good points. It’s my job to draw those out. I don’t believe in making people do things my way. Instead, I try to see things from their perspective and find the most effective approach for each individual. The new dishes that other chefs propose are often a source of inspiration for me, too.
Nobu and Matsuhisa restaurants bear my name. They are like a part of me. But I have no desire to force them to be the way I want. My approach is to let my staff try out things that feel right to them and then bring that together into a unified whole. It’s a bit like being the conductor of an orchestra. The musicians are each responsible for their own part, and the conductor, while appreciating their individuality, brings them together as a whole.
According to what I have heard, our staff all love Nobu and take great pride in working there. Nobu as a business has fostered a culture that celebrates diversity, and I think that makes it a more enjoyable and less stressful work environment. Because we give our chefs the freedom to use their own discretion, they enjoy what they do. Chefs who have trained at other restaurants before coming to Nobu have told me, “The work here is never repetitive or boring because we’re always thinking together about new menu ideas.”
IT’S SELLING, SO WHY WORRY? THIS ATTITUDE CAN LEAD TO MAJOR LOSS
Leaving things up to the discretion of the chefs does have its drawbacks. Nobu Style cooking is based
on Japanese cuisine. Although Nobu Style embraces elements that are not found in traditional Japanese cooking, I still want the result to feel rooted in wa, meaning the essence of all things Japanese. For non-Japanese chefs, it is particularly hard to judge that fine balance. That is why I constantly travel around the world to explain Nobu Style. Even so, items that deviate from this style occasionally end up on the menu.
The Nobu in Malibu, California, for example, created the Slider, a small wagyu beef hamburger. It was an instant success, probably because it was so different from the burgers served at fast-food joints in America, the land of bread, meat, and ketchup. But it couldn’t be called Nobu Style. While the recipe for the beef patty was good, bread simply doesn’t exist in Japanese cuisine. I explained this point passionately to the local chefs and asked them to take it off the menu, but it’s very hard to stop something when it becomes so popular. Even if the guests love a dish, if it isn’t Nobu Style, the restaurant serving it will no longer be Nobu.
My business partner Meir lives in Malibu. “It’s selling, so why worry?” he said. But I felt strongly that this way of thinking could cause major damage when looking at Nobu as a whole.
“If a dish is based on something that isn’t Japanese,” I insisted, “it’s no longer Nobu. No bread!” In the end, he agreed.
That is my role at Nobu now—making sure all our restaurants stay true to the basic tenets of Japanese cuisine.
DON’T BAN NEW DISHES, MAKE THEM BETTER
Gregorio, the chef at Malibu, is an excellent chef and really understands Nobu Style. He was very sorry to have put the Slider on the menu before checking with me and, ever since, has always contacted me whenever he has an idea for something new.
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