The Quality That Emerges from Steady Accumulation: Chef Kotaro Nakajima of Japanese Cuisine Kutan Questions the Nature of Beautiful Flavor

—What inspired you to become a chef?

Failing my junior high school entrance exam became the turning point: I decided I never wanted to study again and instead would become a chef. I had always been interested in cooking, and I think my mother’s influence played a big role in that.

The reason I chose Japanese cuisine is simply because I’m Japanese.

At the time, Italian cuisine was popular and I thought it was cool, but my desire to master Japanese cuisine as a Japanese person was stronger.

I thought that if I could become the best in Japan at Japanese cuisine, then that would mean being the best in the world. For example, even if you became number one in Italian cuisine within Japan, you still wouldn’t know if you’re really number one in Italy itself, right?

Of course, one reason is simply that I’ve always liked Japanese cuisine itself.

— Could you tell us about your training years?

The first restaurant where I trained in Fukuoka was an extremely harsh environment. Back then, working 16 to 20 hours a day was normal, and we only had about 11 days off a year. Every day I went to work thinking, “What am I going to get scolded for today?” It was a time that’s hard to imagine now.

However, I think it was truly significant that I was given the chance to gain a huge amount of experience during my twenties, which are the most important years. Once you reach your thirties, what’s required is not quantity but quality. But I feel that even that quality was only possible because I had the foundational experience to build on.

— In such a harsh environment, was there anything that kept you going?

When I entered a new environment, there were times when I worked under senior colleagues who were actually younger than me. Even so, the experience I had built up until then was both my confidence and my pride, so I felt that in any new environment, I could simply keep adding new experiences on top of that foundation.

Even now, when I feel myself letting my guard down a little, I sometimes think, “The boss on Shikanoshima would scold me for this.” It’s like I have this sense that he’s watching me from somewhere. People naturally tend to take the easy way out, but if you cut corners, the consequences will come back to you. That’s why I developed the habit of keeping myself in line by thinking, “If I worked like this, the boss would be angry.” I believe that who I am today is only possible because of the foundation he built for me back then.

When I left Fukuoka, my mentor sent me off, saying, “You’ve learned how to handle fish in this region, so go to the big city to learn how to cook.” Just as he said, I was later able to gain even more experience as a chef in Los Angeles and at “Japanese Cuisine Kanda.”

— Please tell us about your training period in Los Angeles.

At the time, I had no intention of leaving Fukuoka. Then I was deeply shocked by the cuisine of Masaharu Morimoto, who appeared on the TV show “Iron Chef.” The dishes he created when he was head chef at NOBU in New York, USA, were incredibly avant-garde, and I found myself thinking, “I want to discover this kind of culinary world.”

When I looked into it, I found out that in Los Angeles there is Matsuhisa, the original main restaurant of NOBU. Since I was going all that way, I wanted to learn at the flagship, so I decided to go to Los Angeles.

Have you ever found anything difficult, such as differences in culture?

When I actually started working there, I was surprised by how easy it felt for me. Matsuhisa was known at the time as one of the toughest restaurants in the Japanese culinary scene in America, and it had many Japanese chefs on staff. Even so, for me, having already gone through training in Fukuoka, it really wasn’t that hard.

Since it was also a sushi restaurant, I also wanted to properly master sushi as part of learning Japanese cuisine. From a global perspective, sushi is one of the most important elements of Japanese food. But as a Japanese person working as a chef in Japan, saying “I learned sushi in Los Angeles” felt a bit strange to me (laughs). When it comes to sushi, I had the image of Edo-style sushi, so after returning to Japan I started thinking that I should study it more seriously in Tokyo.

The best thing about going abroad was that it gave me the chance to see Japan from the outside. It was a hugely valuable experience to be able to objectively recognize issues I wouldn’t have noticed if I had stayed in Japan, as well as to appreciate what makes Japan so wonderful.

— After returning to Japan, please tell us about your time at Japanese restaurant Kanda.

I began my apprenticeship at “Japanese Cuisine Kanda” when I was around 28 or 29 years old. By then, I already had about ten years of experience as a chef, so I spent the first two to three years firmly relearning the basics, and after that I was entrusted with the position of second-in-command. From there, for about eight years, I was deeply involved in restaurant operations in a position of responsibility, and I truly learned a great deal.

I feel that the foundation that now supports me, both as a manager and as a chef, was formed through my experience with the first master I met in Fukuoka. And the 11 years I spent at “Nihonryori Kanda” were a time that allowed me to grow even further. There I learned not only about cooking, but also how to run the restaurant as a whole, which has become invaluable experience that leads directly to what I do today.

— From those rigorous years of training, is there anything you still value or any beliefs you still hold dear today?

Even looking back now, I’m truly grateful that in my twenties through my early thirties I was able to simply put in a huge amount of work. Of course, I’m not trying to recommend a way of working that damages your body or mind. It’s just that, in this day and age, we can’t have young people go through exactly the same kind of environment I experienced, nor do I think that would necessarily be right. That’s precisely why I believe it’s so important to take the initiative and move on your own.

I also tell my employees, “Right now, instead of overthinking, just get your hands moving and build up experience.” There are times when I have to say tough things, but that’s because I believe that if I don’t say them, it won’t truly benefit that person.

— Could you tell me a bit more about the idea that “quality is born from quantity”?

First, focus on building up the sheer amount of work you do. As you do that, the things you’re capable of increase, and your work speed improves as well. Then you start to gain the confidence that “no one can beat me at this.” That confidence leads to a sense of composure, which changes how you act, and in the end, I believe it will also help you improve the quality of your work.

These days people often say that “quality is what matters,” but I believe that without going through a large quantity of experience, quality cannot be created. It’s precisely by doing something many times that you begin to see the differences, like “this way is better” or “if I do it like this, it tastes better.” That’s why, before talking about quality, it’s important to first put in the volume of practice.

While you’re young, you should focus on gaining as much experience as you can, on the assumption that you don’t ruin your health. I believe quality will naturally follow after that. All I can really do is give you a push and say, “Go ahead and try it.”

— Please tell us about any memorable episodes from when you started your business.

I went independent at 39. I had originally set a goal of having my own restaurant by the time I turned 40. When I was 35, I once talked to the master about going independent. At that time, he said to me, “I kept at it until I was 40, so why don’t you try doing the same until you’re 40?”

When I took those words to heart and thought about them again, I felt anxious about whether I could truly create “my own cuisine,” even if I was able to reproduce the dishes of Nihonryori Kanda. I had the sense that if I went independent just like that, I would probably end up relying on the cuisine of Nihonryori Kanda. That’s precisely why, for the next several years, while I was cooking the dishes of Nihonryori Kanda at the restaurant, I was also constantly using that time to think about what kind of food I myself wanted to express.

I needed to be prepared to take full responsibility for running the shop on my own, and I also had to get the finances in order. When we first opened, we started out with three people. I needed the physical stamina to keep working on-site myself, and of course there are risks involved in running a business. Taking into account various factors such as age, physical strength, and finances, I chose this timing to go independent.

— Was there anything in particular that was especially difficult?

The hardest part was getting customers to come. During my training years, I worked in an environment where being fully booked every day was the norm, so I had somehow come to believe that customers would naturally just show up.

Once I actually had my own shop, I realized it wasn’t something I could take for granted. There were days when the phone didn’t ring at all, and days with so few customers that I wondered if the phone line had been cut.

I myself am not very good at sharing information on the internet, and I started out without really understanding modern ways of attracting customers, but little by little, word of mouth has brought customers to our door. And in the year we opened, we were able to receive one Michelin star.

Looking back on that time, I think it was a period when I learned firsthand that cooking and having customers come to you are completely different things.

— Do you have any particular preferences or special commitments when it comes to cooking or ingredients?

When putting a dish together, the three things I value most are temperature, aroma, and how you feel after eating. I believe a dish is only truly complete when it is enjoyed in its best possible state.

During my training years, the head chef at “Nihonryori Kanda” taught me that “temperature itself is a delicacy.” Enjoying a warm dish on a cold day, savoring a chilled dish on a hot day—this way of thinking holds that the experience of that very moment becomes a treat for the guest. And when the temperature is just right, the natural aroma of the ingredients can be appreciated at its most beautiful. I still treasure and uphold that teaching to this day.

— What do you pay attention to when it comes to the “after-meal feeling”?

In our course meals, we want you to feel comfortable right up to the very end, so while you’ll feel satisfied, you won’t feel weighed down. We aim for a kind of “after-meal feeling” that makes you naturally look forward to eating again the next morning.

To achieve this, how we use fats, salt, and sugar is also very important. Rather than focusing on a single dish, we design the entire course with balance in mind, so that you can feel comfortable and satisfied from start to finish.

— What do you value most when choosing ingredients?

We make our purchases based on relationships of trust built over many years with brokers and producers. In Fukuoka, Kyoto, Toyosu, and other regions, we source whatever is best at the time from people we know we can rely on in each place.

Since our customers place such high expectations on us, I want to choose good ingredients and properly return their value in the form of dishes. After clearly communicating my requests, if I’m told, “We don’t have anything good today,” I don’t push further. If the ingredients aren’t in the condition I’m hoping for, I don’t force myself to use substitutes; I’m absolutely uncompromising about quality. When it comes to the ingredients themselves, the suppliers who handle them every day are the real experts. I believe it’s also important to trust their judgment.

— As a chef, how do you think about how far you should go in altering or working on the ingredients?

That doesn’t mean it just has to be simple; I believe cooking is something that “helps” the ingredients. It draws out the natural qualities they already have, making them delicious and easy to eat. Doing the work necessary to achieve that is the role of the cook.

The better the ingredients are, the more you often find yourself wondering, “How much should I intervene?” Do too little and it’s not good, but do too much and you lose the natural appeal of the ingredients. I believe it’s crucial to recognize where that boundary lies.

For example, even with a single cucumber, there are times when, instead of simply slicing it with a knife, chilling it thoroughly and breaking it by hand before serving makes it taste better. I consider that to be cooking as well, and I think it’s the kind of work where the idea of “this is the most delicious way to eat it” and the chef’s own sensibility are directly expressed.

Looking at the ingredients in front of you and thinking about how far a chef should intervene is important. Making that judgment requires experience, and I believe that the accumulation of such experience leads to dishes that are unique to that individual.

— Finally, could you tell us about your future prospects?

First and foremost, I have a strong desire to keep improving this restaurant. Thankfully, we’ve been honored with a two-star rating from Michelin, so I’d like to aim to become the kind of restaurant that can one day earn three stars.

When it comes to our dishes, I’d like to keep refining what we already have little by little, steadily building them into something even better. As our staff grow, and if the timing and connections are right, it might be interesting to take on the challenge of going overseas in the future. However, even that is based on the premise that we first nurture and firmly establish the restaurant we have now.

I’m 48 now, so I’d like to keep working on the front lines as a chef for about another ten years, until around 60. Of course, there’s a limit to what I can do on my own. That’s exactly why I want to watch over the growth of each and every employee and keep moving forward step by step, in line with the times and changing circumstances.

Rather than just maintaining the status quo, I value the mindset of “adding one more sheet.” If you keep stacking sheets of paper one by one, before you know it, you’ll find yourself at a higher place than before. I believe that this kind of steady accumulation leads to the growth of the shop as well.

I’d like to talk to my employees about those things someday as well. Right now, though, I believe it’s a time for them to gain experience by working with their hands rather than thinking too much. First, we build the foundation. After that, I hope each person’s own way of thinking and style of cooking will grow on top of it.

— Lastly, what does “delicious” mean to you, Mr. Nakajima?

"A beautiful flavor."

I feel that “umai” and “oishii” may seem similar, but they’re actually a bit different. I believe that difference is very important, and I’ve been continually searching for what exactly it is.

I feel that “umai” is more like an evaluation of the taste itself, whereas “oishii” is something that’s created not only by the flavor, but also by the aroma, the atmosphere, our service, and even how the dishes are presented—something that comes into being when all of that truly reaches the customer’s heart.

Of course I’m happy when people eat my food and say, “That’s delicious.” But if I can create a moment where they quietly savor it and murmur, “Ah, this is so good,” lingering in that afterglow, that’s the greatest honor for a chef.

What left the deepest impression on me through Kotaro Nakashima’s words was his idea of “layering up” over time. From aspiring to become a chef, enduring rigorous training in Fukuoka, gaining experience overseas, spending 11 years back in Japan, and then taking on new challenges after going independent—he has built today’s “Japanese Cuisine Kutan” by steadily stacking each of these experiences as a foundation. Phrases like “Only with quantity does quality emerge” and “Don’t just maintain the status quo—add one more layer” convey a philosophy that applies not only to cooking, but also to nurturing people and creating a restaurant. Cuisine, space, service—when all of these overlap, they deliver a meal that lingers in the guest’s heart. That thoughtful care will no doubt continue to be quietly layered, day by day, at Japanese Cuisine Kutan.

Reporting & Text / AutoReserve Magazine Editorial Department

Photography / Shoichi Baba