Nobuyuki Matsuhisa has spent much of his life crossing borders, yet when he sits down in front of you, he seems in no hurry to reach the next one. He speaks slowly, holds your gaze and listens with an almost hypnotic attentiveness. There is something about him — his impeccable posture, his calm smile, his way of being fully present — that contrasts with the sheer scale of everything that bears his name. Nobu is now a small universe in its own right, with more than 55 restaurants, 38 hotels and a growing collection of residences around the world.
And yet, the more everything he has built grows, the more essential his way of talking about food seems to become. Flavour, people, respect, care. And above all, heart. For Nobu, heart is everything a recipe cannot explain: the intention, the time and the story behind a dish. This same idea runs through our conversation with him at Nobu Barcelona, where we return to the origins of a career that began with a childhood dream of becoming a chef and went on to shape a language of his own, born from Japanese tradition and transformed by the flavours and freedom he discovered in Peru. A language now recognised around the world and one that many have tried to imitate.
– When did you know you wanted to devote your life to cooking?
– When I was a child, becoming a chef was my dream. While other children dreamed of becoming actors or athletes, I knew I wanted to be a sushi chef. Then I left high school and started working. I studied Japanese cuisine in Tokyo. Later, I went to Peru, and the culture there was completely different. One day, someone invited me to their home to try Peruvian food and it was like... wow! I had never tasted flavours like that in Japan and, little by little, my way of thinking began to change. I continued to use my Japanese mindset, but combined it with Peruvian influences.
– What surprised you most when you discovered this cuisine?
– Above all, the flavours. Japanese cuisine is very simple, very clean, and never uses chilli, coriander, jalapeño or garlic. The first time I tasted coriander, I could hardly eat it; the aroma seemed far too strong to me. But I tried to understand and respect the local food culture. I thought: “OK, I have to taste it, I have to try it.” Little by little, I started thinking about how I could use those flavours in my own way. In Japan, we would never have served sashimi with coriander and jalapeño, but I created that combination and later many people around the world began drawing inspiration from it.
– How does it make you feel to see so many restaurants copying recipes you created, such as black cod with miso?
– It makes me very proud. When I was young, I also looked at books and watched television programmes, and whenever I discovered someone cooking something I liked, I would think: “Oh, this is great, I have to try to make it the same way.” I started by copying too. Besides, my cooking continues to evolve, although I always try to keep it simple.
“The recipe can be learned; what lies behind it cannot.”
– I have to tell you that I’ve tasted several imitations of your black cod, but none has seemed as good as yours.
– Do you know why it isn’t the same? Because of the heart. A copy tries to reproduce something, but it doesn’t have the same heart. My black cod went through many tests and many attempts before reaching the recipe we know today. The recipe is actually published in my books, and anyone can follow it. But that doesn’t mean the result will be the same. The recipe can be learned; what lies behind it cannot. They can copy my food, but they can never copy my thinking.
– How do you manage to ensure that, with so many restaurants, they all share the same heart?
– I have a lot of people who have been working with me from the beginning. There are people who have been with me since we opened the New York restaurant in 1994, 32 years ago now. They have grown within this philosophy and know what passion and challenge mean to us. Sometimes I tell them they can leave, but they never do (laughs). I also have a great team of corporate chefs who travel around the world checking quality and, if something isn’t right, they correct it. I’m a little like the father of the restaurants, and they are my children. I’m very lucky.
– What is the first thing you notice when you visit a restaurant?
– I look at the people. I observe whether they are comfortable, relaxed, how they talk, how they enjoy themselves. I also try to sense the heart behind the dishes. I don’t really care much about the interior or what kind of tableware they use; I always look at the food and the diners. I pay close attention to this in my restaurants too: whether people are talking, smiling, laughing and enjoying themselves.
– After so many years of cooking, what does being a chef mean to you today?
– If I died and were born again, I would become a chef again. I love cooking, and for me, cooking means making people happy. I’ll tell you a true story. Before I married my wife, one day she made me breakfast — some omelettes — and by mistake she confused the sugar with the salt. They were very salty, but I had seen how she had prepared them. When I tasted them, I didn’t think about the salt. I thought about her heart.
– How would you like your cooking to evolve from now on?
– I want to keep things simple. More and more, I want to focus on healthy dishes, without ever compromising on flavour. Sustainability is also important to me, and I have been applying a zero-waste approach for years. I greatly value the work of fishermen and farmers. I have also worked with many producers from the beginning, and these relationships are very important to me. Business is business, but in the end, it is about trusting one another and never losing sight of quality.
– At 77, after a lifetime of travelling and cooking, have you ever considered retiring?
– Cooking is my whole life, so I want to keep working for as long as I can. As long as I can walk, why should I stop? I’m not thinking about retiring. I want to continue giving my best for my entire life, until I go to heaven.