Continued, Tokyo New Wave

Occasionally, a chef is much more than his title. He reaches beyond his work in the kitchen to create something larger than his restaurant and even himself. Shinobu Namae, forty-three, is an advocate and cerebral adventurer who possesses a purposeful idealism, the belief that peace and harmony are attainable through food.

Traveling regularly both domestically and internationally, Yokohama-born Namae simultaneously embraces tradition and modernity. Within Japan, he visits craftsmen whose families have been making miso, soy sauce, bonito, and sake for generations. These are his sensei, from whom he learns about process and technique. They are a source of inspiration for him, as are numerous other purveyors and farmers whom Namae regards as his extended community. He thoughtfully posts his experiences on social media, such as the making of katsuobushi (fermented and smoked bonito); new designs from his favorite clothing designers, Matohu, who designed his staff’s uniforms; a tea ceremony with his tea master, Soko Udagawa; and a visit from his revered mentor, Michel Bras. No one is excluded from sharing in his discoveries or his learning process, and that includes his large yet familial staff at his restaurant, L’Effervescence.

The Japanese tea ceremony is significant to Namae, so much so that it closes the dining experience at L’Effervescence, performed tableside by one of his staff. I accompany Namae to visit his tea master from whom he continually learns and practices the tea ceremony, contemplating both its inner and outer forms. What strikes me beyond the idyllic setting and  mesmerizing intricacies of the master’s movements is Namae’s contentment. His serene pleasure in sharing the way of tea and his openness and generosity of spirit are evident here and in his imaginative dishes at L’Effervescence, such as Where the Ocean Meets the Land (venison sirloin with scallop mousseline, charred red pepper, and red shiso sauce) and his signature dish, A Fixed Point (a four-hour roasted turnip with brioche croutons, Basque ham, and parsley).

Namae’s essential desire to innovate and look beyond the country of his birth fuels him; for Namae, borders are a political phenomenon, only limiting human experience and understanding. At L’Effervescence, culture, history, politics, science, and refinement are all present and all connected, in the space and on the plate. Namae is aware that his elegant restaurant’s two Michelin stars and World’s 50 Best Restaurants ranking are a magnet for many customers, yet these are neither his motivation nor his goal.

With his sharp focus and intense gaze, Namae affirms, “Nature is a part of me, and I am a part of nature.” His search for knowledge, understanding, and harmony and his belief in the benevolent power of food will never end.

Cooking is not everything to me, but it is very important. Through cooking, I try to communicate with people. Restaurants can connect culture, lifestyle, and politics. We source our main products from local farmers and artisans, not from supermarkets where we don’t know anything about the products. Our cooking, staff, servers—we are all connected and close. This is how the restaurant can be an example of contributing to a better society.

When I cook, the seasons inspire me: the ingredients and flavors, the freshness, and the complexities of the seasons.

Beautiful scenery, like in Kyoto in the fall, inspires me. I see objects or things that are beautiful in and of themselves but they become more beautiful if I can share them and discuss them with someone, anyone. It can even be a stranger. I like to share ideas and feelings. It’s all the same unless we share our perceptions of it. Feelings are individual. By sharing them with others through discussion, we can help define what it is or how beautiful it is.

Upon entering university, I had a part-time kitchen job in a casual Italian restaurant. The more I learned about Italian cooking, the more I wanted to learn about the country. When I graduated from university, I went to work in a popular Italian restaurant full-time. During these three years, I visited Italy twice and thought I wanted to be an Italian chef. Having grown up in Japan, Italian cuisine was easy for me to understand. French cuisine seemed too complicated and snobbish. I never liked it, and I hated French chefs.

In 2003, on a trip to New York City to learn new things about food, I found Kitchen Arts & Letters bookstore on the Upper East Side. When I opened the door, there was a shiny book on display—it was Michel Bras’s book looking at me. When I saw it, I knew that this was what I was looking for. This was a different kind of cooking. I already had rough ideas for my own cooking style and wanted to respect the color and shape of all ingredients. The French chefs change things so much from the original form, which might be considered sophisticated, but it never resonated with me. This book touched me, I could see what things were. I didn’t care about anything French until I saw this book. Everything was clear to me, and it felt like it was more like what I loved about Italian food.

This discovery, falling in love with this book in New York City, changed my life. I returned to Japan to ultimately work for Michel Bras in Hokkaido from 2003 to 2008. Those five years were everything for me. Then I spent a full year with Heston Blumenthal at Fat Duck in London, which was also quite valuable.

I remember my mom’s pretty bad miso soup in Yokohama. She made the broth out of anchovies and added handmade miso from Akita. Relatives always sent handmade miso to us, and it was rough and strong. Later, I went to a friend’s home and loved their miso. My mom’s wasn’t good even though she was using good products. She created my palate with quality ingredients.

I identify myself not as Japanese but as a human being standing on this planet. Of course, I was born here in Japan and grew up here. But, my nationality doesn’t matter to me; I could be from anywhere. I was raised Japanese, which influenced me—that’s how I became who I am. But I don’t need to be Japanese or the citizen of any particular country. I think this makes my cuisine more complicated.

I think it does in physical ways, like my taste buds and palate, which have been influenced by Japanese flavors from childhood. I grew up with rice and wheat because after World War II, the U.S. government spread the consumption of wheat. When I was in elementary school, we had rice once a month and a buttered roll with jam. At home, I ate rice at dinner, but lots of bread at lunch at school. At breakfast, my mom would give us bread and British milled tea and sunny-side-up eggs every day.

Gandhi, no one else. His views of change and pacifism and reaching across castes and ethnicity to understand others is very inspiring to me. His character and desire to make the world a better place resonate with me.

It is the everyday accumulation that I believe is important, of making things better than yesterday.

I like unity, but I hate globalization. We are all different and shouldn’t impose upon one another, but there has to be some imposition in order to understand and respect one another. This seems contradictory, and it is.

Matohu clothing designers Hiroyuki Horihata and Makiko Sekiguchi with Shinobu Namae at the Matohu boutique in Omotesando.

The turnip conveys the season with its flavor, sweetness, and texture, which leads to an appreciation of the passage of time. With this recipe, my goal was also to reverse the usual ratio of meat to vegetables.

CROUTONS

¼ cup cubed brioche, cut into ⅛-inch cubes

PARSLEY OIL

½ cup flat-leaf parsley

1 teaspoon water

Sea salt

1 tablespoon sesame oil

TURNIP

1 medium turnip (6 ounces)

Fine sea salt

1 tablespoon sesame oil

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

¼ cup cubed semidried Bayonne or other cured ham, cut into ⅛-inch cubes

4 flat-leaf parsley leaves, for garnish

To make the croutons, preheat the oven to 350°F. Spread the brioche cubes in a single layer on a baking sheet. Bake for 2 to 3 minutes, then turn the cubes over and bake for 7 to 8 minutes more, until light golden.

To make the parsley oil, put the parsley, water, a pinch of salt, and the sesame oil in a blender. Puree for 1 minute, until smooth. Pass through a fine-mesh sieve into a bowl, and set aside.

To make the turnip, cut off the greens and peel the turnip, removing the fibrous part between the outer layer and its core. Continue to pare down the turnip with a paring knife, maintaining its natural teardrop shape, until it weighs 2½ ounces. This will ensure it cooks correctly in the immersion cooker.

Rinse the turnip well and put it into a sous vide bag or a ziplock bag. Cook the turnip with an immersion circulator at 130°F to 165°F for 4 hours. Transfer the turnip in the bag to an ice bath to chill until cold, about 15 minutes.

Cut the turnip in half and season with sea salt. Warm the sesame oil in heavy pan over high heat. Place the turnip halves cut side down in the pan and sear for about 3 minutes, until light golden.

Add the butter and let it melt and sizzle. Continue to cook the turnip in the sizzling butter until the cut side turns deep brown and the butter begins to brown. Tilt the pan so the butter pools on one side, and using a tablespoon, pour the brown butter over the turnip repeatedly for 3 to 5 minutes, to make sure it is warmed through.

Paint a streak of parsley oil across the plate with a tablespoon. Place the croutons and ham in the center of the dish. Place the two cut sides of the turnip together and place on top of the croutons and ham. Sprinkle with the parsley leaves. Serve right away.