Emmanuel Stroobant

Someone once told me: if you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, build the right team. In this business, nothing meaningful happens if you work alone. Restaurants are not solo performances, they are orchestras. We started small, grew slowly and organically, and stayed focused on what we do. If I had to reduce it to a few words: be adaptable, be patient, and above everything else, be consistent.

You can own the best car in the world, but without a driver it goes nowhere. In our case, Edina has always been both compass and engine. She carries the vision, but also the discipline required to keep a business alive: the structure, the consistency, the relentless attention to quality demanded by operations.

I’m different. I’m the craftsman, the artist, the technician who turns ideas into something real on a plate. Underneath our arguments and late-night conversations is respect for each other’s expertise, and that balance matters more than people think. Very few brilliant chefs are also good with business; we are blessed to have the best of both worlds in our team.

Ensō has long resonated with me because it represents both discipline and freedom, two forces that define us at Saint Pierre. Well before it became a familiar visual language in modern plating, I began using the circle to express this philosophy on the plate, not only as a visual signature, but as a deliberate expression of balance and harmony. It continues to shape how each menu is conceived, from the structure of each composition to the way flavours move across the palate.

Mindful gastronomy during a busy Friday night service is far less abstract than it sounds. For me it’s about remaining fully present, even when the pace is intense. Pressure is always a constant in service, but mindfulness allows precision to remain. Discipline gives us the consistency and composure to deliver elegance in every aspect of service, while freedom allows us to respond intuitively, whether accommodating a last-minute change or adjusting to dietary restrictions.

The challenge is mostly technical. Dietitians give nutritional directions while cooks execute recipes, and they speak different languages. Instead of starting with what we could use, we began with what we could not: salt, more precisely, sodium chloride. We studied what salt does to our perception of flavour and what can replace that sensation when it is removed.

We started with cooking: slow reductions, roasting, fermentation, layering natural glutamates. Little by little we rebuilt familiar dishes with a deeper level of technique hidden underneath.

I became vegetarian for health reasons, which pulled other parts of my life along with it. But the real transformation happened in the kitchen. I moved from quantity to quality, from abundance to restraint, realising that less really is more. Instead of building layers until the dish becomes a crowd, I ask the opposite questions: what is the best ingredient I can use right now? What can I remove that adds nothing? Simplicity is brutally complicated.

In Tokyo, we share the same intention with the JW Marriott team: to create something new and exciting, but still approachable, so eating at Saki doesn’t feel foreign. On a chef’s level, Tokyo requires you to understand, accept and respect the culture, keeping in mind that losing your temper isn’t passion, it’s weakness.

As for the format, we’ve run Shoukouwa for ten years, so an eight-seat counter isn’t new. If I were starting from scratch in 2026, an eight-seat counter would be my first choice: smaller space, less rent, fewer staff, and profitability becomes crystal clear.

William Butler Yeats once said, “Education is not the filling of a pail, but the lighting of a fire.” I saw that fire burn in young Singaporean chefs who trained with an intensity that pushed us, their mentors, to dig deeper. When you pour in every ounce of energy, passion and love, anything is possible. But remember: dreams without action are just wishes.