Executive Chef of Mizumi (Wynn Las Vegas), World Champion Master Sushi Chef

The biggest lesson I've learned is that mastery takes humility. No matter how much you think you know, there’s always something new to learn — from a dishwasher, a farmer, or a young apprentice. The moment you stop being curious is the moment you stop growing. I’ve also learned that consistency isn’t built on talent but on repetition, discipline, and care for the details nobody sees.

One of my mentors once told me, “Don’t chase perfection, chase understanding,” and that shifted everything. Perfection is fleeting, but understanding why something works (or doesn’t) allows you to recreate excellence again and again.

I look for those with curiosity, humility, and stamina. I can teach knife skills and seasoning, but I can’t teach attitude. I look for people who care deeply about doing things the right way, who take notes without being asked, and who find joy in repetition. A sense of humor helps too as kitchens can be tough, and laughter keeps the team human.

My job requires taste, memory, and restraint. Anyone can add flavor, but knowing when not to add something is the mark of maturity. Also, awareness not just of your station, but of the rhythm of the kitchen, the temperature of the rice, the energy of your team. It’s a kind of mindfulness that comes only after years of paying attention.

Inspiration comes from everywhere, but mostly outside the kitchen. I find it in music, architecture, ceramics, and nature. Watching how light hits a stone or how water flows around an obstacle can spark a plating idea or a flavor balance. Japanese cuisine is about harmony, and harmony exists in everything if you slow down enough to see it.

I cook for myself and my family simply, from a bowl of rice or miso soup to grilled fish. No plating, no stress, just nourishment. I also take time to walk with no phone or agenda. The kitchen demands intensity, so I’ve learned to balance it with stillness.