I learned how to be a sushi chef in Matsuei-sushi, a small restaurant in Shinjuku, Japan. In my 20s, after seven years' apprenticeship, a regular customer offered me the opportunity to open a restaurant in Peru. It was there that I began to dabble with the Peruvian-Japanese cuisine which I am known for.
After three years in Peru, the economy was flailing and my partners wanted to cut back on the quality of ingredients. Using inferior products was inconceivable to me and I strongly disagreed. It was with much sadness and regret that I packed my bags and left. A stint as chef of a Japanese-style restaurant in Argentina followed. It's a beautiful country and we had a very comfortable life there, but Argentinians are big meat-eaters and I was frustrated, as there weren't many sushi customers. After a year, my wife Yoko was pregnant with our second child and we returned to Japan.
Japan was suffering from an economic slump and we struggled financially. I also found the readjustment from owner to employee difficult. Things weren't working out how I had dreamt they would and I was really disappointed.
I started working in a friend's sushi restaurant close to Tokyo, but I felt like such a failure, I couldn't stay in Japan. My wife and I talked it over a lot, and explaining that I wanted to try working overseas again, I asked if she would give me one more chance. Even though we had two small daughters, Junko and Yoshiko, Yoko agreed. She never complained and I appreciate her unrelenting support. We recently celebrated our 54th wedding anniversary.
Things looked up when renowned actor and gourmet, Nobuo Kaneko, introduced me to his friend who was looking for a chef partner in Anchorage.
The restaurant, Kioi, was far from finished. I grabbed a hammer and saw, and for six months I helped complete construction. I moved there on my own and Yoko and the children joined me in September 1977.
I found Alaska to be very beautiful, especially the rivers filled with salmon and mountains, ideal for hiking and skiing. Although they are on opposite sides of the world, it reminded me of my father's tales of his time in Palau. They are both wild and full of nature. It's also where I first found the black cod which inspired my signature dish that I created years later at my LA restaurant.
My life in Alaska involved buying and preparing fish, then opening the restaurant. I had stopped drinking and all I did was work hard. I still don't get time to sightsee; despite our restaurant being open in London for nearly 30 years, I've never seen Big Ben.
As the grand opening in October approached, the restaurant was getting busy with customers, largely working on the Trans-Alaska pipeline and from the nearby resort, Alyeska. Business was good and I took my first day off for Thanksgiving in November. It was a time for celebration, eating turkey with friends and family. It was close to midnight when the phone rang; my partner was calling to tell me the restaurant was on fire. I thought it was a joke until I heard the fire engines in the background. I went outside to the car and the sky was crimson with smoke snaking through the city.
We arrived as thick snow was falling. I was only wearing a thin t-shirt, but as I stood watching the burning flames engulf the restaurant, I felt nothing. The fire had been caused by an electrical problem and mercifully, there were no casualties, because it was a national holiday. Completely numb, I went home. This was my last chance and it had literally gone up in smoke. There was more bad news though; the insurance kicked in after 50 days and we'd only just started the process. I would need to take out a loan to survive. All I could think about was how to kill myself. I couldn't eat and if I took even a sip of water, I would choke. I stayed home the following week, surrounded by my young children shrieking and playing happily, oblivious to my plight. My brain was frozen, but their screams of joy eventually jolted me out of my stupor and suddenly I remembered: I have kids. Yoko, who had constantly been by my side, said, "Now, stop trying to kill yourself". I knew I needed to move forward, step-by-step, one millimetre at a time. Grateful for the loyalty of my wife and the health of my children, I scaled back my ambitions. My main objectives—which I continue to strive for—are not about making money, but creating great food with good service and making our guests happy.
"My main objectives—which I continue to strive for—are not about making money, but creating great food with good service and making our guests happy."
We went back to Japan, but I couldn't stay. When I called my friends, they would say they were too busy to speak. I missed talking to them, but they thought all I wanted was to borrow money. Only one person was there for me, Kiyoshi Sakai, my best friend from high school. Tragically, he took his life soon after, but I've never forgotten his kindness.
A week after returning to Japan, I left for Los Angeles to run a six-seater sushi bar for revered chef, Hiro Nishimura, at his family restaurant. He also helped get our green cards and loaned me the money to fund Matsuhisa, my first restaurant.
Robert de Niro became a regular customer at Matsuhisa when he was in town and asked me to open a restaurant in New York. I wasn't interested because I was still organising the restaurant. After Alaska, I was taking things very slowly, day-by-day. I even went to New York to stay with him, but this didn't change my mind. He never pushed me and four years later, he called to ask me again. Once more, I said no, but still he waited. I was scarred from my previous experiences and partners, but I realised that I could really trust this guy who had patiently been watching and waiting for four years. Next year, we celebrate our 32nd year in business together.
I've been back to Alaska once and it was very emotional. I always tremble remembering the trauma of the fire. The mayor of Anchorage wrote to me, saying that he's a big fan of Nobu's food and asked me to please return to Alaska to open a restaurant. I said, "Thank you very much, but we have no plans—yet".
