Welcome to my kitchen!

My name is Haruki Sakamoto, and if you ever find yourself walking past the old pier in Monterey, California, there’s a good chance you’ll catch the scent of sizzling soy-glazed snapper or hear the laughter spilling out of my father’s little restaurant—the very place where my journey began.

I was born in Sapporo, Japan, but when I was eight, my family packed up our memories and dreams and moved to the United States. My father, a quiet man with calloused hands and a deep love for the sea, opened a modest seafood stand in a tucked-away corner of town. It was nothing fancy—just a few plastic tables, a handwritten menu, and the freshest fish you’d ever taste. Business was slow at first. Too slow. I remember the long afternoons when only the gulls came to visit. But I also remember the way my father moved behind the counter: calm, precise, like a painter in the middle of a masterpiece.

As a teenager, I spent every spare moment in that kitchen. I learned how to gut a mackerel blindfolded, how to coax flavor out of kelp and bonito, how the smell of charred miso could stir something in your soul. My father’s techniques were pure tradition, passed down from generations of fishermen and cooks. But I was curious. I started experimenting—adding citrus where there was none, trying new marinades, introducing sashimi to smoky American BBQ. Some days, the results were disasters. Other days, they were magic.

Everything changed the day we introduced the “Ocean Fire Roll” — my own creation. It was bold, spicy, a little wild. People came out of nowhere to try it. Word spread. Food bloggers, then local news, then tourists. What was once a struggling hole-in-the-wall became a destination. But we never changed the soul of it. My father still greets every guest with a nod and a smile. I still take time to slice every piece of fish myself.

Seafood will always be my first love, but as I grew more confident, I wandered further from the shore. I remember one slow winter, when fishing was tough and our usual menu felt too sparse. I started playing with chicken—a humble protein, but full of potential. My first experiment was a miso-marinated chicken thigh, grilled over binchotan charcoal, finished with a honey-yuzu glaze. It became an instant favorite. Then came a take on karaage, but dusted with ancho chili and paired with a tangy avocado crema.

And beef? Ah, that was an adventure. I crafted a teriyaki-basted short rib taco with pickled daikon slaw, which quickly turned into a local favorite during our monthly “fusion nights.” I even dared to blend sukiyaki flavors into a slow-braised brisket sandwich, served on toasted milk bread with crispy onions. There were skeptics, sure. But there was also joy in proving that Japanese flavors could dance across any plate, not just the ones from the sea.

Today, I specialize in seafood because it speaks to me. Every fish tells a story of where it came from, what it ate, what waters it swam through. But I also believe that creativity knows no boundaries. Whether it’s chicken, beef, or the freshest catch, my goal is the same: to tell a story, to spark a memory, to make someone close their eyes after the first bite.

To all the aspiring chefs, curious eaters, and seafood lovers out there: keep experimenting, keep tasting, keep burning your fingers and learning from it. The kitchen is a place of endless discovery. And sometimes, the best recipes are the ones you haven’t dreamed up yet.