After writing several times about 'writing', this time I want to discuss one of the things I enjoy, the culinary world from the perspective of a connoisseur (well, more from a foody POVs).
I have read several chef autobiographies and quite enjoy Anthony Bourdain's shows. From reading and enjoying several of these things, I assume in cooking, they test you on being perfect and precise. After that, you can experiment and have fun. You've got to be almost perfect to pass, which can lead to branching out and becoming loved for YOUR cooking, not the perfect cooking.
This observation contains a profound truth about the relationship between technical mastery and creative expression, a pattern that repeats across all domains of human craft.
I experienced this truth firsthand while dining at August Restaurant—one of Asia's 50 Best Restaurants 2024—celebrating my wife's birthday.
Months later, I can still recall with startling clarity the sensory details of each course: the precise temperature of a barely seared scallop, the unexpected harmony of local ingredients reimagined through classical technique, the choreographed service that felt both meticulous and effortless. Every element reflected years of disciplined training transformed into something distinctly personal.
The Necessary Constraints of Discipline
Without intending to equate positions, I limit the use of 'we' in this personal essay to the parallels that I feel I find in the world of products and writing.
Every meaningful pursuit begins with constraints. The novice painter must understand color theory before breaking its rules. The apprentice musician drills scales before improvising. The martial artist repeats basic forms thousands of times before developing a personal style.
This initial phase of rigorous discipline often feels limiting. It can seem mechanical, even soulless. We follow recipes precisely, measure ingredients to the gram, time processes to the second. We're judged not on our creativity but on our ability to execute established standards flawlessly.
Yet sitting across the table at both August's refined dining room and at Joongla (a casual restaurant in Bandung created by my former colleague) I've witnessed how this technical foundation becomes invisible to diners while remaining essential to the experience. As someone who has dined across the spectrum from street stalls to celebrated establishments, I've observed how the most memorable meals share this quality: technique so thoroughly mastered it becomes transparent, allowing something more personal to emerge.
Many abandon their pursuits during this phase, mistaking technical training for the entirety of the craft. They conclude that the discipline lacks room for personal expression, never realizing that this rigor is merely the foundation upon which all meaningful expression will be built.
The Paradox of Technical Mastery
What appears contradictory is actually essential: technical mastery doesn't constrain creativity, it enables it. This is the paradox at the heart of all craftsmanship.
Consider the classically trained chef who can execute mother sauces with machine-like precision. This technical foundation isn't the end of their journey, it's the beginning. Once these techniques reside in muscle memory, the chef's conscious mind is freed to explore, innovate, and express.
At August Restaurant, this paradox revealed itself in a locally-sourced dish. The technical execution was flawless, their 'Asinan Jakarta' is impeccable work—well one of it—yet what moved me wasn't the technique itself but how these elements had been assembled to express something deeply personal about Indonesian culinary heritage reimagined through a contemporary lens. The chef, Hans Chritian's mastery hadn't constrained his voice but amplified it.
Similarly, dining at Joongla in Bandung—hosted by teh Dynna—showed me that this principle transcends price point and formality. In this casual setting, my former colleague had created an environment where technical competence served honest expression rather than pretension. The dishes reflected both fundamental skill and authentic personality, comfort food elevated not by luxury ingredients but by precise execution and genuine point of view.
The most groundbreaking jazz musicians mastered conventional harmony before transcending it. Pablo Picasso demonstrated flawless classical technique before pioneering cubism. The most experimental filmmakers thoroughly understand traditional cinematography and editing before subverting those conventions, heck I just watched SINNERS and everything feels beyond expectations because Ryan Coogler, the creator has a strong fundamental and makes it more personal.
From Imitation to Innovation
The journey from technical competence to creative voice follows a natural progression. First, we imitate. We reproduce existing forms with increasing fidelity. We learn by doing what others have done before us.
Then we assimilate. The techniques we've practiced become internalized. We no longer need to consciously think about each step. The how becomes automatic, allowing us to focus on the why and the what.
Finally, we innovate. With fundamentals firmly established, we begin making choices, first small ones, then increasingly bold ones that reflect our unique perspective, experience, and sensibilities.
The Freedom of Constraints
What makes this process powerful is that constraints actually enhance our creativity. Working within established parameters forces us to solve problems, to think deeply, to find new possibilities within defined boundaries.
The Japanese concept of "shuhari" (守破離) captures this evolution perfectly: "shu" (守, obey) refers to learning fundamentals, "ha" (破, break) involves departing from them, and "ri" (離,separate) represents transcending them entirely to find one's own path.
The most distinctive voices emerge not despite rigorous training but because of it. The chef who can execute perfect classical technique can then confidently break those rules, not out of ignorance but from deep understanding. They know precisely which rules are structural and which are merely conventional.
When we encounter truly distinctive work in cooking, art, music, or any domain, we're experiencing the culmination of this journey. We're witnessing technical mastery that has evolved into personal expression.
What draws us to such work isn't technical perfection alone. We're moved by the humanity we recognize within it that have unique perspective, the personal history, the distinctive voice that could only have emerged from one specific person's experience and understanding.
My varied dining experiences across price points, concepts, and styles have repeatedly confirmed this truth. I remember certain meals not because every element was technically flawless, but because they spoke with distinctive clarity. Whether it was the celebratory tasting menu at August where each course built upon the last to create a coherent narrative about place and tradition, or the understated warmth of my former colleague's casual concept at Joongla where every detail reflected a singular vision, the most memorable dining experiences transcend mere execution.
I've come to recognize that technical excellence without personal expression feels hollow, while personal expression without technical foundation feels amateurish. The magic happens at their intersection.
This is why we might appreciate the technical brilliance of one chef but feel emotionally connected to another's less "perfect" but more personal cooking. Technical excellence impresses us, but authentic voice resonates with us.
The journey from discipline to freedom is never truly complete. The master continues to practice fundamentals even while pioneering new territories. They understand that technical skill requires maintenance, that the foundation must remain solid even as the structure built upon it grows more ambitious.
This is why the most accomplished practitioners in any field often remain the most humble students of it (not some of you who act like a snob, ugh!). They recognize that mastery isn't a destination but a continuous process, and the tension between rigorous discipline and creative freedom generates perpetual growth.
Lessons Beyond Craft
This pattern extends beyond traditional crafts into all domains of human endeavor. The business leader who thoroughly understands conventional management principles before developing an innovative culture. The scientist who masters existing paradigms before challenging them. The parent who learns established approaches to child-rearing before finding their own authentic style.
In each case, the initial constraints of discipline ultimately yield to the freedom of authentic expression. What begins as imitation evolves into innovation. What starts as "perfect cooking" becomes "YOUR cooking."
The most difficult part of this journey is persisting through the phase where technical mastery feels limiting. It requires faith that the current constraints are temporary, that the repetitive practice serves a greater purpose.
Those who endure this phase (like me, who trust the process even when it feels mechanical) eventually experience the liberation that comes when technique becomes transparent. The pianist no longer thinks about finger positions. The chef no longer needs to consciously recall ratios and temperatures. The craftsperson's hands know what to do, freeing the mind to explore new possibilities.
As Usual, A Conclusion
"In cooking, they test you on being perfect. After that, you can experiment and have fun."
This insight captures a universal truth:
- Technical excellence isn't the endpoint, it's the starting point.
- Mastery of fundamentals doesn't confine creativity, it liberates it.
- The most distinctive, authentic expressions emerge not by bypassing discipline but by moving through it.
I still remember the subtle interplay of textures in a dessert course at August. Months later, I recall not just the flavors but the feeling they evoked. Similarly, the unpretentious but perfectly executed dishes at Joongla created memories not just of food but of connection, place, and moment.
These experiences, along with countless others across dining concepts, price ranges, and atmospheres, have taught me to see beyond surface impressions. Having experienced food from both sides—as an appreciative diner and as someone who understands the craft behind the plate—I've learned that what appears effortless usually requires the greatest effort, what feels spontaneous often emerges from the most rigorous practice.
The goal isn't perfection for its own sake, but perfection as a pathway to something more profound: the ability to translate your unique perspective into work that carries your unmistakable signature. The joy isn't in flawless execution of established standards, but in the freedom to move beyond them, to create something that could only have come from you.
The true master isn't known for perfect technique, but for perfect technique transformed into personal voice. Not for cooking by the book, but for cooking that could only have come from their particular kitchen, their specific journey, their unique vision of what food can be.
This is why certain experiences linger in memory long after the plates are cleared, becoming not just what we consume but meaningful chapters in our own stories.