The last name Nishida It refers to Japan, but behind that lineage of discipline and resilience also coexists the warmth of childhood in La Plata between flower greenhouses and the family warehouse. His Japanese name, Akihiro, means “bright light that expands,” and Roberto, of Germanic origin, also evokes that resplendent glory: two languages for the same essence. Itamae chef and soul of Dashi For two decades, he marked a style that made sushi part of the Buenos Aires table without betraying the essentials: freshness, respect and technique. Businessman and teacher, he divides his time between the bar and his family: his wife Marina and his three children, Kenji, Zoe and Milo, while he brings his mix of roots to the plate and to life.
News: Your ancestors came from Japan following World War II. What memories do you have of your family and their stories?
Roberto Nishida: I always heard very contained stories. My dad and his family are originally from Nagasaki and the Second World War marked their destiny. When they found out what had happened in Hiroshima, they took refuge in the mountains because they knew that the next city to be bombed was going to be Nagasaki, because as a naval city it was a strategic place. On the morning of August 9, 1945, when my grandfather and my great-grandfather were going to go down to town to bring vegetables, the wheel of the cart broke and they were stranded on the road: from there they saw the mushroom-shaped cloud, and they saved themselves by hiding in wells in the ground. My great-grandmother was not as lucky. That story was always present, although it was not talked about much. For me it was a learning about resilience and the need to remake life, which was reflected in the decision to come to South America and start from scratch.
News: What was it like to arrive in Argentina and adapt to a new life?
Nishida: It was complicated. They came to Paraguay first, thinking they were arriving in a country like the United States. When they saw mountains, jungle, they wanted to die. They spent some time there and then, in 1955, they arrived in Argentina. My dad was about five years old. My grandparents had been farmers and there was the idea of Argentina as a fertile land. They settled in Colonia Urquiza, in Melchor Romero, the supply of La Plata. They were almost the first. They didn’t even know the language and they worked in floriculture, which was very demanding. My dad left it because the herbicide made him sick. And when he married my mother—also Japanese—he became a merchant. He bought a warehouse in the neighborhood, where I started working as a child.
News: What was that warehouse life like?
Nishida: Grocery type. It was like the center of the neighborhood: the only telephone, the post office, the people who sat and chatted. There I learned to choose a product, to understand seasons, to deal with suppliers and customers. He served wine by demijohn, bagged cookies, cut cold cuts. It was my first work school.
News: When did cooking appear in your life?
Nishida: After finishing high school I didn’t want to study, so I decided to go to Japan to explore and work to buy a car. There I had an aunt and a cousin, but I hardly even saw them. I had to do it alone and it was a very hard time. He lived in a boarding house with “other Nikkei” from Peru, Brazil and Paraguay. We were descendants of Japanese, but foreigners all the same. We were tired of eating instant ramen and frying, so we started taking turns cooking. There they taught me recipes like lomo saltado or feijoada. I understood that cooking could be an instrument of survival, a cultural bridge, and I discovered that I liked it.
News: In Argentina did you eat Japanese food?
Nishida: The only traditional thing was rice. Making sushi is like making barbecue. When I went to eat at my grandfather’s, he would start preparing the rice in the morning, and he would cut the fish. Because it’s not a minute.
News: Did you feel Japanese living there?
Nishida: Japan is a cold place. He taught me discipline, neatness and respect for processes. But it also made me realize that as a foreigner you are always one step behind, that you are the one who always has to bow your head. You will never belong. My dad already had a supermarket, they called me to help them, and besides, I missed it, so that made me value coming home.
News: How did your connection with professional cooking begin?
Nishida: Since I had returned from Japan, I was cooking at home. My mom was happy watching me try recipes and flavor combinations that I got from supplements or magazines. One day I saw the advertisement for IAG and another for Gato Dumas in the newspaper. There was no place at IAG, so I signed up for El Gato. My dad accompanied me and paid for the registration. At that moment he was hesitant, he thought cooking was a woman’s thing, but he supported me. They were six-hour days once a week. There I had Gato, Donato, Martiniano Molina, and Iwao Komiyama as teachers. In the second year, Guillermo Calabrese—co-founder of the place—offered me an internship. It was hard going back and forth every day. I was everyone’s helper, a lot of work, but it was a school of diversity: I learned French, Italian, and Arabic cuisine. I started working with Iwao exclusively. He chose me because I knew all the products and because I had that neatness that I had learned in Japan. He became my sushi teacher. Sushi was not yet fashionable: people told you: “This fish is raw, isn’t there any lemon, nothing?”
News: How was your arrival in Dashi?
Nishida: Working at Gato Dumas and with those chefs from El Gourmet opened many doors for me and made me gain contacts. It was 2003 and I wanted to deal with the pressure of a kitchen. Bianchi’s children just opened a restaurant called Bon with a sushi bar. I was into sushi, something I had learned from Iwao, because the average Japanese person doesn’t really know how to make sushi. I stayed for a couple of years, until a Japanese supplier who had known me since I was a child told me that they were looking for a head chef in Dashi. Dashi was the top one along with Morizono and set a style in Palermo. At the touch they took me and offered me to start as a boss. I almost had a heart attack! Managing teams, full nights, more than 200 covers, we worked non-stop. It was a boom and Palermo began to grow around us. I arrived with Japanese discipline and a desire to adapt the product to the local palate. It was Californian sushi, American style, not traditional Japanese.
News: Is Argentine sushi different from Japanese?
Nishida: Yes. In Japan the rolls have Japanese names and are simple, with a single filling: tuna, cucumber, tamango. Here they always look for different flavors. The Argentinian looks for freshness, contrast, sometimes crunchy textures, new flavors. That forces you to think about variants, not to lose the essence. And I play with that too. I like the mix. I respect Japanese, but I also like to blend. When I was at the Abrasados restaurant in Mendoza, for example, I made a sweetbread sushi and another with entrails. In France there is sushi with foie gras, in Colombia with banana. Sushi rice is like bread, it adapts to everything.
News: What is its differential today that sushi has become massive?
Nishida: The fresh. For me there always has to be a sushi bar manned at the moment. Sushi is expensive because it takes a dedicated person to make it. Sushi cannot be assembled trays. It’s like the pastry shop: if you don’t have a pastry maker, you don’t have desserts. I say sushi is premium because it requires someone exclusive to prepare it.
News: Is the sushi boom in Argentina here to stay?
Nishida: Before sushi was exotic, today it is an everyday food. It never went out of style. In delivery, the sushi is after the pizza, at the level of the empanada. In addition, all Japanese cuisine entered with force: wok, gyozas, tempuras, because what it has, beyond its typical flavor, is freshness. It is not heavy and oily like Chinese or a passing boom like Mexican.
News: His wife Marina is a pastry chef. Is it true that you made her the cook?
Nishida: When I went to do my internship at Gato Dumas I passed every day in front of the Auchan supermarket in Avellaneda where there was a bowling alley. Something very typical of the Japanese, who like karaoke, billiards or ping-pong, like games for two. I stopped every day to play a few lines to de-stress, and there I met Marina, who was the cashier. We started dating and when I worked at the restaurant, I convinced her to study pastry making. She loved it, and today she is a master pastry chef. So every day at home I cook, but birthdays are her turn!
News: And in the restaurant, who would you like to cook for?
Nishida: To anyone who sits at the bar. I don’t care who it is. I’m not looking to cook for celebrities, I like those who come to eat to feel that my food is good. That each dish is an act of respect, discipline and passion. And that is the best recognition.
