Jon Yao doesn’t rely on instinct alone. While many chefs speak of cooking as an art, driven by feeling and experience, Yao takes a more analytical approach. Every dish at Kato, his Michelin-starred Los Angeles restaurant, is the result of meticulous research, rigorous testing, and a deep commitment to data. “We document everything,” he says. “Even if an idea doesn’t work now, it might later. So we catalog it.”
A Curious Mind and a Love for Food
Born and raised in Walnut, California, in the eastern San Gabriel Valley, Yao grew up as a first-generation Taiwanese American. Food was always central in his household, not as a professional pursuit but as an essential cultural touchstone. His mother, a self-taught cook, learned from television and family recipes, recreating dishes that became part of their household’s repertoire. He recalls being fascinated with eggs as a child—not just as food, but as an ingredient of transformation. “My mom made it a point to tell me that eggs were a luxury,” he says. “So I just made a lot of eggs.”
As a kid, he spent much of his time in restaurants—not working in them yet, but absorbing their energy. A close family friend ran a small chain of Taiwanese restaurants, where Yao spent hours watching the controlled chaos of a kitchen. Though he didn’t know it at the time, those experiences were laying a foundation for his future.
From Law School Plans to Kitchen Life
Yao’s path to becoming a chef was unconventional. He originally planned to pursue law, studying anthropology at UC Riverside while preparing for the LSATs. But food was a constant pull. “I would save up money to go try different restaurants in LA,” he recalls. “Not just for the food, but to understand how things worked.”
While in college, he started working in small Asian restaurants, doing everything from bussing tables to dishwashing to cutting vegetables. Then came the stages—long, unpaid apprenticeships in professional kitchens. Unlike traditional culinary students who climb the ranks in structured kitchens, Yao pieced together his education by working in multiple restaurants, absorbing techniques, and devouring cookbooks. The French Laundry Cookbook was a revelation to him. “It was like reading about magic,” he says.
The lack of formal training shaped his approach. “In school, you’re conditioned to think you need certifications to be qualified,” he says. “But in kitchens, no one cares about that. It’s about what you can do.” This mindset led him to question everything—why techniques were done a certain way, whether long-held traditions made sense, and how small adjustments could lead to better outcomes.
