Zen and the Art of California Cooking

Chef Junya Yamasaki doesn’t think his story is special. “It’s awfully boring,” he says. To him, his self-taught journey—from a childhood in the Japanese countryside to Tokyo, then Paris, and eventually to London, where he became chef of the acclaimed udon noodle bar Koya—was simply the result of needing a job. But for anyone who has experienced what Yamasaki is doing now at his Arts District restaurant Yess in Los Angeles, it’s clear that cooking is far more than “just a job.”

Yess, which began as the bright orange Yess Aquatic food truck in 2020, is now a calming, cavernous space with bar seating and tables. It feels more like a quiet theater for Yamasaki’s culinary art than a typical restaurant. Yet despite the beauty and precision of the food, there is nothing showy about him. His signature modesty—both in how he speaks and how he cooks—defines his approach.

Having spent time living and studying at Antaiji, a Zen monastery in Japan, Yamasaki approaches cooking with meticulous care rooted in Zen tradition. Yet he’s quick to clarify that one of his most celebrated dishes, the “Monk’s Chirashi,” isn’t inspired by temple food. “That is not the food they eat in temple,” he says. At Yess, he simply calls it “vegan chirashi.” The dish is a vibrant composition: yellow fennel flowers, spring asparagus, peas, artichokes, shiso, sesame, white grapefruit, and slivered almonds, all arranged atop seasoned rice. It’s an ode to chirashi—a celebratory form of sushi served over rice that, unlike Edomae sushi, doesn’t always include fish. Traditionally made for gatherings, this version is an exquisite celebration of vegetables—Yamasaki’s ethos in a bowl.

Yamasaki steers clear of the word “philosophy.” “I’m not the philosopher. I’m just a cook. I’m practicing,” he says, referring to his devotion to the Zen practice of honoring nature and seasonality. He explains that there’s no such thing as a truly Japanese restaurant outside Japan, because traditional Japanese cuisine is rooted in the idea of cooking only with what the earth provides locally.

“Idealistically, I’m cooking more Japanese than any other Japanese restaurant,” says Yamasaki of the dining scene in Los Angeles.

“The practice of Japanese food is not about using soy sauce and rice. In the purest sense, it means embracing nature and season,” he says. To his point, importing ingredients from Japan—as many restaurants do—goes against the core of traditional Japanese cooking.

At Yess, this means sourcing exclusively from the land and sea surrounding Southern California. On his days off, Yamasaki often fishes or forages for chanterelles and white porcini mushrooms—“AKA White King Bolete, Boletus barrowsii,” he specifies. They’re incredibly seasonal and appear only for a few weeks each year. Though he won’t disclose exact locations, his search spans from Lompoc to Morro Bay. These foraging and fishing practices have become central to Yess’s culinary identity.

“We do not use any fish from Japan. We try to stick to local as much as possible. Because I’m practicing Zen philosophy, which is: Let’s embrace the nature. Let’s live in nature. How can I say this is seasonal if I use Japanese fish?”

Of course, sourcing sashimi-grade, locally caught fish has come with challenges. In order to match the quality of Japan’s seafood, Yamasaki had to teach local fishermen the sustainable and humane techniques of shinkeijime and ikejime—methods that preserve freshness and minimize suffering.

“The only reason I had to teach them is because the quality of local fish is horrible,” he says plainly. Now, instead of relying on imports, Yamasaki works directly with fishermen and companies like Seremoni—a tech startup that enables large-scale harvesting of ikejime fish. At Yess, Seremoni’s black cod appears in miso-marinated temaki, grilled whole, or smoked into a creamy clam chowder, served in place of bacon.

“I’m just trying to embrace California nature, because that’s where I’m living,” Yamasaki says. Even fish, he points out, follows the rhythm of the seasons. “If it’s coming from the wild, everything has a season.”

Still, not all guests understand that. He laughs recalling how diners often come in asking for tuna, referencing a viral YouTube video of him breaking down a 137-pound bluefin and using every part. “Don’t you get it?” he says. “There’s seasonality! The tuna comes only in the summer!”

Asked what keeps him going, Yamasaki shrugs. “Once you open the restaurant, you have to keep on doing it.” The work, he admits, brings more pain than joy. “Having a restaurant is like that.”

Still, he returns to it each day with the quiet resolve of shoshin—the Zen concept of beginner’s mind. In cooking as in practice, it's not perfection that matters, but the willingness to meet each day, each season, each ingredient with humility and attention. “I’m just a cook,” he says. “I’m still practicing.”