I didn’t say, ‘Let’s go back to the dining tables of yesteryear.’ Nor did I say, ‘Let’s preserve the flavours of home-cooked meals.’ I didn’t say we should cook from scratch every day, nor that we should teach our children to cook.

It is perfectly fine for the form of a dish to change. Just as oden has endured in different forms across different regions, so too will dishes continue to take on different forms with the passing of the ages. Soup made in a microwave is no less a dish than one simmered over a traditional hearth. I have no interest in lamenting such changes in form.

What I wish to leave for the future is not the finished dish itself, but rather the opportunity.

A place where you can engage with things whenever you like, feel free to make mistakes, think for yourself and make your own decisions, and share what you’ve created with others. The fact that such a place exists within your daily life, right within reach.

One such place is the kitchen, which is right at the heart of our daily lives.

The more I think about it, the more I realise just how amazing this is.





Let me take a moment to recap what we’ve covered so far.

In Part 1, we took a peek inside the kitchen. Starting with a hand reaching for an egg, we saw six forces at work within the cook: deciding, imagining, experimenting, readjusting, delivering and connecting. None of these were things I had taught them; they were all qualities that had always been within them.

In Part 2, we turned our attention beyond the kitchen. The kitchen was not a self-contained space. It was connected through distance to nearby fields and distant lands. It was connected through time to the wisdom of our ancestors and to future generations. And these recipes, far from diminishing as they were passed on, grew in number the more they were shared, passing from person to person.

In Part 3, we looked at how these dishes have been passed down through the generations. Rather than settling on a single ‘correct’ way, the dishes have evolved whilst adapting to local conditions, and they will continue to evolve in the future.



I’ll take a moment to reflect briefly on the people I’ve met.

The child who hadn’t eaten any vegetables ate a salad they’d made themselves. The adult who’d never really looked inside the fridge before began to see their familiar kitchen in a new light. Y-chan, who’d been quietly taking notes, is now making a picture book. K-san is welcoming people into their own kitchen.Ms S speaks confidently about vegetables. The chef, who used to make only dishes that vanished as soon as they were served, has been creating one processed food product after another.

Were these people special? I don’t think so.

What they all had in common was not a special talent, but rather the fact that they came across opportunities to take action and placed themselves in those situations time and again. Through that cumulative process, what had always been within them gradually began to emerge.

To put it another way, one could also say that there must be countless people at this very moment who possess that same quality within them, yet have not yet encountered the right opportunity.

I believe that, when it comes down to it, the reason I have continued running classes and courses for the past 20 years is to bring together people who have not yet met and to create opportunities for them. And this work does not have to take the form of a classroom. Whether it is in someone’s kitchen at home or at a local community centre, as long as there is a small space where one can cook, opportunities can be created.





However, if left unchecked, this opportunity will gradually diminish.

So, whose job is it to ensure that opportunities remain available?

I don’t want to make a big deal out of this. The moment I start talking about national policy or the school system, this issue slips out of my hands and becomes someone else’s job. The opportunities I’ve seen so far haven’t been found in that sort of environment.

Think back. A place where you can feel safe to make mistakes isn’t something you have to go looking for; it begins with a single word from someone.

‘It’s fine to make mistakes, so just give it a go.’ That single sentence requires no budget. It requires no system. All it takes is a little leeway to accept minor setbacks.

In other words, the work involved in preserving the tradition of cooking for future generations can be broken down into surprisingly small units: a single kitchen, a single adult, a single reply. Once we break it down to that level, it becomes work that we can begin right here in our own lives.



So, on a busy morning, please don’t be afraid to say, ‘We’ll do it another time.’

If you’ve read this far, you already know what it means when those words pile up. But that doesn’t mean there’s anyone who can put up with it every single time. I can’t do it either. It’s all right to just say it.

However, if I could make just one request, it would be this: please do let that ‘next time’ actually happen at least once. A leisurely weekend morning would be fine. It’s fine if you have to lay some newspaper on the floor first.

Don’t let ‘See you next time’ turn out to be a lie. I think that, at the end of the day, that’s all there is to leaving the door open.

And it is not just children who offer opportunities. Your own kitchen is also an opportunity for you.

A bowl of miso soup on a day when you were planning to make do with ready-made meals. One of the usual ingredients in miso soup. That is an opportunity you can set aside for yourself. Even without anyone teaching you, and without needing anyone’s permission, a space is already waiting for you, right by the sink, ready for you to open up from tonight.





‘The power of the future, nurtured by cooking.’ That is the phrase I have chosen for the title.

Having come this far, I have now reached a point where I can explain what it means in this way.

The ‘Powers of the Future’ refer to these six powers: deciding, imagining, trying, rebuilding, delivering and connecting.

And, whilst drawing on that power, the art of cooking has repeatedly adapted to each new change.

To nurture is not to provide something from the outside, but to wait for the innate strength to emerge.

And it was in the kitchen that it happened.

Therefore, preserving our cuisine for future generations means preserving opportunities for them to develop their abilities.

It is not that I am worried about the future of cooking. Rather, I regret that the places where that talent can flourish are disappearing, one by one.

Cooking itself will probably not disappear, so there’s no need to worry. I cannot imagine that a tradition that has endured for so long would come to an end in the space of a few decades. Somewhere in the world, someone is simmering something even today.

My concern isn’t about world cuisine, but something much closer to home. It’s about whether opportunities will disappear from your kitchen—from within that child’s reach. The future of cooking is, in fact, something that lies within that very reach.





It’s 6.45 in the morning. I’m heading back to that kitchen, which is always the busiest place.

If you hear someone say, ‘I’d like to try cracking an egg tomorrow morning,’ please give them just a little bit of your time.

There might be eggshells. The yolk might get squashed. You might end up having to mop the floor. Even so, right now, in your hands, something is about to begin.

The future, surprisingly enough, often begins in places like that.



TERUMI ISHIBASHI

FARM8 Co. Ltd.,

In Conclusion to the Next Chapter: ‘The Future Potential Nurtured by Cooking’