The Foie Gras Monument
Fragility and a Lasting Impression on One Plate
One of HKG’s signature dishes is the “Foie Gras Monument”. Squares of foie gras and thin brown sugar tuiles lean against one another. The pieces appear almost ready to fall, yet hold a delicate balance.
I began thinking about this dish around 2019.
A Dish for People Who Do Not Usually Enjoy Foie Gras
Foie gras has long held an important place in French cuisine, and I have worked with it throughout my career. Yet a traditional foie gras terrine can feel rich and heavy. Some people also find its distinctive aroma difficult.
My wife, who is involved in running HKG and has eaten more of my food than almost anyone, used to think of foie gras as strong-smelling, greasy and something she disliked. That was before we met. Her impression changed considerably after she tried this dish.
Other guests who had not enjoyed foie gras have since told me, “I can eat this,” or “This has changed how I think about foie gras.”
Could I make a dish that people enjoyed for its flavour, including those who had previously disliked it, rather than simply because it was an expensive ingredient? That question was the beginning.
Expressing a Memory of Southern France Through Japanese Ingredients
I did not want simply to weaken the flavour of the foie gras to make it easier to eat. I wanted to bring out its qualities by combining it with other elements.
I thought of a pairing I loved in southern France: apricot and lavender. Could I express that relationship through Japanese ingredients? I chose Nanko ume in place of the apricot.
The sweetness and acidity of the ume balance the richness of the foie gras, while lavender ice cream adds fragrance and coldness.
French cuisine sometimes pairs foie gras with a sweet bread such as pain d’épices. I expressed that role through Japanese brown sugar in a thin tuile. Brown sugar connects with the foie gras, the ume and the lavender alike.
My aim was to respect the underlying combinations of French cuisine while expressing them through Japanese ingredients: a foie gras dish rooted in Japan and in my perspective as a Japanese chef.
Building Upwards from the Plate
Alongside flavour, I was considering form. I wanted a dish built in three dimensions, with squares and circles rising from the plate, rather than a flat arrangement.
Simply stacking squares would look too stable. I wanted to express fragility, transience and the tension of something that seems about to fall but does not.
I cut the corners of the foie gras squares and placed them at an angle. The arrangement should look precarious. In practice, of course, it must not collapse. This became the most difficult part of the dish.
Again and Again, It Fell
The individual elements—foie gras, Nanko ume, lavender and brown sugar—came together relatively early. The difficulty was assembling them into a single dish that could actually be served to a guest.
However many times I built it, it fell. I tested which face of the foie gras to cut, how large the supporting surface should be, how much of each corner to remove and which angle would hold.
The firmness of the foie gras and the jelly, and the height and length of the brown sugar tuile, all affected the structure. How many centimetres should the tuile measure? At what angle should it sit? What condition should the foie gras be in to achieve a straight cut?
I repeatedly failed while searching for a form that looked unstable but worked reliably as a dish. From the initial idea to completion, the process took about six months.
The Final Adjustment Was the Finish on the Palate
Once the structure worked, I returned to the question of whether the elements truly became one dish in the mouth.
I paid particular attention to the firmness of the Nanko ume jelly and the foie gras. The jelly should not linger alone, nor should the foie gras melt away first. I sought textures that would meet naturally and register as one flavour when eaten together.
The same applied to the lavender ice cream. Would its coldness or aroma overwhelm the foie gras? Would the flavour of the foie gras remain after the ice cream joined it, with the two continuing to complement one another through the finish?
What I value in French cuisine extends beyond the first taste. How do the aroma and savouriness remain after a mouthful has been swallowed? That lingering impression is also part of the dish.
Until the Dish Reaches the Table
The experience is not completed in the kitchen. The apparently unbalanced arrangement naturally brings a degree of concentration to the service staff carrying it.
They move carefully. The moment the dish is set on the table, it draws attention and conversation begins. Preparing, carrying, presenting and eating the food are all parts of the same experience.
A dish with an unfamiliar three-dimensional form appears midway through the course. It creates surprise, gives people something to talk about and becomes part of their memory of the occasion.
One Question Leads to the Next
The Foie Gras Monument began with a simple question: could I make foie gras enjoyable for someone who usually disliked it?
As I explored that question, my thinking expanded. How could Japanese ingredients express the idea? What form might create a new kind of surprise? What atmosphere would arise as the plate arrived? What impression should remain after it had been eaten?
Each question opened the door to another. The Foie Gras Monument is a dish that grew through that continuing process of asking.