The Art of Plating: Lessons from Rosanjin and Japanese Chefs

The art of gastronomy has a history in and of itself. And in Japan, the foremost epicure of modern times is Kitaoji Rosanjin (1883–1959 CE).

Rosanjin was not merely engaged in the pursuit of delicious meals. Rather, he was a restaurateur of haute cuisine, sourcing first-rate ingredients from all over Japan to entertain guests of his exclusive restaurant. Not confined to cooking, he even produced his own tableware to ensure the vessels matched the cuisine he served. In his relentless, hands-on quest for the very best in gastronomy, there is arguably no equal in Japanese history.

Rosanjin’s published writings repeatedly expound the importance of tableware in cooking. He was active in the public discourse around food, voicing his opinions on plating and actively sharing his ideas.

How might we, over sixty-five years after Rosanjin’s death, incorporate Rosanjin’s extensive knowledge into our own use of Japanese tableware?

While it may be impossible to sit down to dinner and get pointers from the man himself, there still remain several chefs in Japan who have passed down his philosophy and techniques, and continue to carefully use his methods today.

Hoping for clues, Team Musubi reached out to one such chef: Nakajima Sadaharu, owner of Shinjuku Kappo Nakajima: a Michelin-starred Japanese restaurant in Tokyo’s Shinjuku district known for its deep connection to Rosanjin.

So, who was Kitaoji Rosanjin?

Born in 1883 to a Kyoto family with some social status but little money, Rosanjin spent his childhood being passed from household to household as an adopted child. The family that ultimately took him in put him in charge of cooking. That appears to be what sparked his interest in food and cuisine. Rosanjin had a discerning sense for flavor from a young age, but as an adoptee, he likely rarely had the chance to eat what he truly wanted. Thus he developed a strong wish, which he would later voice:

“(In the future) I want to be able to eat delicious things anytime I want and truly enjoy food from the bottom of my heart.”

After graduating elementary school at the age of ten, Rosanjin remained in Kyoto, switching jobs several times while studying calligraphy. Eventually he moved to Tokyo, where in his early twenties he made a name for himself as a calligrapher. Later, he traveled to the Korean Peninsula and China—seen as cultural sources of Japanese tradition—where he studied various art forms. After returning to Japan, he journeyed around the country, deepening his connections with art-savvy wealthy patrons and ceramic artists while enthusiastically collecting art and antiques.

As part of his roamings, Rosanjin spent significant time in Kanazawa—still known today for its rich food culture. There, a Kanazawa restaurant owner introduced him to the flavors of the local Kaga cuisine, which features an abundance of seasonal mountain and seafood ingredients served in meticulously chosen tableware. He also studied the traditional Japanese kaiseki cuisine presented in tea ceremonies. Rosanjin is said to have acquired broad knowledge in Kanazawa in everything from flavoring and plating dishes to tableware harmony and the spirit of hospitality. It wouldn’t be an overstatement to call Kanazawa the cradle of Rosanjin’s artful gastronomy.

But until this point, Rosanjin hadn’t yet become a well-known name in the restaurant industry. That changed starting in 1919, when at the age of thirty-six he founded a shop for antique art and wares in Tokyo’s Kyobashi district alongside business associate Nakamura Takeshiro. Two years later, in 1921, they remodeled, adding a kitchen and guest room and turning the store into a members-only restaurant that they named the Bishoku Club, or “Gourmet Club.” Here, diners would be entertained and served on tableware Rosanjin himself had collected. This venture quickly gained a reputation among Tokyo’s food connoisseurs. Luminaries from the political and financial worlds flocked there, and membership reportedly reached 200 people.

Subsequently, the concept behind the Bishoku Club was carried over to Rosanjin’s next venture: the members-only dining club Hoshigaoka Saryo. Located in Tokyo’s Akasaka district, Rosanjin and Nakamura took over its management in 1925 and furthered their artistic culinary vision. At the new location, Rosanjin pursued even higher levels of gastronomy, sometimes hosting large-scale banquets for as many as one hundred guests. Springing off from their success, they built their own ceramics kiln in Kamakura, the Hoshigaoka Kiln, to produce their own tableware in-house.

The first days of the kiln saw its operation handled mainly by artisans from across Japan, with Rosanjin’s contribution limited to painting the tableware’s designs. But he soon declared this “insufficient” and began involving himself from the very first steps of preparing the clay itself. This thoroughness bore fruit, and Hoshigaoka Saryo grew even more highly regarded. Despite the nation being in the midst of an economic crisis, Hoshigaoka Saryo’s membership ballooned to more than a thousand, and there arose a saying: “If you’re not a member of Hoshigaoka, you’re not a notable figure in Japan.”

However, in 1936, just one year after opening an Osaka branch of Hoshigaoka Saryo, a forty-nine-year-old Rosanjin was expelled from his own restaurants. Accused of reckless management that ignored the restaurants’ finances, he was ousted by an opposition faction that had grown dissatisfied with his autocratic approach.

Even after that, Rosanjin energetically continued his work as a ceramicist at Hoshigaoka Kiln under the support of various patrons. By some estimates, he created as many as 300,000 pieces, and his works were—and are—held in very high regard. In his later years, the Japanese government even offered him the distinction of Living National Treasure, an official title for those who possess important intangible cultural assets such as exceptional artistic or craft skills, but Rosanjin declined, saying such statuses were unsuited to his artistic philosophy. Four years after that refusal, in 1959, he passed away at the age of 76 at a hospital in Yokohama, nearby Kamakura, closing the curtain on a tumultuous life.

Rosanjin shared many observations about the relationship between food and tableware during his lifetime. Among the most well-known of his statements is, “Tableware is the life of cuisine.”

Believing that delicious cuisine requires tableware worthy of it, he once said, “Food will not come alive atop an inferior plate,” and, “It is important that food and its tableware be in harmony as one.”

The establishment of Hoshigaoka Kiln and his personal ceramics work, all tailored specifically to making tableware for his restaurant Hoshigaoka Saryo, is testament to the strength of Rosanjin’s convictions.

Many of Rosanjin’s pieces continue to be admired not only as creative works. This is not only for their high-level attainment of artistic beauty, but also as objects that bring out the charm of the cuisine plated upon them, deepening the flavors that much more. They remain appreciated by professional chefs and general tableware enthusiasts alike.

So what exactly did Rosanjin mean when he referred to tableware that “brings out the best in a meal” or that “harmonizes with food and enhances its flavor?”

To find out, I spoke with Nakajima Sadahara, the third-generation owner-chef of Shinjuku Kappo Nakajima. The first head chef of Hoshigaoka Saryo was his grandfather, Nakajima Sadadajiro, who passed the tradition down to the family’s third son, Sadazo, who in turn passed it down to his own son, Sadaharu. Now, having taken charge of the restaurant, Nakajima Sadahara is recognized for faithfully preserving the Rosanjin-style cooking methods he learned from his grandfather and father—while developing them in new and flexible ways to suit modern times. The restaurant attracts many visitors from overseas.

As soon as Team Musubi arrived at the restaurant, Nakajima graciously showed us some Rosanjin ceramics owned by the restaurant.

He laid out on the table a couple sometsuke “blue and white” plates crossed with shining kitsugi repairs; an octagonal, Oribe ware dish designed for the mukozuke course of kaiseki; a simple, square side plate; and a pair of red and sky-blue ko-Kutani tokkuri “sake carafes” that had been originally created as commemorative gifts for a birthday event at Hoshigaoka Saryo. The underside of these pieces have the artist’s signature of a hiragana “ろ” (ro, short for Rosanjin) or the kanji “星” (hoshi, short for Hoshigaoka), signifying they are Rosanjin’s works. There was also a Rosanjin-made lacquer bowl—a rarity, as Rosanjin did not often create lacquerware—featuring a Hidehira design: patterns in vermillion over a black base, accented with gold leaf.

“Because Rosanjin himself cooked and had a deep knowledge of food and dining,” Nakajima told us, “many of the tableware pieces he made enhance the dishes placed on them and are easy for chefs to use.

“Of course, this isn’t true of Rosanjin’s tableware alone. My grandfather and father both would select tableware for a particular menu by looking at pieces and picturing what food could be arranged on it best. I grew up directly observing them do that. Once I began my own journey as a chef, I followed their example and naturally started doing the same thing.”

But what might we as non-professionals learn from Rosanjin about how to choose tableware?

Nakajima offered the following insight. “It’s important to choose tableware that will make the food look delicious to the diner. One key concept here is to match the natural world. Take a scorching midsummer day, for instance. Nobody wants to eat off heavy tableware, or dark, black or brown tableware on such a hot day, do they?

“Another point is to choose tableware that creates a kind of synergy, where the food and the vessel both bring out the best in each other. For example, if you have a square piece of food, like a square fish fillet, and you put it on a similarly square plate, that doesn’t create any visual interest or contrast. So in that case, I would choose a round plate. In the same way, if a menu item doesn’t have much color, it’s good to pair it with tableware with plenty of pattern or decoration, or that’s bright- or multi-colored. Conversely, if the food item itself is colorful, it’s usually good to try to choose tableware with a simple design.”

Nakajima went on, “I do want to add that there’s not just a single right answer when it comes to selecting tableware. For instance, one popular summer dish is hiyayakko”—cold tofu cut simply into a cube. “It’s quite understated visually. Plating it on a monochromatic white dish conveys a refreshing coolness, while if you arrange it on a dish with the feel of unglazed clay, the fine texture of the tofu really stands out. While the two approaches are different, each plating creates a harmony between food and dish that makes the food look even more appetizing, and each can be said to be a successful choice of tableware.”

After choosing tableware that suits the menu, the next step is plating. Rosanjin spoke of the importance of arranging food, saying that food can even taste better based on its arrangement.

Rosanjin suggested that for an ideal plating, “it’s no good to thinly line food up,” for instance, just setting food down in a single row. “You need to place it lightly and loosely. You mustn’t press it down.” In other words, it’s best to create a light and natural placement, avoiding any unnatural or forced relationship between food and dish.

What exactly does such plating entail? We asked Nakajima for a demonstration.

Nakajima prepared two dishes for us. The first was karei no saikyo-yaki, or “miso-marinated grilled flounder,” a favorite among international guests. It’s made by cutting a fatty fillet of flounder into easy-to-eat sizes, marinating them in a sweet white miso (saikyo miso), and then grilling. The second was nasu no dengaku: eggplant halved and lightly fried, then coated with a kind of red miso sauce (also known as soybean miso) known for its robust umami and faint bitterness, finished with a sprinkling of fragrant poppy seeds.

For plating the flounder, Nakajima selected the Rosanjin blue and white round plate with kintsugi.

“As I mentioned before,” Nakajima explained, “the flounder fillet is rectangular, so I’ve chosen a round plate. Make sure you always align the dish in its proper top and bottom orientation.

“In this case, the plate is much larger than a single piece of fish, so I’m going to plate two pieces. I’ll position them within the circle at the plate’s center, stacking them in a slightly vertical way to give some height, and leave plenty of empty space around them. I suspect Rosanjin himself had such empty space in mind when he created this piece. Lastly, I’ll add a bit of sweet-pickled Napa cabbage near the front of the plate. And that’s it.”

It took him mere moments to plate the dish.

Next came the eggplant dengaku.

“Before you start plating,” Nakajima said, “you should have a clear image of the final result., then work speedily. For hot food, the ironclad rule is to serve while it’s still hot, so if you stand there hesitating, fiddling with the arrangement too long, the dish will cool and it won’t be delicious.”

In contrast to the round flounder fillets, the oval-shaped eggplant was placed on a rectangular Shino ware plate, this one not a Rosanjin creation. The glistening, smooth, black-brown miso sauce on the eggplant was nicely offset by the uneven, white clay surface of the plate, and the touches of red in the plate’s glaze added a pleasing accent.

Both dishes were plated sparingly, leaving ample negative space. Food and plate each maintained an appropriate presence, neither overshadowing the other. Both arrangements exuded a simple, understated elegance. Neither felt ostentatious. This must be what Rosanjin meant by light and casually natural.

In recent years, Japanese cuisine is seeing an increase in surprisingly decorative, extravagant tableware and plating. Nakajima’s approach is on the opposite end of the spectrum. Serving menu items in a way that is overly flashy or painstakingly ornate can make them difficult to eat, burdening the diner. Sometimes it even seems the most fundamental principle is forgotten: that cuisine is, at its essence, food, and first and foremost it’s meant to be something you taste with your tastebuds.

It might not be easy for us home cooks to fully replicate the Rosanjin-inspired techniques shared by Nakajima, a professional chef with 50-plus years of experience born into a family of Japanese restaurateurs.

However, ultimately, these techniques align with what Nakajima repeated throughout our interview: “Cooking is all about love [for the diner.]” These techniques are ways to give concrete form to that desire of caring—to let people savor and enjoy their food as much as possible. There is something in these ideas that we, too, can learn from and use in our own tableware choices and plating.

According to Nakajima, this “love” applies not only to the ingredients but to everything surrounding the act of cooking. And of course, that love extends to tableware. Therefore, we’ll close by sharing one last quote from Rosanjin:

“Choosing tableware is also…born out of love and enjoyment of the tableware itself, out of the care and pleasure we take in handling it. That is where we establish an inseparable, [irreplaceable] bond between tableware and cuisine. When tableware becomes something enjoyable, inevitably, food becomes enjoyable, too. They are exactly like two sides of the same coin.”