You know that time is precious to me, which is why I decided to structure this monthly letter as follows: a retrospective on the past month, an encounter with a creative mind, a taste sensation, a reflection to open up new horizons, an enlightening read, and a place where the values of hospitality are those that I love and cherish. TOMO is not just a newsletter. It is a companion that transforms readers’ time into something precious and unexpected.
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#10
Pioneer of time,
sower of emotions
January, 6 2026
Dear readers,
I usually like to do things differently, so let me be traditional for once and wish you a 2026 filled with curiosity, beauty and poetry. I would also like to thank you for being so faithful — and ever more numerous — in reading this monthly letter with such dedication. I have a little surprise for you in this regard, which I look forward to sharing very soon…
For now, I am writing these lines from Skoura, in southern Morocco, where I have spent the first days of January. If I had to choose just one word for the year ahead, it would almost certainly be “transition”. Transition, for several reasons. Because we are preparing to celebrate the twenty-fifth anniversary of Dar Ahlam (in 2027), with an extraordinary programme. Because my book on a more sensitive approach to hospitality will be published and soon find its way into your hands. Because I will be inaugurating the first immersive hospitality performance in Rwanda. And, above all, because this is the year in which I truly enter the realm of transmission, with the launch of workshops and mentoring for hoteliers.
Today, there is too much in the world of hospitality that no longer works. And yet, many individuals are striving to reshape the contours of the industry — carrying out remarkable initiatives at a local level, supporting communities, helping them to grow — but still remaining largely under the radar… I have a strong feeling that we are close to finding the element that will allow us to connect all the dots and bring about a lasting transformation in our profession. So while I still have many questions, I also feel great excitement, a wealth of ideas, and an endless energy that I hope to share with you here.
Warmly,
Thierry
For the first time, it is not a person I wish to tell you about, but a very particular encounter… with the gorillas. To be completely honest, observing these primates had never been a dream of mine. I have been travelling regularly to Rwanda for the past two years to prepare for our next season, and I had never really felt the need to go and see them. I eventually thought I should experience it nonetheless, so that I could share my feelings with our future guests. And I must admit, it was utterly overwhelming.
After being carefully briefed (within an impressively well-organised framework), we set off, and I immediately slipped into my own bubble. I had imagined glimpsing them from afar, but the lay of the land meant that we were only a few metres away from the group. One of the young ones even tapped my foot, as if inviting me to play. What struck me most was the intensity of emotion in their eyes. It was the first time I had felt such a connection with another mammal — in their expressions as much as in their interactions. There is tension, of course, and at the same time a deep serenity.
The hour went by in what felt like five minutes, and I left Volcanoes National Park with a profound sense of fulfilment — as though I had been given proof of something I already knew: that humans are only one species among many, and that we are part of a vast, interconnected whole.
What I look for when I go to a restaurant is, above all, a beautiful plate of food. That might come from extraordinary produce, ingredients I would never cook myself, a technique that impresses me, or simply generosity and a sense of fun. A dish has to tell me a story and I need to feel the intention of the chef behind it. While I love discovering new places, influences and techniques, I also like returning to the restaurants that truly move me, such as Adraba or Kiyo Aji in my neighbourhood. Among the restaurants I consider to be seriously underrated, there is Pétrelle. In my view, it is one of the very best in Paris, because it feels absolutely right. It strikes a perfect balance between generous plates, seasonal produce, incredible combinations of flavours and an unexpected twist. It is never overdone, never trying to show off.
There is also the kindness of the service, and this almost old-fashioned atmosphere — entirely intentional — that stands in refreshing contrast to the increasing uniformity of so many Parisian restaurants. It is a warm, welcoming place that ticks every box, whether for a romantic dinner, an evening with friends, or a meal on one’s own. Each time I step through that door, I know with certainty that I am going to leave filled with joy.
Many people begin their travels already exhausted. I remember, in my former life, that all my family holidays would start with two days spent in bed — as though all the pressure suddenly released at once. It feels such a shame to lose precious time with those we love, when we only have a few weeks a year together. Over time, my reflections led me to wonder how we might stretch this time. How to ensure that a journey begins well before the moment of departure — and can continue afterwards? It was in response to this question that Prélude was born: a website dedicated to the guests of Dar Ahlam. Accessible once a reservation has been made, it allows them to better understand our ecosystem and philosophy, and to place themselves in the right frame of mind.
In a similar spirit, I have a deeply fond memory of Heston Blumenthal’s approach at The Fat Duck. I had received a note apologising for the wait until the day of the dinner, along with a code to help me pass the time. That code gave access to an online game — a sweet-making factory. Imagine my surprise when, during the mignardises course, I was served the very sweets I had created virtually six months earlier. I was utterly amazed by this idea: lifting part of the veil, without ever revealing too much…
I have never felt as good in my body and in my mind as I did three years ago. At that time, I was fasting two days a week. And for some unknown reason, I let it go and never quite managed to return to it. With the celebrations of my Red60 (sixty events to mark my sixtieth birthday) my body endured a great many excesses. I wanted to thank it for supporting me in this way, and so I offered it a stay at the Buchinger clinic, on the shores of Lake Constance. I spent five full days without eating, and I loved that state of complete fasting. I felt light, constantly alert, with an extraordinary mental clarity — and a real sensation that my organs were being gently placed on pause. What I disliked, however, was the refeeding phase. Hunger returns (even though one does not feel it at all during the fast), and I found no pleasure in the dishes that were served. Quite ironic, when the goal is to inspire new eating habits. That will not stop me from going back, but next time for a ten-day fast. I would wholeheartedly recommend the experience. It is the best way to understand that we do not need nearly as much food as we think and that, from time to time, we should offer our body a gift.
Deep conversations are not necessarily the longest ones. I remember a shaman in Brazil who took ten seconds to tell me: “We have so many things to share with you but you are not yet ready to listen.” Sentences like that can stay with you for days, weeks, months. They give you something to reflect on, something you return to again and again. But our hearts must be ready, and open. Some initiatives help to create the conditions for this. One of them is The Human Library, a concept launched in Denmark in the early 2000s with a simple principle: a library in which the books are replaced by human beings, in order to open dialogue and share experiences. Among the “books”, you might meet people with a wide range of life stories — a former alcoholic, someone who has experienced homelessness, a person living with HIV… I love the idea that we are able to ask questions we would never have dared ask someone within our own circle and that the person in front of us is also free to ask theirs in return. In my life, encounters are the form of knowledge I cherish most. And this human library reminds us just how essential it is to listen to those around us.
To begin the year, I wanted to tell you about Fogo Island Inn — an example in the world of hospitality that I often refer to when I speak about regeneration. The project was created by Zita Cobb, a native of this island off the coast of Newfoundland, who returned in an effort to revitalise it after the collapse of the fishing industry. What is truly fascinating is the ecosystem she has built, blending hospitality, artist residencies and experiences deeply rooted in local life. The most striking example is undoubtedly the community hosting initiative: every guest who books a room is paired with a resident whose role is to share their own perspective on the island and its story. I also appreciate the transparency at the heart of Fogo Island Inn through its “economic nutrition fact”, a report explaining where the money spent by travellers goes, and how it is used. Our guests have the right to know what they are contributing to and we need more examples like this in our industry.
To follow everything happening around my projects:
> An episode of the Back of House podcast, launched by the Innovation Hub of the EHL Hospitality Business School. In it, I explain why the future of the hospitality sector lies in emotion rather than in processes and rigid frameworks.
> An event organised by the agency 1.618 Paris, dedicated to those who cultivate a singular vision of beauty, surprise and the sublime. I will be taking part in a conversation alongside philosopher Charles Pépin, artist Mathias Kiss, futurist Morgane Pouillot, and Scott Longfellow, curator at MUDAC. To join us, see you on 10 February at the Carreau du Temple, in Paris (tickets available here).
Photo credits : Cryille George Jerusalmi and 700’000 heures Impact