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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#17
Pioneer of time,
sower of emotions
August 12th, 2026
As I told you in my last letter, my only certainty about this summer was my desire to disappear. I was tired of screens, social media, constant connectivity and the expectation that I should always be available. I felt the need to slow down, rethink the way I work and live, quietly, without checking my emails or WhatsApps. When I was 20, I spent three months on my own in Australia. Three months during which I didn’t speak to any of my friends. Nobody knew what I was doing or how I was getting on. I miss that freedom, and disappearing seemed like the best way to find it again.
The cover photo will undoubtedly give you an idea of the place I chose for these few days away from the world. I don’t believe there is a “right” destination for this kind of trip. Should it be somewhere unfamiliar, so you can feel completely lost? Somewhere in the middle of nature, to fully reconnect? In the heart of a city, where you can become invisible? … It is a very personal decision, and we should each follow our instincts. What matters most is giving our brains a break. We constantly demand things from them, draining them until they overheat. So I want to send you this letter as an invitation: give yourself permission to disconnect.
Warmly,
Thierry
In Paris, there is a trend for high-end sushi at eye-watering prices, with a kind of competition between all the grand restaurants boasting Michelin-starred Japanese chefs. For someone like me who has spent a lot of time in Japan, sushi is a neighbourhood affair. It was my Sunday-night place whenever I didn’t feel like cooking. And that is what I found at Kiyo Aji, which I wanted to introduce to you today. Of course, the quality of his Omakase menu is extraordinary. There is also the dashi broth, served in a little teapot, with slices of mushrooms, fish and herbs. The recipe belongs to Kiyo’s father, and this dish is undoubtedly one of my favourite things to eat anywhere in the world.
But beyond all that, what I love is his humanity. He has a wonderfully comforting way of making his guests part of the meal and creating a sense of connection — something a chef in Japan simply wouldn’t do. The last time I arrived, he leaned over and said: “When I told the team you were coming tonight, they went ‘aaaaah’. They were happy.” They are little things, but they contribute to that feeling of being good in his restaurant.
I recently discovered FURA, a joyful “future food” laboratory in Singapore exploring what the way we eat and drink might look like tomorrow. Behind the concept are Christina Rasmussen, former head forager at Noma, and Sasha Wijidessa, former head bartender at Operation Dagger (two people well versed in experimental approaches). With their unconventional restaurant-bar, the ambition is clear: to show that consuming more responsibly doesn’t mean giving up pleasure, and that the future can be strange, surprising, bewildering… but above all, delicious!
I think this is at the heart of the challenge we are facing today. We know we have reached a limit, both when it comes to the nutritional value of our food and to the chemicals and microplastics we ingest. Eating more plants, or ingredients we are not used to, is probably part of the answer. But for that to work, they need to make us want to eat them. At Dar Ahlam, we do a great deal of work around education and discovery, encouraging our guests to taste the territory. And it works, because it is generous, delicious and playful. The same is true at FURA, where you find abundant, underused or unwanted ingredients. I am thinking in particular of the Jellyfish Ceviche, made with an invasive spotted jellyfish, caramelised pineapple and mandarin; crickets in the dips; or grasshopper croutons. The playful dimension is what makes the place so powerful: nobody is asking you to eat sustainably. They simply make you want to taste something unexpected and new. Curiosity replaces guilt, flavour replaces the lecture, and experience replaces morality.
This month, I wanted to highlight the French word aménité, which broadly describes something pleasant, gentle or graceful. I find there is an enveloping delicacy to this word, particularly welcome in violent times. Paying attention to the aménité of a place, to its softness, should be part of our everyday lives. And surely that should be the sole mission of hospitality. Today, the tourism and hotel industry is trying to seduce us at all costs and in every possible direction. In my view, that is what has taken us too far. Trying to please everyone means pleasing no one. It encourages establishments to smooth out their offering and forget who they really are. The important thing is to find that sense of aménité by appealing to those who are sensitive to who we are and nobody else.
I have a very contradictory relationship with music. I listen to it constantly and have a playlist for every moment of the day. Yet I don’t play an instrument and I don’t dare sing, because of a schoolteacher who traumatised me. Recently, the documentary Nous l’Orchestre raised a lot of questions for me. For the first time, cameras and microphones were placed among the 120 musicians of the Orchestre de Paris at the Philharmonie, conducted by their young prodigy of a music director, Klaus Mäkelä. I loved watching this collective force take shape, without anyone disappearing into the crowd.
I have always enjoyed bringing talented people together and making them work as a team. Each person brings answers to certain questions through their own perspective, and there is nothing more effective for feeding your own thinking. In this case, 1 + 1 = 3, and you can reach extraordinary heights. What is interesting about this documentary is the idea that collective creation is more powerful than individual creation, while still requiring a conductor to set the pace. Freedom, yes — provided you have a strong enough framework to give your team a clear and inspiring sense of direction.
What would we read if we stopped choosing our books based on external signals (a famous author, a literary prize, a publisher, a TikTok recommendation…)? That is what the website Uncovered proposes, with a very simple principle: the user chooses a genre, reads the first page, and then decides whether they want to continue. Only then is the identity of the book revealed. I find the idea of removing our biases without changing the product itself fascinating, simply following our instinct and asking whether the writing makes us want to turn the page. I have no problem with abandoning a book if I don’t feel like continuing. That doesn’t mean the book isn’t good; it simply means the timing isn’t right for me. Sometimes I come back to them later, and they suddenly make sense… and sometimes they don’t!
There are also books we should reread at every stage of our lives, like The Little Prince, which is always a new experience. Asking ourselves “Do I actually like this?” could be applied to so many other areas. Going to see a film without reading the synopsis or watching the trailer. Looking at a painting in a museum without knowing who the artist is. By removing the clues that influence our choices, we force ourselves to judge a product for what it really is, rather than for its reputation.
Like many travellers, I have to admit that I am increasingly drawn to Nordic destinations. Not so much because of the temperatures, but because of the way these countries approach life, education and their relationship with others. Recently, I drifted towards LILLØY, an island off Bergen, Norway, forty minutes by road and a short boat ride from Herdla. A house on a rock, very simple, very comfortable, where there was nothing for me to do except slow down. Kayaking early in the morning, a sauna overlooking the sea, a campfire beneath a sky that never really goes dark: at this latitude, there is no night at midnight, and I found that suspended light I had experienced in Iceland.
What I love about places like this is not the absence of hospitality, but another form of hospitality: nobody hovering over you, a little shop where you can go and pick up whatever you feel like cooking… The proposition was clear, with no misunderstanding, and that is already quite something. But a place that chooses to remove hotel service should not, for all that, remove common sense. Our tiny house had four bedrooms, a kitchen and one table. Yet three different groups of guests were staying there at the same time, each with their own rhythm, their own expectations. It doesn’t work. This is often where these establishments offering alternative forms of hospitality fall short today: they haven’t always taken the time to really think about the experience of their guests. Private hire is clearly the answer to this problem if you want to enjoy a magical place like this, in complete privacy with the people you love.
To follow everything happening around my projects:
> A creative seminar at Dar Ahlam, in collaboration with Small Luxury Hotels, where I will share my keys to a more sincere and authentic form of hospitality. From 3 to 7 September, the “Journey into Excellence” workshop will bring together independent hoteliers from around the world, coming to take a step back from their profession, share their experiences and imagine new ways of improving the guest experience within their properties.
Photo Credit :
Copenhagen Thierry Teyssier / Portrait Min kyung Choi . Marine Sanclemente / Fura . Marine Sanclemente / Uncovered / Lilloy Hôtel