The new faces of fusion cuisine: Asian chefs redrawing culinary boundaries
Before there were tasting menus with yuzu foam or Thai-style tacos served in Michelin-starred dining rooms, there was the humble California roll: a gateway to sushi for the avocado-curious and chopstick-untrained. Born in Los Angeles in the 1960s, the roll wasn’t just a workaround for raw fish-averse diners—it became one of the earliest edible symbols of what would later be called Asian fusion.
The term “fusion” gained popularity in the 1980s, largely fuelled by French-trained Western chefs experimenting with East Asian flavours. Wolfgang Puck’s Chinois on Main in Santa Monica (1983) is often cited as a pioneer of the genre, with dishes such as Szechuan chicken salad and Chinese-inspired duck. In the hands of Puck and East-meets-West trailblazers like Ming Tsai, fusion was an art form. But the trend soon proved difficult to sustain in haute cuisine.
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A classic California roll is a bite-sized example of fusion cuisine (Photo: Ahtziri Lagarde / Unsplash)
Eventually, fusion trickled into the mainstream—and entered what could best be described as its awkward adolescence. From the late ’80s through the early 2000s, restaurants churned out “Asian-inspired” dishes, often crafted by Western chefs with only superficial knowledge of the ingredients: teriyaki-glazed Caesar salads, tuna tartare on wonton chips, and the infamous miso-marinated Chilean sea bass. Even worse: “Thai” peanut pasta made with Skippy and soy sauce.
Lacking grounding in culinary context or technique, these dishes often amounted to little more than culinary tourism. Food historians and critics now view this period as a case study in cultural appropriation, with ingredients like lemongrass and sesame oil cherry-picked for exotic flair while stripped of their origins and cultural significance.
Fusion cuisine developed from necessity
Vietnam meets France in the banh mi (Photo: Deepthi Clicks / Unsplash)
The earliest versions of Asian fusion were often born from necessity. Japanese immigrants in North America swapped out toro for avocado and cucumber when tuna was scarce, resulting in the now-ubiquitous California roll. Chinese-American restaurants in the mid-20th century sweetened and thickened their sauces to suit local palates, giving rise to dishes like General Tso’s Chicken and chop suey.
In Southeast Asia, colonial legacies left their mark: Filipino spaghetti sweetened with ketchup and hot dogs; Vietnamese banh mi blending French baguettes with pickled daikon and pâté. These weren’t chef-driven experiments; rather, they were grassroots culinary evolutions shaped by migration, colonisation and trade.
A quiet renaissance, led by Asian chefs
By the late 1990s and early 2000s, fusion became more intentional and more upscale. Celebrity chefs like Nobu Matsuhisa began employing Japanese techniques with Peruvian ingredients, leading to signature dishes like miso black cod and tiradito-style sashimi.
In Bangkok, trailblazing restaurants like Nahm began weaving Thai herbs into classically Western formats. In Manila, young chefs like Sau del Rosario and J Gamboa trained abroad and returned home to reimagine adobo with sous vide precision or serve kinilaw with olive oil and microgreens. Fusion was no longer about compromise. It became culinary identity work, often using technique and terroir to tell more nuanced, personal stories.
A few chefs who are reclaiming fusion cuisine
A new wave of chefs across Asia is reshaping the narrative around fusion cuisine—not by blending flavours for novelty, but by honouring heritage through innovation. These culinary leaders are drawing from deep cultural roots while embracing global techniques, resulting in dishes that are as thoughtful as they are boundary-pushing. Here are some of the chefs redefining what fusion means today.
Thitid “Ton” Tassanakajohn (Le Du)
In Bangkok, Chef Thitid ‘Ton’ Tassanakajohn of Le Du has flipped the fusion narrative on its head. Instead of layering Western flavours onto Thai dishes, he uses French techniques to heighten indigenous ingredients. Think river prawns served with organic jasmine rice and house-fermented fish sauce caramel. The flavors stay unapologetically Thai, but the execution speaks the language of Michelin-starred kitchens. It’s fusion by way of intention, not accident.
Jordy Navarra (Toyo)
In Manila, Chef Jordy Navarra of Toyo Eatery weaves together Filipino flavours with global references, but without the self-consciousness of 2000s-style “East-meets-West.” His dish of grilled bangus (milkfish) served with burnt coconut and calamansi foam doesn’t scream fusion—it whispers heritage told through a modern lens.
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Zaiyu Hasegawa (Den)
In Tokyo, fusion now often means reverse export. At restaurants like Den, Chef Zaiyu Hasegawa takes traditional Japanese kaiseki and laces it with playful international winks: think foie gras monaka or prawns dotted with black garlic soil “ants.”
Mingoo Kang (Mingles)
Components of traditional Korean cuisine meet modern techniques at Chef Mingoo Kang’s Mingles (Photo: Mingles)
At Seoul’s Mingles, Chef Mingoo Kang transforms traditional Korean fermented sauces into unexpected desserts like the “Jang Trio,” featuring gochujang, doenjang and ganjang reimagined as ice cream or crème brûlée. His doenjang-glazed striploin with seasonal jangajji further illustrates his ability to apply Korean flavours to Western cuts and presentations.
Han Li Guang (Labyrinth)
Singapore's Han Li Guang of Labyrinth champions “Mod-Sin” (Modern Singaporean) cuisine, reinventing local classics with a creative angle. His daring Chilli Crab Ice Cream, served with crispy mantou, reimagines the iconic dish in a playful yet authentic way, while his focus on local sourcing is evident in dishes like Ah Hua Kelong Lala clams with sambal and fermented black bean.
Don’t miss: Chef Han Li Guang of Labyrinth on why Singaporean cuisine is worth a Michelin star
The rise of ‘third-culture’ chefs
Restaurants like Little Bao bridges Hong Kong street food and Brooklyn brunches with ease (Photo: Little Bao)
Perhaps what defines 21st-century Asian fusion most isn’t geographical location, but the chef’s identity. Many of today’s culinary voices are third-culture kids, growing up between continents, cultures and languages. For example, Iron Chef and Top Chef host Kristen Kish is a Korean-born, US-raised chef who fuses Asian profiles into fine dining at her Austin restaurant Arlo Grey. There is also May Chow of Hong Kong’s Little Bao, whose pork belly bao bridges Asian street food with Western comfort.
Today, few chefs use the term “fusion cuisine”—and yet its essence persists. The difference is intent. Modern fusion is no longer about exoticism or compromise. It’s about agency and authorship, storytelling and skill. It’s a chef-driven conversation that treats technique and tradition with equal respect.
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