Sustainability and flavour: The rise of fermentation in Asia’s top restaurants
There was a time when fermentation meant kimchi buried in earthen pots or soy sauce ageing in the shadows of a countryside home. In today’s top Asian kitchens, however, fermentation has become something else entirely: an edible philosophy, a sensory experiment and, in some cases, a bold act of culinary rebellion.
Across Asia’s most daring fine-dining destinations, chefs are swapping tweezers for koji spores and turning to time-honoured microbial alchemy to transform indigenous ingredients into something exquisite, sustainable and utterly contemporary. Think jackfruit curry with split-pea miso, or fermented durian sambal served with wood-fired lobster. These are not just flavour experiments—they are statements of identity, terroir and time.
Read more: Food fermentation in Asia: a culinary atlas of pickles, pastes and probiotics
Here’s how fermentation is fuelling a culinary revolution, one kitchen at a time.
Locavore NXT (Ubud, Bali, Indonesia)
If miso made from jackfruit and mushroom shoyu distilled from forest-floor fungi sounds like edible poetry, then you will feel right at home at Locavore NXT. The brainchild of chefs Ray Adriansyah and Eelke Plasmeijer, this high-concept culinary “agri-destination” in Ubud redefines farm-to-table dining. Here, the farm also boasts a koji chamber, rooftop food forest and a strict zero-imports policy.
See more: More than just a restaurant: Inside Locavore NXT
At Locavore NXT, the idea of “local” is not a trend but a manifesto. There is no wheat, no dairy, and hardly any meat. Instead, fermentation does the heavy lifting to create umami depths and layered complexities more often found in centuries-old sauces. Signature dishes include fermented tofu with pumpkin and sago pearls, and a rice koji porridge so deeply flavoured it may forever alter your view of morning gruel.
The fermentation lab is sacred: miso is made from local grains and beans; tempeh is dressed in spices and techniques that predate supermarkets. Even the cocktails—featuring arak and brem—are fermented with meticulous care. For Chef Plasmeijer, fermentation is the ultimate route to complexity and depth, and in their kitchen, those layers taste like the future.
Toyo Eatery (Manila, Philippines)
Named after the Tagalog word for soy sauce, Toyo is the Philippines’ most internationally renowned restaurant. The intimate space in Makati is where Filipino nostalgia meets slow fermentation and sleek modernism. Skipping the more intimidating setups of other restaurants of the same calibre, Toyo feels more like a warm family dinner than a fine-dining room. It is helmed by Chef Jordy Navarra and his wife and creative partner, May, and with their team, they’ve created an ode to fermentation.
Take the beloved tortang talong, a humble eggplant omelette transformed by their house-made fermented banana ketchup. Or the Bahay Kubo salad, a riot of 18 local vegetables, each preserved, pickled or marinated to maximise character. And yes, they have their own takes on vinegar-laced sawsawan, made with fermented coconut sap, adding funk and brightness in equal measure.
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Navarra taps into local fermentation traditions like tapuy (fermented rice wine) and bubud (a natural yeast starter) to build dishes that feel ancient yet avant-garde. One course might include clams kissed with tapuy, another a fish that’s been dry-aged with microbial care. Fermentation in Asia often takes two directions—backward and forward. Toyo, however, uses it to look inward, toward heritage, home and the flavours passed down at the family table.
Gaa (Bangkok, Thailand)
At Gaa, Chef Garima Arora has found a way to make fermentation taste like a homecoming and a disruption at the same time. Born in Mumbai and trained in the avant-garde kitchens of Noma, Arora brings centuries-old Indian preservation techniques into dialogue with Thai ingredients—and the results are electric.
In Gaa’s fermentation room, lychee becomes liqueur, split peas turn into miso, and Thai fish sauces bubble away beside jackfruit pickles. A dish might riff on the comfort of curd rice, but arrive layered with lacto-fermented fruit and spiced oil. Or chaat will get a haute twist thanks to garums made with koji-cultured Thai beef.
In case you missed it: Garima Arora is Asia’s Best Female Chef and the first Indian female to receive a Michelin star
Arora’s philosophy is less about fusion and more about translation. Her “beef garum,” for example, doesn’t try to mimic fish sauce—it speaks its own savory language. The result is a genre-defying menu that bridges the fermented worldviews of India and Southeast Asia, balancing nostalgia with discovery.
7th Door (Seoul, South Korea)
To say that Chef Kim Dae-chun of Seoul’s 7th Door dabbles in fermentation is an injustice. Rather, he builds worlds of flavour around it. His intimate, 14-seat restaurant is a fermentation theatre where more than 40 house-made brews and pickles are the stars of a sensory journey. You literally walk past the jars: bubbling, ageing, thickening—an overture to the tasting experience that follows.
Kim’s guiding metaphor? Fermentation as the “sixth door” in a seven-step journey toward gastronomic epiphany. Here, jangs—Korea’s holy trinity of fermented pastes and sauces—are aged up to a decade in-house. The fish sauce called aekjeot is crafted from local seafood and cured in soy. Even desserts carry fermented echoes, such as soy-syrup glazes over truffle tteokbokki.
In one course, raw fermented seafood called gejang is reimagined with rare Dokdo prawns. In another, traditional Korean citrus is preserved until its bitterness turns sweet. It's fermentation as art, memory and alchemy.
Onjium (Seoul, South Korea)
Not far from 7th Door, another Seoul dining room pays tribute to fermentation in a quieter, regal way. At Onjium, co-chefs Cho Eun-hee and Park Sung-bae reinterpret Korea’s royal cuisine with the poise of scholars and the precision of artisans. Their secret weapon? A fermentation farm in Namyangju, where they produce their own variants of jang, kimchi and vinegar using methods drawn from historical royal cookbooks.
The dishes at Onjium whisper elegance: cabbage that’s been brined, aged and caramelised or soy sauces made from heirloom beans aged in traditional earthen hangari. The fermentation here isn’t experimental—it’s ancestral. But don’t mistake it for nostalgia. Onjium’s modern plating and seasonal tasting menus pull these ancient techniques into the present, reminding diners that the best ferments are, above all, timeless.
Mingles (Seoul, South Korea)
If 7th Door is fermentation as intimacy and Onjium is fermentation as legacy, then Mingles is fermentation as global stagecraft. Under the visionary hand of Chef Kang Min-goo, this Seoul heavyweight has turned jang, those beloved fermented pastes and sauces, into the core of award-winning culinary performance.
Here, doenjang and gochujang aren’t accents—they’re structure. Think seared Hanwoo beef glazed in soy aged five years or a vinegar reduction made from Korean pears and wild herbs. Kang pairs these ferments with international techniques: foams, emulsions and the kind of delicate plating you’d expect in Paris, not Gangnam.
The result is a cuisine that elevates fermentation. The message is clear: Korean flavours, when rooted in their fermented foundations, can speak a global language—and win all the stars while they’re at it.
Don’t miss: Chef Mingoo Kang receives Inedit Damm Chefs’ Choice Award 2021 by Asia’s 50 Best Restaurants
Amber (Hong Kong)
At first glance, Amber, the flagship of the Landmark Mandarin Oriental, might seem too polished, too pristine, too art-directed to be part of the fermentation set. But Chef Richard Ekkebus has spent the past few years quietly reworking fine dining’s relationship with preservation. Gone are the creams, butters and heavy reductions of yesteryear; in their place are koji-aged vegetables, fermented grains and lacto pickles used with the precision of a Cartier timepiece.
Amber’s menu doesn’t scream “fermented,” but listen closely and it hums with microbial nuance: carrot koji with abalone, fermented buckwheat bread and a much-lauded plant-based bouillon that’s more umami-packed than most bone broths. Even the desserts get in on the action, with seasonal fruit vinegars and fermented rice milk redefining what “light” can mean in a luxury context.
Amber isn’t trying to be Nordic or temple cuisine. It’s Hong Kong high design, reimagined with microbes and minerals. Fermentation here isn’t rustic—it’s tailored.
Yun (Seoul, South Korea)
One might remember Chef Kim Do-yun fromCulinary Class Wars: a White Spoon chef whose eyes were practically closed as he cooked rockfish while rocking headphones. He even detailed his obsession with drying ingredients, claiming he has the most extensive dried food collection among the cast. It comes as no surprise that his acclaimed restaurant, Yun, is built on traditional Korean fermentation, ageing and custom noodle-making.
Chef Kim obsessively sources and preserves ingredients—pickles, beans, grains, dried vegetables, meats and fish—often ageing many of them for years to deepen the flavour. His lab-like kitchen storage with over 500 labeled ingredients (pickles, grains, seeds, etc.) underscores how fermentation and time are central to his cooking. For example, Yun’s signature naengmyeon (cold wheat noodles) are made entirely in-house from Korean wheat and served simply with salt and oil. Chef Kim is even notorious for taking months off to study ingredients and techniques.
While the chef himself is soft-spoken, his philosophy is bannered loudly in the restaurant, with diners hearing the detailed explanations of the ageing, fermenting and drying process behind the dishes.
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