Part II - Whispers of Autumn: Noma in Kyoto 2024 @nomacph @acehotelkyoto

In the heart of Kyoto, as the fiery hues of autumn sweep across the ancient city, the air is crisp with anticipation for a culinary odyssey. For ten weeks, the forests, rivers, and mountains of Japan cradle an unexpected guest—a traveler from the far north. This is the story of Noma, whose roots reach deep into Denmark’s cold soil, yet whose branches now brush the temples and maple groves of Kyoto.

Noma’s arrival is not merely a visit but a whisper—a beckoning to those who seek the ephemeral. @reneredzepinoma Rene, a maestro of the unexpected, does not come to impose but to listen. He listens to the song of the falling leaves, the rustle of persimmons heavy on the branch, and the ancient stories.

The wild becomes sacred; ingredients that have slept in the shadows of the forest awaken to a new purpose under the touch of Nordic hands.

There is fire and smoke, earth and wind, sunlight and shadow. The dishes come not to overwhelm but to suggest, to hint, and to linger like the faint sweetness of gingko nuts paired with the sharpness of wasabi melon juice that carried on an autumn wind.

Each dish, each moment, is like a haiku—short, vivid, and impossibly delicate. It leaves behind a feeling, as fleeting as the scent of burning incense.

This is Noma in Kyoto—a transient presence, like the mist rising from the cool river at dawn. People from all over the world gathers for this intersection of nature and nurture, tradition and the avant-garde, all under the canopy of fall. Then, like a dream, it will be gone, leaving behind the quiet echo of an encounter—unexpected, profound, and unforgettable.

Endings are beginnings, Kyoto whispers. As Noma departs and the last of the leaves fall, the city will return to its ancient rhythm. Yet, something has shifted, as if the very air has been stirred by an unseen hand. In the forests, on the mountainsides, in the quiet corners of the city, there lingers the trace of something wild—a reminder that every ending, like autumn itself, is only the beginning of a deeper, quieter beauty.