I was in Lima, the capital of Peru, last week for The World’s 50 Best Restaurants awards. This year, Asador Etxebarri, in Spain’s Basque Country, claimed the top spot, followed by Gaggan in Bangkok, Alchemist in Copenhagen, Quintonil in Mexico City and Wing in Hong Kong. Eleven new restaurants entered the top 50, with São Paulo’s Tuju making its debut at No. 16. Copenhagen’s Kadeau, meanwhile, climbed an impressive 33 places to No. 8. Once again, the rankings saw considerable movement. But for me, the most meaningful result of the evening was the restaurant that took first place.
Bittor Arginzoniz, the chef behind Asador Etxebarri, is one of gastronomy’s quietest masters. He feels no need to constantly explain himself or turn his cooking into a spectacle. For years, in the Basque countryside, he has stood before the fire pursuing the same question: Just how good can an ingredient taste? His attention to detail is such that he has developed his own cooking equipment. He has transformed the management of fire into an extraordinarily precise technique, adapting it to the character of each ingredient. For years, the gastronomic world associated innovation with technical complexity. Yet Etxebarri demonstrates that technical sophistication does not have to announce itself through complexity. I see this first-place finish as a powerful expression of respect for genuine craftsmanship.
Interestingly, third place went to Alchemist, a restaurant that transforms gastronomy into a multilayered, theatrical experience. On one side, there is fire and the ingredient in something close to its purest form. On the other, a culinary world where art, technology and stage design are intricately intertwined. To me, this contrast speaks volumes. The future of gastronomy is not moving in a single direction. What matters is not simplicity or spectacle, but how authentic and coherent a restaurant’s chosen approach truly is. The impact a restaurant makes and the noise it generates are two very different things.
As always, I ate exceptionally well in Lima. I have plenty to say about Peru’s extraordinary diversity of ingredients and its culinary culture, but those stories deserve an article of their own. For me, 50 Best has never been simply an awards ceremony. I also make a point of following the 50 Best Talks conferences, which I always find rewarding. This year, three themes discussed under the title “Food for Thought” particularly caught my attention.
In a survey of 2,500 people presented by Andy Crossan of Lumina, nine out of ten respondents said they valued experiences more than material possessions. Restaurants are increasingly regarded as one of the principal ways of discovering local culture while travelling. These figures reveal more than a shift in consumer habits. They also reflect a transformation in the social meaning of food. People are no longer looking simply for a good meal. They want to connect with a culture, become part of a story and experience something that feels personal to them.
At the conference, Joan Roca, Massimo Bottura and Søren Ledet challenged the idea that innovation must always mean inventing something entirely new. Ledet offered a beautifully simple example: Innovation might be nothing more than making a carrot taste better than it ever has before. Bottura, meanwhile, argued that innovation requires us first to learn everything we can, and then to free ourselves from the boundaries of that knowledge. Joan Roca brought another important consideration into the discussion: The balance between creativity and responsibility. Experimentation demands freedom, but running a restaurant comes with financial and human responsibilities. How lasting can a kitchen’s creativity really be if it cannot protect its team, build sustainable relationships with its producers or ensure its own economic survival?
One of the remarks that stayed with me most came from Joan Roca. He suggested that, in the age of artificial intelligence, restaurants would become “sanctuaries of humanity”. I find this idea particularly significant. Technology is making its way into almost every aspect of restaurant operations: Reservations, inventory management, guest preferences, operational planning and more. Yet reading the silence at a table, anticipating a guest’s needs before they are expressed or responding with genuine warmth in an unexpected moment remain distinctly human qualities.
The same idea emerged during the conference session devoted to service: Technology should be used not to replace people, but to give them more time to be human. After all, flawless service and genuine hospitality are not the same thing. The rules of service can be taught. Which side to serve a plate from, how to set a table and how to present a menu are all skills that can be learned.
Making someone feel truly seen, however, requires more than a set of memorised rules. And that human connection extends well beyond the guest. How authentic can a restaurant’s experience be if it has no relationship with its producers, fails to value the work of its employees or remains disconnected from the place it calls home? This is precisely why an understanding of fine dining defined by white tablecloths, expensive ingredients and immaculate presentation is no longer sufficient.
As I left Lima, I was thinking about far more than the ranking of the world’s best restaurants. Etxebarri’s quiet mastery, Alchemist’s boundary-pushing creativity and the conversations at the conference all offered different answers to the same question: What makes a restaurant truly valuable?
Perhaps understanding the future of gastronomy requires us to return not to ever more elaborate techniques, but to the oldest questions of all. What makes an ingredient exceptional? At what point does craftsmanship become mastery? How does one human being make another feel genuinely cared for?
The fact that the world’s best restaurants can be so profoundly different from one another is, in itself, a great richness. Yet I believe what unites the finest among them is not creativity alone, but the extraordinary seriousness with which they approach their craft. Perhaps the future of gastronomy lies not in greater spectacle, but in greater depth.
