In a world where luxury is no longer measured by gold leaf but by golden moments, MYAZU stands as a temple of culinary alchemy. Etienne Borman, the architect behind Riyadh’s most whispered-about dining experience, doesn’t just serve dishes—he orchestrates edible sonatas where every bite hums with the precision of a Swiss watch and the soul of a Kyoto tea ceremony.
"Luxury today?" Borman muses, swirling an imaginary glass of sake. "It’s the silence between the notes." Gone are the days when opulence meant drowning in caviar; now it’s about tasting a single pearl of uni harvested by fourth-generation divers in Hokkaido. The modern connoisseur craves not excess but essence—stories woven into the linen napkins, sustainability hiding in the lacquerware.
In MYAZU’s kitchen, blockchain tracks wagyu like royal lineage while chefs hand-slice sashimi with samurai focus. "Technology should be the invisible butler," Borman explains. "Our diners don’t want QR codes—they want their whiskey glass to magically refill when they glance at it." The restaurant’s AI remembers your allergy to wasabi; the human staff remembers your anniversary.
The tuna isn’t just bluefin—it’s carbon-neutral bluefin. Borman’s team works with Saudi hydroponic farms to grow shiso leaves under desert stars. "True luxury leaves no footprint," he says, serving scallops on edible plates made from compressed rice bran. Even the chopsticks tell a tale: reclaimed cedar from 200-year-old Japanese houses.
As dusk falls over Riyadh, MYAZU’s dining room glows like a lantern. Borman hints at collaborations with Michelin-starred robots and holographic kaiseki dinners. But the heart remains human: "We’re not selling meals," he smiles, adjusting a bonsai centerpiece. "We’re selling time travel—one where you’re simultaneously in a 17th-century ryokan and the year 2150."
