I go to a restaurant to eat something I can’t make at home.
If I’m going out, I want it to make sense. I want it to be different, better, to have a story.

And that’s exactly where the problem begins in good restaurants.
You open the menu and everything sounds interesting. You want to try it all.
And instead of enjoying the moment, you start choosing. Thinking. Combining.
And often, you miss what the kitchen is really about.

That’s why I almost always choose the tasting menu.
Not because it’s a “fine dining rule,” but because I believe it’s the most honest way a chef can show what they do best.
It’s their choice, their idea, their perspective on food.
Next time, I can order à la carte. But the first time, I want to understand the restaurant.

A tasting menu is not control  it’s a guide.
Through flavors and textures.
Dishes come one after another, building, opening the senses.
And all you have to do is let go and allow the kitchen to lead.
That’s when the experience becomes a whole, not just a collection of dishes.

That’s also why I’ve never liked restaurants that offer “a bit of everything” pizza, burgers, steak, Caesar salad.
Because the question is simple: how can someone be excellent at everything?

I always choose places with a clear focus.
A specialized restaurant, a specific cuisine, or something more refined, fine dining.
Because fine dining isn’t for everyone.
Every dish goes through a process that can take days.
Every detail is controlled. Every move has a purpose.

So even though the kitchen is full of people who know exactly what they’re doing, don’t expect your dish to arrive in a minute.
Fine dining is not about speed, it’s about dedication.

A small menu doesn’t mean fewer options.
It means greater focus.
And focus is what makes the difference.

But today, even that is not enough.
There are many restaurants with good food.
They are all “correct.” They are all “nice.”
What sets them apart is identity.

And identity is not just the food, it’s the people.
The same chef. The same kitchen team. The same waiters. The same management.
It’s the energy you feel the moment you walk in.
It’s the consistency the guest recognizes.
It’s the reason they come back.

For me, Enso is an attempt to define that identity differently.

The closest explanation might be the Enso symbol itself – a moment when the mind is free and allows the body to create without limitation.
In that sense, the kitchen needs freedom.
The chef needs space to experiment, to explore, even to make mistakes.

It may sound risky. And it is.
But coming from a world of music, I believe in moments of inspiration.

Enso is not always a perfect circle.
But the beauty lies in that imperfection.
In the process.
In the same people working together for years, building something with character.

And what I want a guest to take from Enso is not just a feeling of being full.
But an experience.
That all their senses are satisfied.
That they reach a kind of personal nirvana.

And that’s where the circle closes.

Because for me, Enso was never just a restaurant.
It was a natural continuation of what I’ve been doing for years.

After 15 years, we are no longer just a club.
Now there is a complete flow of an evening.

You park.
You sit down for dinner.
No rush, no need to think about what comes next.

And when dinner is over, there’s no logistics, no taxis, no planning.
You just take a few steps.

And you enter the second part of the experience.
BitefArtCafe.

That’s where the energy shifts.
Where dinner turns into music.
Where bands who truly know what they’re doing perform, alongside artists who have been shaping the city’s musical identity for 25 years.

And that’s when you realize – it’s not just about the food.
It’s not just about the music.

It’s about the whole.
An experience you don’t have to organize.
An evening that flows on its own.

No compromises.
One circle.