Where the kitchen speaks in whispers

Stepping into Enishi, at the edge of Waterloo, feels like leaving the noisy roadway behind to enter a space where light breathes differently. The room opens in clear lines, pale wood and blue stone that catch the gentleness of the day. Nothing seeks to dazzle. Nothing forces the eye.
This is a place that first invites calm, silence, and time.

In this restrained setting, Toshiro Fujii has found his place — perhaps even his true one. For years, he was one of the essential hands behind L’Air du Temps, shaping dishes of rare precision in the shadow of the pass. He later followed his own path, in Brussels and beyond, balancing personal creations with loyalty to those who shaped him.

Here, at the heart of Enishi, Toshiro finally cooks in a low voice. His cuisine does not impose itself; it approaches. It does not chase the sublime; it allows it to appear. It moves like a breath, a gesture that only asks to be received.

The dishes of the moment express this delicacy: Scallops with kumquat and quince; Line-caught sea bass with aubergine and miso; Monkfish with cime di rapa and salted plum; Ramen with langoustines and sesame; Wild duck with seasonal vegetables; and Jerusalem artichoke with chestnuts, an earthy, gentle dessert, like a return to origin.

Toshiro Fujii’s cooking needs no big words. It exists in touches, in balances, in nuances.
It stands between two worlds — the Europe he inhabits and the Japan he carries — drawing a fine, almost invisible yet unwavering line between them.

You leave Enishi with a rare feeling: that of having been welcomed into a space that seeks not to prove, but to offer. A place that sees the product as a companion, the gesture as an evidence, and time as an ingredient.
An address where delicacy is not a style.
It is a way of being.

LD
“Enishi” is a Japanese term often translated as “the meeting of a destined connection.”