Three Michelin stars, one culinary dialogue: Chef Paolo Romano on excellence, identity, and Kazakh flavors

You are currently working as a chef and gastronomic consultant at a restaurant, which holds three Michelin stars. How do you and your team manage to consistently maintain the standards and creative excellence that come with such a prestigious achievement?

We maintain excellence with a very clear method: consistency, balance, and respect. Respect for the product, for the technique, and for the team's work. In a three-Michelin-starred restaurant, high standards aren't optional – they're part of our daily lives. Every day we start from scratch, taking nothing for granted.

The key lies in maintaining a balance between creativity and discipline, in being consistent with our identity, and in working together toward the same goal. That's our true secret to sustaining, day after day, the level of excellence that our restaurant demands.

Throughout your social media and interviews, we’ve noticed that you often convey a key message: food is not just about cooking, but about transforming personal creativity and vision into edible art filled not only with flavors but with stories. With this in mind, when you look at Kazakh cuisine, what story does it tell you?

Kazakh cuisine speaks to me of tradition, warmth, and togetherness. It's a cuisine that invites sharing, eating with your hands, and sitting together around the table. It conveys love, a passion for family, and a deep sense of community. What surprises me most is that essence of 'being together,' of cooking to unite, which is felt in every gesture and every dish. It's a sincere, direct, and soulful cuisine, and that, for me, is what matters most.

Taking inspiration from that story, what kind of dish would you create that could represent your interpretation of Kazakh cuisine through your artistic lens?

When I tasted some Kazakh dishes—especially the pasta with horse meat, onions, and the broth made with the same meat and vegetables that you drink afterward—I felt an immediate connection. It seemed profoundly authentic, very traditional, and surprisingly close to the essence of my own culture.

That's why, rather than simply combining traditions, I wanted to imagine a dish that would create a dialogue between both cuisines: a ravioli filled with horse meat, accompanied by a concentrated broth inspired by that Kazakh preparation, and a fermented sauce that adds depth and a local touch. It would be a dish that respects Italian technique, interprets the Kazakh soul, and celebrates that shared appreciation for conviviality.

You’ve also previously expressed your fondness for simple yet sophisticated cuisine. However, there’s nothing simpler—or more personal—than our own guilty pleasures when it comes to food. Could you share what your ultimate guilty pleasure is, and why it holds that special place for you?

My guilty pleasure is potatoes in all their forms: fried, baked, mashed, however you like them. For me, they represent the essence of the cuisine that captivated me as a child: honest, simple, and straightforward cooking that doesn't need elaborate embellishments to be perfect. It's that dish that connects me to my roots and the purest flavors of my childhood.

Looking back at your professional journey, which three moments do you consider the most defining, and how did they shape the way you approach food and creativity today?

If I had to choose three moments that truly shaped my path, I would say these:

The first was my training in Italy. There I discovered that cooking isn't just technique: it's discipline, culture, method, and a way of expressing yourself. I learned the value of sacrifice and understood that this profession demands a lot, but it also gives you so much more.

The second came when I worked in high-end restaurants, especially those with Michelin stars. That environment forces you to give your best every day. It taught me precision, creativity, resilience, and the responsibility of always cooking at the highest level.

The third was the moment I began to develop my own culinary identity. When I stopped cooking just to execute a recipe and started cooking to tell a personal story. That shift made me understand that creativity isn't about decorating a plate, but about filling it with meaning.

These three moments have completely defined the way I cook today: with method, sensitivity, and my own unique voice.

Earlier, Qazinform reported that tourists spend most of their money on dining out in Kazakhstan.