Why Just a Meal When You Can Teppanyaki?
On creating sizzling, shared experiences that spark connection (and maybe singe a few eyebrows).
Most creative work serves the equivalent of a weekday lunch: functional, forgettable and solo.
But the best work is teppanyaki—it sizzles, it sparks connection and it’s designed to be shared.
Whether you’re building a brand, product or pitch, don’t just feed people.
Dazzle them.
Overthinker's Cut
You glance awkwardly at nearby strangers.
Fidget with the invisible line between your space and theirs.
Pretend not to eavesdrop on conversations well within earshot.
Debate whether to break the ice… or keep poking at your miso soup.
At some point, the ten of us gathered—old friends or new strangers—will be sharing a show and a meal.
Welcome to the teppanyaki table.
In 1945, a young Japanese man invented the word “teppanyaki,” combining teppan (iron plate) and yaki (grill). Using a repurposed iron plate from a local dockyard, he opened the first teppanyaki restaurant—not just to serve food, but to put on a show. Think knife juggling, flame throwing and spatula gymnastics. A Swiss Army knife of restaurants.
Most people come for the onion volcano and to test their shrimp-catching skills. I prefer to slide back and watch my neighbors enjoy the show (though if I’m being honest, there’s some residual trauma from a self-induced eyebrow-singeing incident that keeps me a few inches further from the fire).
I’m mesmerized by strangers coming together.
A giant vat of rice hits the teppan, transforming into a communal pile of fried rice from which we all get served.
The chef spins an egg, tosses it, cracks it midair, then flips the shell into his hat like it’s no big deal.
He scans the table, instinctively knowing who’s game for a round of airborne shrimp-hole.
The crowd squeals, flames flare up and there’s always that satisfying moment when a perfect mouthful of steak lands directly on your plate—still sizzling.
And it’s hot—the food, that is. I know because I’ve seen it go straight from the grill to my plate, no back-of-house mystery involved. This might be the control freak’s ideal restaurant. It’s one step away from moo-to-mouth dining (assuming you ordered beef… which definitely does not taste like chicken).
I love the company of strangers, the practiced flair of a professional and the thrill of spontaneous interaction.
Now, I know this might be a chicken-and-egg situation, but I doubt someone in an extreme introvert spiral would voluntarily sidle up to a shared grill, surrounded by strangers and get shrimp-tossed in the face. So, assuming you know what you’re signing up for, there’s an implied agreement to engage—even if that engagement is just opening your mouth and saying “ahhhh” while a shrimp heads your way.
If I just want a meal, I’ll go anywhere.
If I want an experience, I go teppanyaki.
And in my work, I don’t want to serve just any meal.
I want to create the teppanyaki experience.
I think about that every time I create something.
I can cook up a product to be consumed by one… or an experience to be shared by many.
I can build something quiet and forgettable… or sizzling and unforgettable.
I may not be able to (deftly) spin a spatula.
I may not be able to (neatly) crack an egg.
I may not be able to (safely) light flammable liquids on my stove top.
But I can use my own set of skills to create connection. Joy. Engagement.
Something that makes people lean in instead of check out.
If I can create an experience—why settle for just a meal?
So…
What experience will you create?