Losing Every Tour in 2020: How Photographing 300 Restaurants Led Me to Sushi
Chapter 9: The World Shuts Down
A Phone Call Near the Imperial Palace
In December 2019, I was guiding a group of college students from New York through Tokyo. As we strolled near the Imperial Palace, one of their phones rang. It was his mother calling from the U.S.
“Put on a mask. Right now. There’s a virus spreading in China. It’ll reach Tokyo soon.”
The boys looked shaken. Within minutes, they were walking through Tokyo fully masked. They even bought designer masks at A Bathing Ape in Shibuya, smiling beneath the fabric.
I watched them with curiosity, thinking, “Isn’t that a bit much?” After all, it was just something happening in China… wasn’t it?
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
One by One, My Bookings Vanished
One by one, my bookings vanished. First a trickle, then a flood of cancellations. By January 2020, I had nothing left on the calendar. The virus had landed in Japan. People were panicking. Borders were closing. Tourism had collapsed—completely.
I had just quit my job. I had just stepped into what I thought would be a new chapter, full of promise. But the hope I held was slipping through my fingers like sand. I felt like a kid who had lost his favorite toy.
So Now What?
Rent was due. My motorbike loan wasn’t going to pay itself. I had no income. No backup. And no one was coming to save me.
So now what?
Chapter 10: Reinventing Myself Through a Lens
The One Thing I Still Had
When the world shut down in 2020, I lost everything I had just begun to build. Tourism vanished overnight. My dream of becoming a full-time guide dissolved as the borders closed and silence took over the streets of Tokyo.
But I still had one thing: a camera.
Before the pandemic, I had bought an entry-level mirrorless camera. I thought that if I wanted to thrive as a guide, being able to take good photos for my guests would be a nice bonus. Nothing more.
Spotting the Gap
Then the state of emergency was declared. Restaurants sat empty. Owners were panicking. But food delivery apps like Uber Eats were booming. And I saw something.
I thought, “If restaurants can’t get people to come in, they’ll need to bring the food to the people—and they’ll need great photos to do it.”
A Self-Taught Food Photographer
I dove into YouTube tutorials and taught myself how to shoot food. I learned how to set up artificial lighting in my tiny apartment. I discovered the tricks of steam, glisten, and angles. Slowly, my photos started to look like the ones in magazines.
And then I started getting calls—from ramen shops, sushi counters, curry houses. I became the guy who made food look irresistible online.
Over the next three years, I photographed dishes for over 300 restaurants. In the middle of a pandemic that broke the tourism industry, I reinvented myself as a food photographer. I survived not because I had a business plan, but because I noticed a gap and threw myself into it with everything I had.
What started as a backup skill became the very thing that saved me.
Chapter 11: Behind the Shutter
The Owner Who Screamed
Not every client was welcoming. One owner screamed at me the moment I arrived, furious that I had started setting up during lunch hours. The restaurant was empty, but he was on edge, still hoping hungry customers would walk through the door.
Still, I didn’t flinch. I told myself: You may hate that I’m here, but I’m going to give you the best damn photos you’ve ever had.
And I did.
Every time I pressed the shutter, there was only one thought in my head: “F*ck COVID-19! F*ck COVID-19! F*ck COVID-19!”
Meals Wrapped in Hope
Then there were the kind ones. Nepali-run curry shops, the quiet heroes of Japan’s immigrant dreams. They always sent me home with a bag of food after the shoot: hot naan, rich dal, spicy biryani. Each meal was wrapped in humility and hope.
By then, I was no longer alone. Not long before, I had met someone special—a partner who stood by me through those uncertain days, never once asking me to give up and go back to an office job.
I’d bring the food home, where she would be waiting. We’d eat together, sharing stories and bites—often more food than we could finish. We had no money and no security, but those meals were rich in every way that mattered.
A Life Worth Living
Shooting, eating, listening—it was all blending together. I wasn’t just surviving. I was transforming.
Every photo I took was proof: I’m not done. I’m learning. I’m building something real. No virus, no angry shop owner, no hardship could take that from me.
And with her by my side, I began to believe I could create a life not just worth photographing, but worth living.
Chapter 12: Learning Can Change Everything
The Belief That Shaped My Life
If there’s one belief that has shaped my life more than any other, it’s this: learning can change everything. Not just improve things, but fundamentally transform who you are.
When I was a teenager, it was English that opened the first door. I studied hard, and it led me to university. Later, it took me to Ernst & Young.
Years later, when the world shut down during the pandemic, it was photography that kept me afloat. Not by chance, but because I chose to learn and to start again, even when everything felt uncertain.
I learned lighting setups on YouTube. I photographed takeout meals on my kitchen table. That scrappy effort turned into a business. Three hundred restaurants. Hundreds of chefs. A life reborn through a lens.
The Courage to Start Over
Through it all, one truth kept resurfacing: transformation takes courage. But with the right mindset—and a few new skills—anyone can change their life.
And I began to realize something even deeper. I didn’t just want to transform my own life. I wanted to help others do the same.
Because I know how terrifying it is to start over. To risk failure. To not know what’s next. But I also know the thrill—the joy—of becoming someone you didn’t think you could be.
Why I Teach
That’s why I teach. Why I guide. Why I open my kitchen to strangers from across the world.
Not just to show them sushi, but to remind them—maybe for the first time—that change is possible. And worth it.
Chapter 13: From Camera to Knife
Understanding Food from the Inside
Shooting food wasn’t just about the perfect angle anymore. The more I photographed, the more I realized that if I truly wanted to capture dishes at their best, I needed to understand them more deeply.
Not just how to light them, but how they were made. The ingredients. The techniques. The rhythm of a kitchen. If I could speak the same language as the chefs—not just visually, but culinarily—I knew my photography would reach a new level.
A Dream Buried for a Decade
Then a memory came rushing back. Nearly ten years earlier, I had been working in an office by day and hosting travelers through Couchsurfing by night. We’d gather in my tiny apartment, sharing meals and stories late into the night.
And one night, I remember thinking, “Wouldn’t it be amazing to run a cooking class for international travelers someday?”
That “someday” was starting to feel like now.
Everything Begins to Align
Around that time, I heard a successful entrepreneur say, “If you want to learn sushi, go to a school. One year, and you’ll be able to serve with confidence.” That sentence stuck with me.
Then came a twist of fate: Japan announced a COVID relief grant for small business owners. The amount? Just enough to cover a year at a professional sushi academy.
It felt like everything was aligning. My English, honed over years of study. My communication skills, sharpened by guiding travelers. My photography, shaped by shooting for over 300 restaurants. And now, the dream I had buried for a decade was asking to be realized.
If I added sushi to the mix, I could offer something truly unique: a private, premium sushi-making class for overseas guests, rooted in real technique, personal storytelling, and heartfelt hospitality.
Building a Bridge
Maybe, by the time I graduated, Japan’s borders would reopen. Tourists would return. And I would be ready.
I made up my mind. I wasn’t just going to survive. I was going to build. Not just a class, but a bridge between cultures—born from a quiet dream and built with everything I had.
The camera had carried me this far. Now, the knife would take me the rest of the way.