At the counter, guests see stillness. A steady hand, a quiet nod, a piece of sushi set down without a word. But the calm that shapes an evening at Sushi Masa by Ki-Setsu is built long before service begins, often on the one day the counter stays dark.
In this episode of Behind the Counter, we follow Chef Masa through his rest day. It is not idle, and it is not endless work. It sits somewhere gently in between.
Morning, Slowly
![Chef Masa with long hair wearing a shirt featuring cartoon characters, sitting at a table with various items around him, looking slightly drowsy. Text overlay says "[Half asleep]" and another text reads, "Alright! We’re gonna follow you on your rest day today.”](https://kisetsu.com.sg/wp-content/uploads/2026/08/2-Away-from-the-Counter-1024x681.webp?x58548)
His day starts at ten, after a night that usually ends around two. There is no rush. He drinks a mix of creatine and amino acid on an empty stomach, room temperature preferred over cold. Ashwagandha waits for the evening, though he admits it sometimes works a little too well.
He brushes his teeth sitting just outside the bathroom, a habit he can’t quite explain. He keeps a 321-day Duolingo streak going, chipping away at Chinese, enough now to catch a word or two on the street. Later, he soaks in the building pool with a manga, not really swimming. Just resting.
Small things. Ordinary things. The kind rarely seen from the other side of the counter.
Care, Then Craft
Grooming, for Chef Masa, is part of the job. He walks to Orchard Plaza for a fortnightly eyebrow wax and a weekly haircut, following advice that a sushi chef should always be neatly kept. Nobody, he notes, wants sushi from someone unkempt. He tries LED hair removal for the first time, half amused, half unsure.
Then the work returns. At home, he sharpens his knives, roughly fifteen minutes, once a week. He does this on his rest day for a reason: sharpening leaves a faint smell of iron, and that has no place near a guest’s plate. He rinses ingredients to draw out salt, then settles them into a vinegar base to soak for at least three days. Preparation that never reaches the counter, yet holds it up entirely.
He wears a shirt printed with his own tuna character, a design shaped by California culture and a childhood friendship built on music. Clean, a little playful, still respectful of the food it represents. A quiet reminder that discipline and personality can share the same day.
Why We Share This
Behind the Counter looks past the omakase experience to the person who shapes it. Chef Masa is composed at work, yes, but he also soaks in pools, keeps language streaks, and jokes about eyebrow wax. Showing this side is not about spectacle. It is about trust, and the simple human care that sits behind every piece he serves.
