Executive Chef Matthijs Stinnissen brings Confucian cuisine and lessons from Korea to the capital
Classically trained at the Cas Spijkers Academie in the Netherlands, Matthijs refined his craft at several Michelin-star kitchens across Europe before building a distinguished career in the UAE. His approach to Korean cuisine is shaped by an immersive research journey through South Korea, where he studied the cultural philosophy of balance in Seoul, learned traditional fermentation practices with a family on Jeju Island, and explored modern interpretations of Korean gastronomy. At Hanbok Abu Dhabi, the contemporary Korean dining concept at The Galleria on Al Maryah Island, Executive Chef Matthijs Stinnissen combines this cultural understanding with classical European technique.
For those new to the concept, how would you define Confucian cuisine?
It is not simply a style of cooking; it is a moral framework expressed through food. Rooted in the teachings of Confucius, it reflects values of harmony, hierarchy, balance, seasonality, and respect – both for ingredients and people gathered around the table. In Korea, these principles helped shape royal court cuisine as well as ancestral dining rituals. Every dish carries meaning. The colours, textures, and placement of food were carefully considered, following a sense of order. Meals were never just about nourishment; they were structured reflections of society and family.
At its core, Confucian cuisine asks a simple question: Does this dish honour its ingredients, its season, and the person receiving it?
During your time in Jeju and Seoul, immersed in ancestral fermentation and Confucian dining rituals, what was the single most transformative insight that reshaped the way you cook today?
Time. Coming from Michelin kitchens in Europe, I was trained to perfect a dish in hours, sometimes even minutes. But in Korea, particularly in Jeju, I witnessed an entirely different philosophy—food that takes months, even years, to fully develop. Watching traditional jang ferment slowly in earthenware jars under the open sky shifted the way I think about cooking. It reminded me that flavour isn’t always constructed; it is something that you patiently allow to be cultivated. The transformative insight was this: Control less. Respect more. Fermentation taught me humility. It showed me how to collaborate with time rather than to dominate it.
When bringing Confucian principles into a contemporary fine-dining setting at Hanbok, how do you translate philosophy to the plate?
At Hanbok, philosophy becomes structure. We apply obangsaek – the five cardinal colours, not as decoration, but to create balance. Sour, bitter, sweet, spicy, salty are meant to coexist together in harmony. Texture must move from soft to crisp, and heat must be layered gently rather than overpowering the dish. Beyond the plate, Confucianism influences service. Hierarchy is respected, but ego is set aside. Precision is expected, but calmness is essential. The flow of the dining experience is thoughtful, almost ceremonial. Guests may not consciously think, “This feels Confucian,” but they sense the harmony in the experience. And that feeling is very much intentional.
Your classical European training is rooted in precision and structure — how has that background influenced your interpretation of Korean culinary philosophy?
European fine dining trained me in discipline – sauce structure, reduction, temperature control, and the geometry of plating. That precision complements Confucian order beautifully. What I had to unlearn was flavour dominance. European cuisine often builds around a central hero element, which usually is a protein that sits above everything else on the plate. Korean culinary philosophy feels more democratic. Banchan, broths, condiments, everything plays a significant role. I had to soften my instinct to lead with intensity and instead think about composing with dialogue. Less hierarchy on the plate. More harmony between elements.
Was there a particular traditional technique that challenged you creatively or technically, and how did mastering it evolve your cuisine?
Jang fermentation. Understanding gochujang and doenjang beyond their commercial versions forced me to rethink seasoning entirely. Gochujang isn’t just spice. It carries sweetness, depth from fermentation and the influence of time, and climate. Working with properly aged Jang changed how I build sauces. Instead of finishing dishes aggressively with salt or acid, I now season gradually, building layers from the start. It also began to shape the way I approach my European foundations. My jus became more nuanced, emulsions became softened, becoming rounder and more balanced. Fermentation stopped being a garnish or an accent and rather became part of the architecture of the dish.
Having worked at Michelin-star restaurants in Europe and led sustainable concepts in the UAE, what core philosophy now anchors every dish you create at Hanbok?
Integrity. Not luxury. Not a trend. Not complexity. Integrity of the ingredient. Integrity of intention. Integrity of execution. Whether I’m cooking scallop or lamb, I always ask myself a few questions: Does this respect the season? Does it respect Korean philosophy? Does it reflect who I am today as a chef? At this stage in my career, I’m less interested in proving skill and far more interested in creating something meaningful.
What is your vision for Hanbok this year?
To establish Hanbok not simply just as a restaurant, but as a reference point for modern Korean cuisine in the Middle East. This year is about deepening our fermentation programme, refining our ceremonial tasting menu, and strengthening our identity. Not chasing attention but building quiet authority. If we succeed, guests won’t just remember our dishes. They’ll remember the experience. And to me, that is the essence of true hospitality.
