The Return
of Sushi Mike

I first met Michael in 2025. We were both guests at the retreat then — before I took it over, before any of this was my responsibility. He had the kind of energy that fills a room without trying. Easy to talk to. The sort of person who starts a conversation with the stranger next to him on a flight and knows their life story before the wheels touch down.

I was early in my jiujitsu then. Forty-four, and already telling myself I’d come to it late.

We stayed in touch. I followed him on Instagram through the year — posts and stories that read much like him in person. Grounded. Generous. The kind of voice that only comes from having lived a few lives already.

When he messaged in early April to say he was heading back to Rayong, I was glad. He’d be one of my first guests under the new chapter.

Two restaurateurs, one kitchen

We have more in common than jiujitsu. We’ve both spent our working lives in hospitality — me from a speciality food shop, a hotel management degree, and several years in kitchens; Michael from a long history of restaurant ownership across the United States. Las Vegas. Los Angeles. Different countries, different decades, same instincts. You can tell within a few minutes of dining with someone whether they’ve run a restaurant. Michael has run several.

The first night he was back, he was straight on the mat. Good rolls. Mornings, Michael took coffee in the garden outside the library. I’d often join him. We’d chat. Then he’d head out to explore Mae Ram Phueng and Ban Phe. Somewhere in our conversations we decided to cook up a meal for the team. On Monday, Michael was heading to Ban Phe sourcing fresh salmon, tuna and some other ingredients, while I was speaking with Bangkok Beef to reorder some Tajima picanha wagyu.

You learn a lot about someone from the way they move in a kitchen. Quiet, unhurried, doesn’t get in the way. Michael was making poke while I roasted the wagyu. Psy and Khan from the team added a Japanese curry and a caponata. Four cuisines, different continents, one table. The team rolled that afternoon. The meal came after. First team meal since I took over. Good food, friends at the table, a few laughs. That was enough.

The restaurateur on holiday

Another evening we went for dinner at Caveman BBQ, not far from the retreat. The French bakery next door was closing up — shutters half-down, the last of the light catching the counter. We hadn’t even sat down at Caveman before Michael had ducked into the bakery to see what they had. Not to buy anything. To see. Tomorrow’s breakfast, he said, when he came back. He wanted to know what his options were.

That’s the restaurateur in him. Decades of it, and it doesn’t switch off because he’s on holiday. The eye reads a room on the way past. The menu next door matters, even if you’re eating somewhere else.

Starting at sixty

Back to that first stay. Somewhere in our conversations, jiujitsu came up. Michael mentioned, in passing, that he didn’t start until he was sixty.

His jiujitsu journey is as interesting as his hospitality career — a late starter, fully in since. Sixteen years younger than him, and I’d been treating my own start as late. Watching him train made that look ridiculous.

That shifted something.

Why he came back

I asked him, before he left, what had made him come back. He talked about the jiujitsu first — the mats, the people, the feeling of being part of the family at the retreat. Then the rooms, the staff, the location. In that order. The training was the reason. The rest was what made the training possible.

I asked him where he’d send a friend visiting Rayong. Ban Phe, he said. From there you can take a boat to Koh Samet for a day, or a few nights if you’ve got them.

And I asked him who he’d tell about the retreat. His answer came back clean:

I couldn’t have written that sentence better myself. So I didn’t.

Mentioned in this story: Michael — @mr.sushimike  ·  Caveman BBQ — @cavemanbarbequeth  ·  Bangkok Beef — @bangkokbeef_official