Ying

Ingredients left to carry the plate

Yamato Imanishi keeps the unnecessary gesture out of the dish; as Chef at Ying in Taipa, Macau, he lets restraint set the pace. Yamato Imanishi came through École Tsuji Osaka, then the section work of Paris kitchens, including Le Chateaubriand in 2011 and Septime, before taking on his present post at Ying. The throughline is not decoration. It is control, timing, and the decision to stop before a plate begins explaining itself.

At Ying, that discipline meets a Cantonese kitchen known for classical technique and contemporary styling. Imanishi’s own language, shaped between Osaka and Paris, sits beside the house’s Cantonese frame without forcing a collision. The work rests on seasonality, clarity, and ingredients handled closely enough that their structure remains visible. His stated philosophy is plain: “Not overworking the ingredients and listening to their life force has become the core of my culinary philosophy.” In this room, the sentence reads less like a declaration than a working rule at the pass.

Dim sum with the excess pared back

The kitchen’s most legible craft appears at lunch, when dim sum carries the weight of repetition and hand skill. Ying is known for black swan pastry filled with roast goose, foie gras, and yam bean, a dish that asks for pastry work, savory depth, and a controlled finish without turning the table into theatre. Emerald scallop dumplings and crab meat dumplings sit closer to the Cantonese grammar of translucency, heat, and filling, where the wrapper cannot hide careless handling.

Dinner moves through a broader register: Iberico Char Siu, gourmet sauce roasted black pork ribs, premium seafood, and banquet dishes built for the private rooms as much as the main dining room. The restaurant holds a Michelin star in the 2025 Guide, but the better reading is bench-side. Freshness, heat control, and subtle seasoning decide whether the plate lands. Imanishi’s restraint gives that program a particular edge, especially where a rich ingredient could easily be pushed too far.

The room above Taipa

The room sits on the 11th floor of Altira Macau’s F&B Tower, high enough for the skyline and water to become part of the meal without taking over the work. Cranes appear in the décor and tableware, drawn from Chinese symbolism around nobility and wisdom; the motif gives the room a quiet verticality, a sense of lifted line rather than ornament for its own sake. The counterpoint is Taipa outside, with Macau’s casino luxury, Portuguese inheritance, and Chinese dining traditions pressing close around the tower.

Service here has the cadence of a hotel restaurant built for both local regulars and visitors, for lunch tables ordering dim sum and evening tables settling into seafood and roast meats. The craft still returns to the hands. A black swan pastry only holds at Ying if the roast goose, foie gras, yam bean, and shell arrive in proportion.