Make the Damn Egg

What Jiro’s sushi apprentice can teach us about becoming great photographers

When I’m not out shooting or buried in an edit, chances are I’m watching a film.

I’ve always been a movie buff. Not in the casual “Netflix background noise” kind of way—but the kind of person who rewatches Heat for the lighting, pauses Blade Runner 2049 just to admire the frame, and prefers a slow burn over cheap twists. Great films don’t just entertain—they reveal. They teach you something about craft, discipline, and sometimes even yourself.

And one film that’s stuck with me for years is Jiro Dreams of Sushi.

It’s a quiet documentary about a man obsessed with perfecting sushi. But one scene hit me harder than most Hollywood climaxes.

The Egg That Breaks You (Before It Makes You)

Daisuke Nakazawa was an apprentice in Jiro’s kitchen. For years, all he did was prep—massage octopus, wash rice, clean fish. The most repetitive, invisible labor in the kitchen.

Then one day, Jiro gives him a new task: make the tamago—a simple-looking layered omelette, but a dish reserved only for the most trusted hands.

Nakazawa sees it as a promotion. A breakthrough. But he fails. Again and again.

Every time he presents a tamago, Jiro sends it back. No feedback. No encouragement. Just quiet rejection. This goes on for months. Nearly 200 tries.

And then—finally—Nakazawa makes one that Jiro accepts.

No praise. No smile. Just a nod.

And Nakazawa breaks down in tears.

Not because he was proud, but because he finally understood what it meant to do something at the level of a master. To go from executing tasks to embodying the craft.

Photography Has Its Own Omelette

In wildlife photography, no one sees the invisible reps.

They don’t see the mornings where you wake at 03:30, drive through snow, and sit motionless for hours in a hide, more often than not you come back with nothing. They don’t see the thousands of frames culled from a trip to the Pyrenees or Svalbard. The silent frustration of tweaking an edit that still doesn’t feel right. The days spent testing different focus settings or slow-motion shutter speeds just to see what works best for you.

They see the result—a sharp eye, a wild moment, a cinematic reel—but not the grind.
Not the egg.

Loops, Not Leaps

Mastery doesn’t arrive like a lightning strike. It comes in loops.

Quiet, repetitive, unglamorous loops:

• Re-editing old images on a Saturday with fresh eyes
• Re-learning color theory because your style has evolved
• Rewatching field footage to understand what you missed
• Shooting that slow shutter experiment again… and again

And then one day—something clicks. You don’t even notice at first. But you realize:
Oh. I know how to do this now. That’s the nod. That’s the egg.

Obsession Over Outcome

Most people say they want to make great work. But do they want to do what it actually takes?

Because this life—this pursuit—isn’t about virality or validation. It’s about devotion to the craft. About being alone in the cold, setting up one more time, for a shot that (probably) might not happen.

It’s about becoming so obsessed with the process that the process becomes your identity. That’s when you stop trying to “make it.” That’s when you are it.

So if you’re in the thick of it right now—slogging through the boring, the thankless, the uncertain—don’t stop. Make the egg again.

When your moment comes—and it will—it won’t be luck.

It will be the result of 200 silent reps that no one applauded. And one nod that changed everything.