Stories from the Road

I don’t remember the first time I watched MasterChef, but it’s a show I’ve always loved. I started with the UK version and followed every new series as it came out. Then came MasterChef: The Professionals, then MasterChef Australia, then the US and even the Canadian version. Each country has its own spin, but all of them share one thing: a glamorisation of the role of the chef. On screen, contestants compete for glory — the dream of running their own restaurant, becoming the

I know that when I started ten years ago, I looked forward to going to work. I was happy to be there six or seven days a week. But somewhere along the way, passion turned into routine, and routine turned into survival.This isn’t a story about hating kitchens — it’s about trying to find balance again between the love for the craft and the reality of making a living from it. The View From the Other Side of the Pass My first proper holiday since before COVID came after a relentl

What time do I finish? — When the work is done. Yes, chef. But actually, I’ll be back in less than ten hours and I’d love a little sleep. Work a bit faster — lots to do. Yes, chef. But really, you should hire more staff or take less on. I don’t get paid to do the work of three. Why are you doing it that way? Do it my  way. Yes, chef. Except —your recipe is wrong. And we both know when it doesn’t work, it’ll be my name in the fire. Yes chef. Yes chef. Yes chef. Repetition make

The Problem with Eggs Eggs may well be one of the most versatile ingredients ever discovered — and somehow, also one of the most personal. They're the iconic breakfast item, available poached, boiled, fried, omelettified… or, the subject of today’s post: scrambled. Which, arguably, is the most divisive of them all. Just type scrambled egg  into YouTube and you’ll find hundreds (maybe thousands — I haven’t checked, but I’m confident) of chefs, home cooks, amateurs, and foodies

The Compliment That Isn’t Always One Before I had the business—when it was still just an idea—people would admire my ambition. My focus. The way I could articulate every detail of the plan like I’d already lived it. Then, once I was running it, the praise shifted to my products, my dedication, my ability to do so much with so little. “You’re amazing,” they’d say. “You work so hard,” as if that was the highest thing I could be. But when I closed it, the compliments turned into

Before the Sand and Suncream We all have those little holiday rituals that feel unique to us. The first time your toes touch the sand on the beach, or dipping your head under the first wave in the sea. Maybe it’s the first meal out after a long journey, or opening the door of the hotel room or villa and crashing onto that big, pillowy, pristine white bed. For me and my sister, it’s always been something a little less sophisticated… more snack-related. I only realised recently

(Mise en Place) Set up like a surgeon, He felt as important. But tweezers and microherbs Won’t be resuscitating anyone tonight. His best tools stood in the background. There I was — Chef’s knives, And the kind of presence You start to expect, Then forget to notice. (Ingredient) Fresh cod loin — perfect portions. But he didn’t know how to make it sing. I offered miso, lime, sesame. He consulted Escoffier. But he came back to me in the end. He returned to my palate, Because Esc

The dish in his mind  delicate as a lie you can’t take back.  Blinded by his own vision,  he orders what he wants,  not what he needs.  It’s the idea that matters —  forget about waste,  think taste,  the look of the plate. Hidden Rot  "Oh fuck — who ordered this meat?"  The question rings out; all eyes drop.  What's a few days?  The date's just a guide.  Call it aged ,  bump up the price.  A short stay in the freezer —  erase this memory in ice. That metallic tang,  that bub

My Brain is a Browser   with 87 tabs open,  one blurs into another  like omens. They all plead for my attention  because they need me —  like a little lighthouse shouting  LOOK AT ME  —  and I do,  and I don’t,  because somehow they're all  urgent and unfinished. It’s the curse of a creative.  Because when you do what you love  you never work a day in your life.  Or maybe  every day becomes work. Some say why,  we say why not —  but there has to be a limit.  How many tabs can