Stories from the Road

At 28, my life wasn’t perfect, far from it. That’s partly why I made such a huge move to Vietnam in the first place. But in many ways, I’d already reached a quiet sense of self-actualisation. As a chef, I’d come to a place of contentment with my skills. There were, and always will be, things to learn, but I no longer felt held back. I’d run my own business, something I’d dreamed of for years, and I’d closed it feeling at peace with what I’d achieved and with the decision itse

On moving from the UK to Vietnam, where things first appear chaotic, but slowly begin to make sense. Moving to a new country is a bit like stepping into unfamiliar traffic. At first, everything looks chaotic. The rules seem unclear, people move in ways you wouldn’t expect, and you’re not quite sure when it’s your turn to cross. But slowly, you start to realise there is a system — just not the one you’re used to. One of the things I didn’t expect to notice so quickly in Vietna

My earliest memory of a snow day is pure, uncomplicated joy. Snow meant building a snowman, no school, and maybe a snowball fight. It meant cosy socks and jumpers by the radiator, pressing my cold, sopping feet against its warmth, getting chilblains and not caring. The day was easy, small, joyous. No anxiety. No obligations. Just snow. Then I got a little older, and snow started to get complicated. My house sits right by the mountains and catches snow first, making the roads

The classic fry-up is one of the most personal meals there is. It’s comfort and chaos on a plate — a reward after a long week, sustenance after a heavy night, a hangover cure and a small act of self-care all at once. It’s the meal that forgives you for everything. Maybe that’s why people get so emotional about it. A fry-up can spark serious debate — what belongs on the plate, what doesn’t, and what counts as a criminal offence before 10 a.m. Everyone thinks their version is t