The Kitchen Found Me

I was a hyper child. By todays standard I most likely would have been medicated, thankfully I was not. I was raised by the hardest most amazing woman I have ever met, my Grandmother Stella. When I was 7 she devised a plan to curb my adrenalized mischief. She enrolled me in dance lessons and asked me to assist her in the kitchen.

She was a Master baker. I’d witnessed the assembly of many a cake before but until then I’d never been invited to don an apron and play a part in the process. She knew I like being the center of attention and giving me an opportunity to shine could potentially put an end to my endless shenanigans.

At first I was in charge of reading recipes: ¼ cup of this, pinch of that half dozen eggs etc. Yawn. This wasn’t really my idea of a leading role, but every up and comer knows that you have to take the small roles before you can carry the show.

She was meticulous in her kitchen and like most great chefs it was to be done her way, without exception. I surveyed her every move; the scooping and leveling off of the flour, countless teaspoons, tablespoons, the purposeful one handed cracking of the eggs. Her flood of culinary knowledge inundated my young apprentice brain.

I quickly became her chief egg-cracker. Okay so I was her only egg cracker, her sous-chef d’ouef so to speak. I separated, pooled and whipped more eggs in my childhood than I can ever remember. Many phases of frustration with a few triumphs sprinkled in, then it started to click. For once in my life I was intensely focused and calm. The kitchen became my sanctuary. 

I built up enough trust that my Grandmother felt confident in giving me solo projects. I had officially gone from apprentice to partner. I set my preteen sights on kitchen domination.

The same time she allowed me in the kitchen she enrolled me in my first dance lesson. In and instant, I was hooked. I fell in love with the stage and was a natural performer. More importantly I learned how to be patient, diligent and disciplined. Those skills set me up with the proper mindset as I worked toward my professional career in dance.

Cooking and performing have always been the parallel through lines of my life. Every moment I wasn’t rehearsing for a competition I was tinkering in the kitchen or hosting elaborate dinners for my young friends. Most went great, a bunch went south, but I was undeterred. I loved bringing interesting people I cared about to the table.

I became a professional dancer and moved away, but my passion for food remained.

My twenties were spent tracing the globe on countless tours. I soaked up every culture I came in contact with and immersed myself in the local way of life. I’d venturing out to bodegas, farmers markets and hole in the walls on highly questionable streets. I would come back with my haul so I could prepare a meal for the crew. I became a master of improvisation and could even whip up a meal from a truck stop or obscure Mom&Pop shop. No space, limited gear and sparse supplies, cooking on a tour bus was CHOPPED long before it existed.

I fell in love with the road. Suitcase always packed, passport in hand I became a citizen of the world and at this very moment, I’m planning and plotting my next adventure.

When I went to school all I wanted was to be the best damn cook I could be and share what I’d learned with the next generation of young chefs and I still hold that belief today.