A New Generation of Chefs

I have countless memories from my childhood that make me reflect, “I should have known I was destined to be a chef.” From watching Rachael Ray when I was just four years old, to my obsession with Cooking Mama on my Wii, to bonding with my dad over food shows, cooking was always a part of my life. But it wasn’t until my sophomore year of high school that I decided this wasn’t just a hobby; it was going to be my career.

I’ve never worked outside of a kitchen. Less than a month after graduating high school, I enrolled in culinary school in the middle of the pandemic. My first semester began with eight students, and by the third, it was just me and one other. In the end, I was the only one to graduate. That moment gave me confidence, but it also came with pressure. Moving up quickly meant learning lessons the hard way about leadership, self-discipline, and respect.

My first kitchen job was at Soyumi, a fast-casual Asian-American spot. I learned the fry station, wok, grill, expo, all of it. But nothing was made from scratch, and I wanted more. I found Sugar Magnolia, a small bistro that transformed into a high-end dinner spot at night, and applied right away. At 19, I walked in, terrified, surrounded by chefs in their 30s. I almost got fired within two months because I couldn’t keep up, but my chef saw something in me and gave me a chance. That place broke me down, humbled me, and pushed me harder than I thought possible. Eventually, I became sous chef, but that came with managing a team, so their mistakes became my mistakes. I wasn’t ready, and without guidance, it weighed on me.

When I left, I almost gave up on cooking altogether. The toxicity I experienced had me questioning if I even belonged in this industry. But taking the position at Watermelon Creek Vineyard changed everything. Running my own kitchen forced me to face my doubts head-on and reconnect with why I love cooking: the craft, the ingredients, the quiet rhythm of creating something that matters.

The moments that stay with me most aren’t the promotions or the positions. It’s when a guest tells me it’s the best meal they’ve ever had. That’s why I do this. Food isn’t just about nourishment. It’s connection, memory, and joy. I put my whole heart into every plate, hoping to make someone’s day better.

I’ve seen the darker side of the industry. The normalization of drugs and alcohol, the expectation to push yourself until you break. I don’t buy into that. Addiction is real, but I believe the culture around it doesn’t have to make it worse. I want to be part of a generation of chefs who create healthier kitchens, where respect and growth take priority over burnout.

My philosophy is simple: respect. Respect for ingredients, respect for the craft, and respect for the people in the kitchen with me. I believe in consistency, in intention, and in leading by example. Kitchens can be brutal places, but they can also be spaces of laughter, honesty, and camaraderie. That’s the culture I want to build.

Culinary school taught me determination. Becoming sous chef at 19 proved that I could hold my ground. But what keeps me inspired, even now, is the freedom to create and the support of those who believe in me. My biggest inspiration has always been my dad. He’s the one who first pulled me into the kitchen, the one I bonded with over food, the one who lit this fire in me. I wouldn’t be here without him, and every plate I send out carries a little piece of that story.