The Most Important RSVP Is for the Team
Humans Of The Kitchen
From the heavy-metal chaos of his first kitchens to the lessons of the great ones, he now leads a family-driven Kojin by putting people first.
Pedro Hansel Mederos
I grew up in Miami, but the spark for cooking came from traveling with my family. Miami didn’t have much of a food scene back then, so when we went to places like Chicago or California, I was blown away. I remember watching my mom’s face light up when she tried something new. It made me realize how powerful food could be.
At first, I worked in kitchens for free just to learn, but I also held sales jobs to pay the bills. Funny enough, sales turned out to be one of the best things I could’ve done. It taught me how to communicate, how to explain my vision, and how to connect with people.
Eventually, I went to CIA Greystone in Napa Valley, but honestly, every restaurant I worked in was its own classroom. My first kitchen was absolute chaos, heavy metal blasting, chefs screaming, the kind of heat that could break you. But it also made me ask, “What if this could be done differently?” That thought stuck with me, and that’s what I try to create at @kojinmiami, an environment where we can all work in peace and have a few laughs along the way.
My biggest struggle early on was speed. I wasted time watching others instead of just focusing on my own station. Someone finally told me, “Keep your head down, do your work, and you’ll learn everything you need.” Once I found that rhythm, things started clicking.
Through it all, my wife, Katherine, and our son, Jameson, are what keep me going. Katherine is right beside me in the kitchen on tough nights, and Jameson reminds me why I do this: to live an honorable life by feeding others.
One moment that defined how I see this industry happened at SingleThread. I was cutting citrus supreme, and Chef Josh Lanning just looked at me and asked how I was doing. That simple question hit me. It reminded me that as chefs, our role is to nurture, not just guests, but our teams too. From that day, I promised myself I’d lead with kindness.
For me, hospitality begins with my staff. The minute they walk through the door, they’re my first and last guests. If I can take care of them, with respect, good tools, and quality ingredients, our diners will always feel that same care.
The achievements I’ve received in my career wouldn’t be possible without my team, and I’m grateful for the opportunity to do what we love together every day. The Michelin Guide recognizing us is a massive milestone for us, and receiving a Whet Pallet award is honestly really close to my heart as well.
This industry has a long way to go, especially when it comes to mental health. I hope to be part of changing that through groups like the Southern Smoke Foundation’s Behind You initiative, which offers free mental healthcare for hospitality workers. Because if we don’t care for the people in this business, nothing else will survive.
Looking forward, I want to see small, independent restaurants celebrated more. They’re the heart of every community after all. At Kojin, we’re working on closed-loop projects, finding second lives for byproducts from our kitchen, cafés, and breweries nearby.
Secret Sauce
- What’s the most unexpected ingredient you’ve ever worked with, and how did it change your perspective on cooking?
Copoazu, when we did a collaboration dinner with the team from X.O. Medellin. It made me realize that I still have so much to discover and learn.
- What’s your “guilty pleasure” meal?
Flanagan’s Caesar no croutons add bacon bits, firecracker shrimp with garlic bread, half rack of ribs, and ten wings (ALL FLATS) with a shot of Jameson and a Coor’s Banquet.
- A food trend that you hate and why?
All of them.
- What’s the craziest shift you’ve ever worked in the kitchen? What happened, and how did you manage to get through it?
It was for a food festival that shall remain nameless. We had to do 2500 portions of a dish. We worked a complete brunch and then dinner service. Afterwards, we finished the 2500 portions for the food festival. We spent 30 hours in the restaurant that shift.
5. What happened, and how did you manage to get through it?
Honestly, we have a fantastic kitchen team and we spent this night into early morning showing each other funny YouTube videos and laughing uncontrollably, we still aren’t sure if the videos were that funny or if it was just pure delirium at that point.
- What tips would you give to other cooks and chefs to help them navigate their culinary careers and find peace amid the chaos of the kitchen?
Know what your center is and figure out your core values and principles. Once you know those things, you can tell when you’re in the right kitchen and where you will grow, and you’ll also know when to move on. Also, find a Mentor, one that will be with you forever. Support systems in this field are key.
- What’s an underrated ingredient and why?
Shio Kombu, people know Kombu for dashing, but to add a touch of depth and texture to a dish, there is nothing better. Shio Kombu is just so misunderstood.
8. What’s a must-try dish from your kitchen or the one you’re proudest to have prepared?
Our French onion Chawan Mushi is indescribable.
About Your City!
Miami, USA
- If Anthony Bourdain or a chef came to your city, what would be the perfect tour itinerary from breakfast to dinner?
Breakfast would be at Tina’s in the Gables, a quick stop at the Legion Park Farmers Market to see what’s happening locally, coffee tonic at Emissary Cafe, lunch at Chug’s Dinner, early dinner at Zitssum, drinks and a late bite at Ariete.
The Starter Never Dies
Humans Of The Kitchen
From music to bakeries, from an injury to pop ups, one thing stayed alive in every chapter: the dough.
Julian Gheiler
Miami
I didn’t necessarily expect to make a life in the culinary world.
After growing up in Miami, I moved to Chicago to study music business. I came back for the summer when I was 19 and got my first job in the industry: bar and dessert at Gigi. I was terrible and it was brutal. I didn’t have the speed or urgency required to handle plating all the desserts and making all the drinks in the restaurant. But I really did enjoy the dessert part of the job. The pastry chef would show me each morning how she wanted me to present each plate and I would feel really proud of my work, often posting pictures of plates to the new app “Instagram”.
I spent the rest of my college years working at a catering company in Chicago before moving back to Miami and having a good go at making a life in the music industry. I was an intern at the III Points office, worked production at the New World Symphony Center, and later moved to New York to work at a booking agency.
The baking bug got me while I was at the Symphony Center. One night after a late event, I ended up on the Wikipedia page for the shortbread cookie. The first line of the page was “a traditional Scottish biscuit usually made from one part white sugar, two parts butter and three to four parts plain wheat flour.” I had all of those ingredients in my pantry in that moment, so I threw spoonfuls of each in a mug, mixed them up, and put the mixture in the oven. To my amazement, what came out was an actual shortbread cookie. I was hooked from then on.
Around that same time, I got obsessed with making matcha cream puffs. It’s a really technically advanced pastry, people spend years getting it right. I tried it one day and completely failed. Tried again the next day. Failed again. I kept trying every day for like four or five days until I finally made one that worked. That moment really stuck with me. I realized I had never wanted something that bad before. Never worked that hard for a result. And that’s when I first thought: maybe I could be a baker one day.
I got my “dream job” at a booking agency in New York but in reality I was getting paid $1,600 for 35 hours a week, living in Brooklyn. That wasn’t going to work. So I picked up a job at a falafel shop while still working at the agency. I was doing four days at the office, two or three at the shop. And at the falafel spot I did everything, front of house, back of house, making food, serving customers. It was probably my first real back-of-house experience. But even then, all I could think about was bread. I wasn’t going out, I wasn’t seeing friends, it was just me and the dough. I was baking sourdough every single day, and while everyone at the office was talking about new albums, I was sitting there thinking about the dough I had in my fridge.
I started selling challahs and babkas I would bake at home. My manager at the falafel shop even sold them at work. I started to realize that I was wasting my time trying to force something that didn’t fit anymore. So I decided to stop fighting against my desire and ride the wave. I quit my jobs to go to bread school in Barcelona.
But before I went to Barcelona, I returned home to Miami for the summer. This was 2019. I went to several bakeries handing out my resume, asking if I could just come in and learn. The only one that said yes was True Loaf in South Beach. I learned so much there. I would work the front in the morning and stay after my shift to learn bread and pastry production. I would take croissant scraps and make babka with them. After several weeks, I convinced the owner, Tomas, to sell babkas at the shop. By the end of the summer I was getting paid to make bread, and it felt amazing.
I learned considerably less in the two-month program I did at the Barcelona Baker’s Guild. For all the theoretical knowledge you can learn in an academic environment, nothing compares to actually working at a bakery every day. And as I realized later, the bakery I had worked at was world-class in terms of quality. The school was very traditional — old-school Catalan techniques. The only thing I really got out of it was learning how to make pan de cristal.
I ended up working at a couple bakeries while abroad, but at this point we were deep in the pandemic. I yearned for my family and friends back home, and True Loaf needed a new baker. Coming back seemed like a no-brainer.
I came back to a job that involved arriving at 4 a.m., doing the morning bake, and mixing all the dough. It took some time to adjust to this level of responsibility, but I managed it. I later got to a point at True Loaf where I was basically living my dream. I was shaping all the bread, and we’d hired someone who I’d taught to do all my mixing. I didn’t even have to come in at 4 a.m. anymore. And best of all, I was making some really incredible products.
One Sunday I went to play soccer, as I was doing every week back then. I got hurt. I felt something in my knee and feared the worst. But I managed to keep playing and figured I had just pulled a muscle, so I went to work as normal the next week. After a couple weeks though, I wasn’t feeling any better. A couple more weeks passed and I was barely limping through my work days. At some point I had to pull up a stool to shape breads, a big no-no in kitchens. After six weeks my dad convinced me to get a scan and I discovered that I’d been working on my feet with a fracture in my knee. My perfect little life was done.
I had to take several months for recovery and physical therapy. Tomas promised me he’d keep my job for me when I recovered, and he was true to his word. I went back to work at the bakery but I could only do a few hours at a time. My body couldn’t handle it anymore. I had to find something else to do, so I did what any Miamian would do in that situation: I got a real estate license.
But as is often the case, it never really worked out for me. I never liked it, and felt embarrassed telling people that I was a realtor. My friends (who were all servers and bartenders and DJs) weren’t exactly lining up to buy a house. I had a couple good months but it was mostly a period of bad financial instability. I still baked bread at home every day, and sometimes I would sell some on my Instagram story when I really needed money.
One day, my friend Callie Pumo (a brilliant baker in Miami) asked me to do a bake sale with her at what was then Paradis. That little event would end up changing my life. After that first pop-up, my friend Ale invited me to sell food at his night at The Corner. This turned into a regular thing. I started getting booked for more and more events. It got to the point where food pop-ups truly became my main hustle. It wasn’t the easiest way to live, but I was doing my own thing on my own terms. The best part of the pop-up life was how deeply I felt connected to my community. I met so many people at events that I worked.
After almost two years of making a living from mostly nighttime events, I found myself really yearning for the bread and pastry that I had spent so many years learning. So when my friend Numan Hall reached out to me about doing something at the vacant Paradis space, I knew it was the perfect opportunity. Together with him and BLK BRW, we were able to put together a collective that made a perfect symbiosis of our various skill sets. A place where the coffee is as important as the pastries, and the food will teach you about places you’ve never heard of. And it’s in the same place where I did that first pop-up with Callie. That’s kinda poetic.
Baking every day has become my rhythm. I love how fermentation transforms the dough without me doing anything, how I can leave something overnight and come back to it completely changed. I think that’s part of why I kept coming back to it. Baking is different. It’s early mornings, not late nights. You’re not surrounded by alcohol or that constant edge of burnout energy kitchens have. I’ve seen cooks rely on things just to get through service, but that would be weird at 6 a.m. in a bakery. When I finish my shift and the sun is still up, I don’t feel like drinking. I just feel calm.
I’ve had the same sourdough starter for seven years now. The person I got it from said it came from France, 200 years ago. I brought it with me to Barcelona and back. People think sourdough is hard to keep alive, but it’s not. It just wants to live.
Cover and food photography by Nick Murray @neauxcream
Interview and black-and-white photos by @hotkstudios
Becoming the Chef She Needed
Humans Of The Kitchen
Dismissed as “too small, too different,” she carved her own way from peeling veg to running her own kitchen.
India Doris
I grew up in London, where Sundays were sacred in my house. In the UK, a traditional Sunday roast typically includes roast chicken, beef, or pork served with potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, gravy, and all the trimmings. But in my Jamaican grandmother’s kitchen, it was a little different. We’d have jerk chicken or oxtail alongside the traditional sides, sometimes with rice and peas. These meals were about gathering together, talking, and laughing around the dinner table. That’s where my love for cooking began.
I’ve never really considered another career. When I was younger, I enjoyed running track, but nothing made me feel the way cooking did. But culinary school wasn’t an option for me because we couldn’t afford it. So at 15, I went to a town away from my own and walked into a restaurant to beg the chef for a job. That’s how I got my foot in the door.
My first kitchen job was all over the place, peeling vegetables, picking herbs, putting away deliveries, washing dishes, and cleaning stations after service. I was working 18-hour days, six days a week, making about 300 pounds a month, and living on my own by the time I was 16. It was exhausting, but it taught me resilience.
People doubted me in those early years. I was “too small,” “too different.” No one really wanted to teach a little teenage girl how to be part of the team. Instead of letting it discourage me, I used it as fuel. I watched everyone, tasted dishes when no one was looking, and drew sketches of station setups in my notebook long before smartphones existed. I learned by being observant, curious, and determined.
My philosophy in the kitchen is simple: I’m here to throw dinner parties every night. My favorite memories are of my family sitting together, eating and talking with no phones or TV, just connection. My grandma hosted those meals and took pride in them, and I want to create that same feeling for the people I cook for.
The kitchen has been my safe place in more ways than one. In my late teens and early twenties, when I couldn’t afford groceries, my chef let me come in on my day off to eat the family meal and take home basic ingredients. That generosity helped me get through some tough months.
Opening my own restaurant, @marketterestaurant, is one of my proudest achievements. It gave me the chance to take everything I’ve learned, the precision and attention to detail from fine dining, the flavors I grew up with, and combine them into something that’s mine.
For me, cooking has always been about more than what’s on the plate. It’s about bringing people together, the way my grandmother did every Sunday, and creating a space where everyone feels welcome.
I run my kitchen like a pirate ship filled with people from different places, with different stories and personalities. Diversity is important to me, not just for the creativity it brings to the food, but for the richness it adds to the team.
One thing I hope to see more of in the industry is women in leadership roles. I didn’t work for a female chef until I was 14 years into my career, and that needs to change. I want to make sure the next generation doesn’t have to wait that long to see women leading from the front.
Photo credits to @thenatalieblack
Secret Sauce
- What’s the most unexpected ingredient you’ve ever worked with, and how did it change your perspective on cooking?
Not an ingredient but an area of the kitchen. I spent a couple of years working in pastry, and it taught me so much about individual ingredients and how to use them properly, which translated when I moved back to savory.
- What’s your “guilty pleasure” meal?
Carbonara Buldak noodles.
- A food trend that you hate and why?
Putting caviar and Truffles on everything. There’s a time and a place, it doesn’t need to be on every course! I love both just appropriately.
- What’s the craziest shift you’ve ever worked in the kitchen? What happened, and how did you manage to get through it?
I had an allergic reaction one time. My whole face and body swelled up like a balloon. I went to the hospital and was put on the drip for a couple of hours. I pulled out the IV drip and ran back to work just in time for service.
5. What happened, and how did you manage to get through it?
I ate a fig.
- What tips would you give to other cooks and chefs to help them navigate their culinary careers and find peace amid the chaos of the kitchen?
Be patient and don’t rush your career. Take the time to learn and travel!
- What’s an underrated ingredient and why?
Sour Cream! Better than crème fraiche.
8. What’s a must-try dish from your kitchen or the one you’re proudest to have prepared?
Peri Peri Chicken
Salt Cod Fritters
Oxtail Gratin
About Your City!
London
- If Anthony Bourdain or a chef came to your city, what would be the perfect tour itinerary from breakfast to dinner?
- Fish, Wings and Tings – Caribbean food
- Dishoom – for breakfast, Indian/English Breakfast (The big Bombay)
- Any of Jackson Boxer’s restaurants
Community as the Main Course
Humans Of The Kitchen
The win isn’t a title, it's helping someone find their place at the table, in the kitchen.
Adam Walsh
There wasn’t a dramatic epiphany where I knew I wanted to be a cook when I was a child, but I was surrounded by food that felt like magic. My great-grandma lived a few doors down and made the kind of bread—slathered in butter, sprinkled with salt, baked till golden—that you never forget. She’d hand-roll tortillas until her hands couldn’t anymore, and the whole family treated a dozen like treasure. I’d watch Molto Mario in the mornings Iron Chef Japan at night with my uncle, not knowing anything about food, just that I liked it. Mac and cheese from the Blue Box and Jiffy Cornbread were my comfort zone. And honestly, they still are.
In high school, I worked at the mall to save up enough money for gas and to party on the weekends. But somewhere in the middle of flipping channels one lazy afternoon, I noticed that all I ever stopped to watch were cooking shows. I didn’t know what that meant at the time, but I think part of me did.
When it came time to figure out college, I told my parents I wasn’t going. I’d take classes at the local community college, sure, but I wasn’t interested in school. That conversation didn’t go well. I did a couple of classes and then enrolled in the lottery system for the junior college’s culinary program. I was the last ticket drawn, but that wasn’t the last time I’d be pulling something improbable off.
The program was a whirlwind, truncated to a year. The day I graduated, I just kept thinking: What’s next? Who is the best or most exciting restaurant in the area? I’d find them. Work for them. I told every chef the same thing: “I’m here to steal everything you’ve got—even the salt shakers.” They didn’t have salt shakers, but they understood I was hungry to learn and grow.
I moved around a lot early in my career, typically staying at each place for about two years. I believed that if I couldn’t learn everything within that timeframe, it meant either I had failed them or they had failed me. Eventually, I left one kitchen because the chef was using recipes from someone else’s cookbook. The next place I applied to was run by the chef from that book, motivated by the desire to prove to the previous chef that his belief I could never work for him was only in his mind, not mine. This experience made me realize that I can and should constantly strive to grow and improve.
The first real kitchen job I got wasn’t glamorous. I was making nachos and mini hot dogs, as well as shucking oysters. But the chef took a chance on me. Told me if I showed up six hours early every day, he’d teach me how to break down fish, make sauces, cook dishes—really run a kitchen. I did it every day. I stayed. I listened. Eventually, I became his sous chef. That guy taught me more than just food. He told me: “Big shield, big back. Protect your team. Build an army wherever you go because the people you invest in now will be the ones who come back and save your ass later.” I carry that with me everywhere.
I didn’t speak much Spanish when I started. My great-grandmother tried to teach me as a kid, but it never stuck. In my first kitchen, that language barrier kept me isolated. One day, I asked my station partner to speak to me only in Spanish. Word got around, and suddenly, everyone started teaching me. Now, I speak it every chance I get in the kitchen, sometimes to surprise people who don’t know and other times as a more effective way to make a point.
I didn’t know how to manage my emotions at first. I was a twenty-one-year-old Sous Chef trying to command cooks much older and more experienced than I was and had to learn quickly that respect and trust are earned. Those are only the beginnings of being a great leader or chef, though. I still knew I was quick to get frustrated and often led with aggressive behavior towards younger cooks, who I felt didn’t care as much as I did. Slowly, I began to adopt a “rhyme with reason” approach to leadership. Stop and examine the entire scenario, then adjust your emotions to fit the situation and coach with the “why” in mind, ensuring you explain your reasoning. I’m calmer now, and it’s helpful when I’m in kitchens where I may be a Chef de Partie but often have to do the job of a Sous or even an Executive Chef at times and still get passed over for promotions or opportunities. My purpose of being there isn’t to earn a title; it’s to teach and grow those around me whenever possible.
I lead by teaching. I’ve always said, this industry has been my paid education, so the least I can do is pass that on. I taste everything. I make my team taste everything. Build flavor memory. That’s what makes food good, not fancy terms or expensive ingredients. It’s the repetition. The intuition.
I’m inspired by those I’ve worked beside or helped mentor in any way. Seeing people who couldn’t appropriately dress and plate a salad become recognized by Michelin, or seeing those who couldn’t fry an egg become strong leaders for hotel groups, or even seeing guys who were just prep cooks when I knew them end up being successful chefs and restaurant owners. I am team food. Whenever I see someone carving their own path in this crowded space and succeeding, I applaud them, which makes me hopeful and motivates me to keep working harder.
I don’t cook to show off. I cook to feel. To remember. I love to create playful food that makes people smile—something that reminds them of a cheap take-out dish or a weird dish they loved as a kid. But behind the playfulness is technique. Layers. Depth. I want the flavor to hit hard and the story to linger.
The kitchen has pulled me through some dark shit. I’ve crashed on coworkers’ couches during breakups. I’ve leaned on old chefs when I was burned out or second-guessing myself. There’s a particular kind of comfort only back-of-house people understand. We don’t always talk about it, but it’s there.
There have been moments that meant everything. Like cooking at Rustic Canyon with Jeremy Fox. Cooking for Thomas Keller without knowing he was at the table. But nothing beats the night my parents came to eat at the restaurant. I was running the pass. Sent out extra snacks. Watched them smile from the kitchen. Took photos with them at the table after. That feeling? I’ll never forget it.
There’s a lot I love about this industry—the chaos, the camaraderie, the adrenaline. I love that moment after a packed service when the staff goes out for drinks, decompresses, and laughs until their faces hurt. But I worry too. I see new cooks relying on YouTube and skipping the more challenging aspects. And sure, you can learn a lot online—but you miss the soul of it. The part where someone shows you how to fix a sauce by feel, or teaches you a crust that should sound a certain way when it’s right.
I hope we don’t lose the mom-and-pop spots. I hope food stays accessible. I hope we stop chasing awards and start building communities. That we support each other—by reposting a friend’s dinner, buying someone’s merch, and hyping their pop-up. I try to live that way. I only serve Transparentsea Farm shrimp, and I connect my dinners to local people doing good work. I invite anyone to collaborate. I want people to feel seen.
At the end of the day, I want to share good food in a backyard with people who leave feeling a little lighter. If I can help someone get their foot in the door or feel like they belong, that’s a win. The fire, the flavor, the company—that’s what it’s always been about.
To everyone who’s ever had my back—thank you. I’m still learning. I have a place for all of you, and I promise I will pay it forward.
Secret Sauce
- What’s the most unexpected ingredient you’ve ever worked with, and how did it change your perspective on cooking?
Bitter melon. It made me realize that some ingredients just don’t taste good.
- What’s your “guilty pleasure” meal?
The iconic yellow paper burger joints, like “Louis III” serving burgers with shredded lettuce. A double cheeseburger, no tomato, side yellow chilis, and pastrami fries or chili cheese fries.
- A food trend that you hate and why?
Putting anything in a tortilla and calling it a taco.
- What’s the craziest shift you’ve ever worked in the kitchen? What happened, and how did you manage to get through it?
Mother’s Day brunch with 1500 covers.
5. What happened, and how did you manage to get through it?
The pastry chef walked out mid-brunch out of the back, and no one said anything to me about it. We subbed another person trained in pastry who was working on omelets to help, and then switched players again to have a prep cook make omelets while I continued to put out fires. The dining room drain backed up at the end, a drunk guest clogged the guest bathroom, and one dishwasher had an altercation with another at one point. It was a mess.
- What tips would you give to other cooks and chefs to help them navigate their culinary careers and find peace amid the chaos of the kitchen?
Take time for yourself. Find chefs you admire and consider working for them. Don’t lower your standards for anyone. Lead with integrity and always support and respect your team. Never go backwards. Don’t be afraid to ask. Hold yourself higher than those around you, it speaks more than you’ll have to. Drink water.
- What’s an underrated ingredient and why?
Bay leaf. Take a glass of water steeped with a bay leaf and one without. It truly adds to anything it’s in. Even if it’s subtle, it plays a part in building flavor.
8. What’s a must-try dish from your kitchen or the one you’re proudest to have prepared?
I like this chicken ballotine I made for my wife’s birthday. I brined a whole chicken, deboned the entire thing, kept the skin intact, and made a farce of the leg and thigh, a duxelles of advieh-spiced Long Beach mushrooms and garlic, wrapped it all back in its own skin, then cooked sous-vide. Then I made a very rich chicken stock with roasted bones and feet and reduced it from 2 gallons to about a pint. When it was time to eat, I seared all sides and basted it in Maison Bordier butter, then served it with sautéed mushrooms, spring peas, and asparagus dressed in lemon. It was one of the most humble and delicious things I’ve made. I also have a soft spot for my lazy bread. It’s a sourdough/levain bread with no starter or fuss. It has a sourdough flavor throughout the proofing and is pretty forgiving in terms of ferment time. I think it stands with some of the best in the city.
About Your City!
Long Beach, California
- If Anthony Bourdain or a chef came to your city, what would be the perfect tour itinerary from breakfast to dinner?
I think forcing Anthony Bourdain to do some yoga on the bluffs is pretty Long Beach-y. Go to breakfast at Chuck’s Coffee Shop. Sit at the counter. Lunch at Phnom Penh Noodle Shack. Drive over to Ferris Bueller’s house and see how different that neighborhood is.
Dinner at Chiang Rai or La Parolaccia Osteria. Chef Michael at La Paroloccia is carrying on his father’s legacy while elevating it, all while remaining humble. Go to Harvelles at night for some strange burlesque show would be fun. We’d have to stop by Tacos La Carreta somehow at night as well. We’d figure it out.
From Puri, India To Michelin-starred restaurants
Humans Of The Kitchen
Cooking to Honor His Roots and Grandfather’s Legacy.
Pratik kumar Parida
My grandfather used to run a catering business in Kolkata. After every event, he’d come home with leftovers, I’d sit beside him, listening to his stories of hustling through the city, of starting from nothing, of cooking because he had to, but also because he loved it.
That’s how it started for me. Not in a restaurant kitchen, not through cookbooks or culinary schools, but through those quiet, personal moments. My mother’s home cooking. My father’s Sunday meals. The smell of spice, the rhythm of a pan, the joy of feeding the people you love. No one in my family had a culinary degree, but food was always the heartbeat of our home.
At first, my father wanted me to be an engineer. And I tried. But I knew that it wasn’t for me. By 2014, I had stepped into my first professional kitchen. I was 20. And I got hit with reality fast: 16–17 hour shifts, 21 days straight. It was exhausting, relentless, and humbling. But I still treasure those days. Because that’s when I realized I belonged here.
I consider myself very fortunate to have been influenced by many mentors, worked in numerous kitchens, and collaborated with inspiring colleagues. I remember staging at Per Se for the first time. The sheer precision. The way every inch of that kitchen breathed discipline. That moment raised the bar for me. It showed me what excellence could look like. I caught a glimpse of Chef Thomas Keller that day. Total fanboy moment, but more than that, a reminder that dreams can be real if you grind hard enough.
Today, I’m the Executive Sous Chef at @saga_nyc, a two-Michelin-starred restaurant. And while that title means something, I’m still that same kid from Puri, Odisha. A place most people in the industry haven’t even heard of. That’s part of why I keep pushing. Because I’m not done, this isn’t the end goal. It’s a milestone. There’s still so much more I want to build.
My cooking is emotional. I admire the French technique. I respect tradition. But more and more, I find myself returning to my roots, Odia flavors, my mother’s recipes, my grandfather’s stories. I cook to remember them. To honor them. They’re gone now, but their love for food lives in everything I do.
I’ve worked through grief. I’ve buried myself in prep and plating to feel okay. And I’ve leaned on the kitchen as both a battlefield and a sanctuary. The camaraderie saved me more than once. Cooking didn’t heal the void, but it gave me purpose when I needed it most.
What I love about restaurants is the symphony, the flow, the energy, the unspoken rhythm. But we still have work to do. Pay systems need reform. Back-of-house staff deserve to share in the rewards. I know it’s controversial. But fairness shouldn’t be.
After COVID, our industry was tested. But it’s resilient. And in this age of AI, I still believe one thing: machines can’t cook with emotion. They can’t replicate the soul. And that’s something we can’t afford to lose.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: The journey builds your character, not the destination. So enjoy it. Embrace the chaos. And never stop cooking from the heart.
Secret Sauce
- What’s the most unexpected ingredient you’ve ever worked with, and how did it change your perspective on cooking?
A couple of years back, I had been given a project with foie gras, which I made into a Savory semifreddo terrine. In my lifetime, I would have never imagined that I would make something like that. I had a taste profile in my head, but no clue what I was making. Eventually, that went into the menu of SAGA, and it was one of the best dishes that I came up with. That dish changed my perspective on looking at things out of the box.
- What’s your “guilty pleasure” meal?
If I don’t feel like cooking, I just order Domino’s pizza. Not for taste, but it’s easy and filling.
- A food trend that you hate and why?
Hate is a very strong word for me, cooking is hard and not a lot of people understand that, so whoever is cooking or trying to cook their way out with trend, I support them, so no hate to any trend, just don’t get people sick, that’s all.
- What’s the craziest shift you’ve ever worked in the kitchen? What happened, and how did you manage to get through it?
As said before, 21 days straight, 16-17 hours daily.
5. What happened, and how did you manage to get through it?
As I can remember, I was going through a rough patch with one of my ex-girlfriends, and it happened to be that exact time that we broke up. I was sad, but I had no time to process that part because I was working like crazy. Later, I was hurt, but again, thanks to the kitchen, my pain and joy both merged together.
- What tips would you give to other cooks and chefs to help them navigate their culinary careers and find peace amid the chaos of the kitchen?
As Chef James used to say, “f$ck around and find out.” I would say the young cooks and chefs should invest in the basics, don’t take shortcuts, and just hang in there. The restaurant industry can be brutal, but there is no greater feeling than overcoming the obstacles, so never give up and always march forward.
- What’s an underrated ingredient and why?
It has to be lentils, I haven’t seen a lot of applications, but trust me, it’s versatile.
8. What’s a must-try dish from your kitchen or the one you’re proudest to have prepared?
There have been a lot of dishes, but one of them has to be the pork char sui dish that I developed at SAGA in 2023.
About Your City!
Puri, Odisha
- If Anthony Bourdain or a chef came to your city, what would be the perfect tour itinerary from breakfast to dinner?
I was born in Odisha but grew up in Kolkata, a city renowned for its influential culture and delicious food. Coffee House and Arsalan are must-visit places for anyone looking to enjoy the local cuisine. Additionally, Shyambazar and Esplanade offer some great food options that you should definitely try. I was also lucky enough to visit Lucknow, which is another prime hub for Indian food.
Rising Beyond the Oven
Humans Of The Kitchen
A story about baking, breaking, healing—and leading with purpose.
Carlos Perez
I was seven when I baked my first batch of cookies. My mom stood over me, walking me through the steps—how to read a recipe, how to fold the dough just right, how to pull them out of the oven before they burned. That was it. I was hooked.
I read my way through every cookbook she had in the kitchen, tried hundreds of recipes, and eventually started a job at a bakery when I was 13 years old. I never had another job outside this industry.
My parents were artists. They ran an art studio, taught classes daily, and I absorbed all that. Subconsciously, that influenced my decision to become a chef. I wanted to be an artist—just with a different medium.
The French Culinary Institute in NYC came later. By the time I got there, I had years of experience, and it just facilitated the learning. So many of the recipes we made in school, I had already made a dozen times over, but the school gave me more insight into the science. I gravitated toward it: the why behind the rise of dough, the structure of laminated pastry.
Eventually, I opened a bakery. Ran it for thirteen years. Somewhere around year six, I felt like I had baked my way through every recipe I could think of. That itch to grow hit hard. So I took online cook and pastry chef jobs at the same time, sometimes holding executive chef roles while still operating the bakery. It was a lot. The constant pressure I put on myself to learn and grow has put a unique flair on the cuisine I cook today. It’s not uncommon to see some pastry influence in my dishes, even if it may be subtle.
Cooking, much like art, is endless. There will always be new ways to create and compose dishes, and thus, my approach to cooking is to continue to learn.
Starting at a young age in a bakery gave me a head start, but it came with both pros and cons. The owners primarily spoke French and were old school. Everything was made from scratch, and perfection was the standard. You had to double-check everything or you’d be dodging a loaf of bread. There was no room for ego, only precision and repetition. It wasn’t glamorous; it involved 4 a.m. shifts, calloused hands, and long hours. But I loved it, and I still do. I felt productive, I was learning, and I was getting paid.
Though I was still a kid in an adult kitchen, lifting 50-pound bags of flour, running on fumes, getting my ass kicked by prep lists. Later, it was the grind—missing holidays, pulling doubles, sacrificing any kind of normal schedule. But I kept my head down and thought about the bigger picture: where I wanted to go, who I wanted to become.
I’m 38 years old now. My body has adjusted to the “exercise” of this work. But it’s still the people who keep me here. Food can bring people together to create positivity, whether you’re cooking it or eating it.
My parents were my biggest inspirations. My father passed away last year at 99. He had this unbelievable life: fought in the Cuban Revolution, escaped to the U.S., toured Europe with a band, and opened an art studio where he met my mom. My mom is a force of her own—stern, loving, tireless. Everything I am, I owe to them.
And then there’s everyone else—the line cooks, the dishwashers, the servers, the chefs who shared their stories. I’ve battled my own depression, and it was cooking—and the people around me—that pulled me out. That’s why we started the annual Anthony Bourdain Suicide Prevention Dinner. We began small in 2018, and last year we raised over $20,000. It’s the most meaningful thing I’ve ever done.
One night I’ll never forget was at the Palace Theater in Waterbury, pre-COVID. I cooked a wine dinner for 250 people. Chef Jerry Reveron invited me. We had a quiet moment backstage where he told me to share my passion. That young chefs like me gave him hope. He didn’t know it, but I had studied his menus growing up. He passed away from COVID not long after. I hold that conversation close.
Now, in my kitchen, I try to lead by example. Mop the floors. Jump into the dish pit. Break down the science of why we do things. Create a space where people want to show up, not just because they have to, but because they belong. We as chefs are nothing without our teams, and the only way we can get to the next level is if the team works together.
This industry has always been a judgment-free zone to me—a place where anyone, from anywhere, could rebuild themselves. But we’ve also inherited toxic habits: glorifying burnout, normalizing shitty hours, living on coffee, alcohol, and whatever’s left on the plate. That has to change.
I want the industry itself to be more sustainable in the future. I’m hoping the labor force will grow, and once again we’ll have more people coming into the industry than leaving it, which unfortunately has not been the case recently. To attain this, there has to be a better work-life balance, more understanding of the pressures of the industry (as well as life), and resources to help combat them. We have to support our peers, improve communication with our teams, and motivate each other so we can all grow as individuals, which ultimately will progress and strengthen our industry.
I’m working on myself, too—physically, mentally, and supporting my team, taking inventory of my habits, checking in with others. That’s the kind of industry I want to see grow. One where we take care of people the same way we take care of the food. One where we don’t just survive the grind, but build something sustainable and worth passing on.
And if this resonates with you, join us.
This year’s Anthony Bourdain Suicide Prevention Dinner is happening Monday, October 20. Come share a meal that means something. Tickets are available at bourdaindinner2025.eventbrite.com.
Also, check out the 86 Challenge on August 6—another step toward prioritizing our mental health in this industry.
And if you can, consider donating to your local chapter of the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. Every bit helps.
Secret Sauce
- What’s the most unexpected ingredient you’ve ever worked with, and how did it change your perspective on cooking?
Fresh duck, and I mean fresh. Early in my career at one restaurant, a local hunter brought in a set of ducks he had just shot, literally completely out of the blue. Seeing the animal changes your whole perspective on our food source and minimizes food waste. Defeathering the birds, breaking them down, and cooking them, the entire experience felt completely different than any other time I had done it. You take the utmost care and precision to do things the right way, to minimize waste. I remember reading in one of Thomas Keller’s books that he had a similar story with rabbits.
I specifically went to a local friend’s turkey farm one year to help with slaughter before Thanksgiving. Realizing where your food comes from has a grounding effect; it creates an appreciation that far too often gets lost in the speed of day-to-day life. I think a lot of us need that sometimes.
- What’s your “guilty pleasure” meal?
Sushi. It’s always my go-to. I don’t know if it’s a guilty pleasure, but at least it’s healthy, and I enjoy spicy, crunchy tuna rolls all day long.
- A food trend that you hate and why?
Overcomplicating recipes, adding too many items to the point you can’t distinguish one from another.
- What’s the craziest shift you’ve ever worked in the kitchen? What happened, and how did you manage to get through it?
Oh God, one shift during COVID when things were opening back up but not back to normal 100% yet. A couple of our line cooks both got sick and called out, which left me and a good friend of mine who we had just hired as a dishwasher. Let it be known that it was one of his first shifts, and he had no restaurant experience; we were short-staffed in both the front and back, so it was not a good time.
5. What happened, and how did you manage to get through it?
We got destroyed with tickets all day, I mean destroyed. Servers crying in the walk-in, yards of tickets coming out of the printer, a complete mess in the kitchen everywhere… we ended up 86 3/4 the menu, no salad dressings, shaping burgers on the fly, just an absolute horrible service. The grill ended up catching fire from all the burger grease, and finally, we stopped service after dumping a box of salt and a gallon of milk on it. The sales for that day were around 8k. There was a euphoria during COVID, at least it felt that way to me, like every day was going into battle, no one knew what they would be faced with, and I think because of that, every ticket, every order, every customer mattered that much more. At the time, I wasn’t sure if the industry was going to survive, but I sure as hell was going to try my hardest to give our restaurant a fighting chance. That’s what got me through.
- What tips would you give to other cooks and chefs to help them navigate their culinary careers and find peace amid the chaos of the kitchen?
Protect your personal space, and try to keep a balance in your life. The kitchen is just that, a chaotic place. For all the chaos, you need some peace and calm to balance it out. For me, some time outside helps. Focus on your goals. It’s okay to stray a little bit, but make sure you get back on the path to your own success. And every so often, check yourself, take a deep breath, make sure you feel alive, and take a good, hard look to see if you’re heading in the right direction.
- What’s an underrated ingredient and why?
Miso paste. I use it in so many recipes, it gives a little sweetness, salt & umami all in one. Maple & miso is one of my all-time favorite flavor combinations.
8. What’s a must-try dish from your kitchen or the one you’re proudest to have prepared?
Honestly, there’s a ton. I change the menu at least 4-6 times a year, and each season has my personal favorite. Right now, for summer, I have to go with the Street Corn Sea Scallop Risotto with cotija & lime. Our jerk chicken is also to die for.
About Your City!
Woodbury, Connecticut
- If Anthony Bourdain or a chef came to your city, what would be the perfect tour itinerary from breakfast to dinner?
So many different places! I love Connecticut because of our food scene, for a state so small, we have so much. Start by checking out the big three pizza spots in New Haven, Pepe’s, Sally’s & Modern. Ordinary for drinks, then over to Mystic for their thriving food scene (Shipwrights Daughter, Port of Call, Oyster Club). Quick stop at the casino because why not? Gastro Park in Hartford for a bite. Millwrights in Simsbury. There are so many places to choose from.
Cooking Through Purpose, Not Pressure
Humans Of The Kitchen
Building a kitchen where well-being and passion coexist.
Carlos R. Alpizar
I was six years old when I learned to cook rice for the first time. That moment ignited a passion in me. I became obsessed with food, enhancing its flavor and experiencing the satisfaction it brings people. To me, cooking is an expression of love and is meant to be shared.
But like so many others, I tried to follow the expected path. I started studying law because it was the “right” choice. But I quickly realized cooking was the only thing I truly wanted to do. With my brother’s support, I found the courage to pursue gastronomy and chase what truly made sense for me.
I studied culinary arts, and through that journey, I met my first mentor, Chef Luis Alarcón. He truly opened my eyes to the vast and beautiful world of gastronomy. Before that, I had a narrow view of cooking, but he taught me to appreciate its depth and endless possibilities.
The first time I stepped into a professional kitchen was while I was still studying, and it was a wake-up call. It showed me how tough and demanding this career can be and how much dedication it requires.
One of my biggest challenges was my ego. I thought I knew everything when, in reality, I was just starting out. A former boss once told me, “You have talent and passion, but your ego is holding you back.” That moment changed my perspective. Fortunately, I met people who helped me realize that mistakes aren’t failures, they are growth opportunities and for refining my craft.
The pandemic nearly broke me. I lost my direction and spark. But I turned inward, reconnected with my craft, and started sharing my journey online. The support I received from the industry, Costa Ricans, and strangers brought me back. It reminded me why I started.
Now, as I work on building my first restaurant, the real journey is just beginning. I want my team to have both a career and a life. The industry glorifies burnout, but that’s not sustainable. A fair kitchen is one where passion and well-being coexist. And above all, I want Costa Rican cuisine to be recognized. Our gastronomy is rich and diverse but often overlooked. Through my work, my food, and my voice, I want to change that.
Secret Sauce
- What’s the most unexpected ingredient you’ve ever worked with, and how did it change your perspective on cooking?
I think it would be escamoles—ant eggs. They’re not commonly seen, but some Indigenous communities collect and eat them sautéed, mixed into rice, or in tortillas. It was one of those experiences that made me realize I wasn’t seeing the whole picture. I wasn’t truly paying attention to my surroundings, my country, its biodiversity, or its history. It was a turning point in my perspective—understanding that Costa Rica’s gastronomy is incredibly diverse. We have ingredients that are either unheard of elsewhere or simply not consumed, yet they are part of our food culture here. That changed the way I see and approach cooking.
- What’s your “guilty pleasure” meal?
When I was a kid, my guilty pleasure was a bowl of rice with ketchup—simple, a little weird, but I loved it. Now, it’s a good cheeseburger with fries and a Coke, usually from a fast-food chain. It’s quick, delicious, and honestly, I just love it. Sometimes, there’s nothing better than that. In Costa Rica, we’d call it a ‘salvatandas’—the perfect lifesaver meal.
- A food trend that you hate and why?
Drenching everything in cheese—like those burgers covered in half a kilo of melted cheese. I just don’t get it. It feels excessive, unnecessary, and honestly, a bit gross. There’s a limit to everything, and one of the phrases I live by in the kitchen is ‘less is more.
- What’s the craziest shift you’ve ever worked in the kitchen? What happened, and how did you manage to get through it?
We worked at an electronic music festival in Guanacaste, Costa Rica a few years ago. Our mise en place was done in a school, then transported to the festival site. We had chefs from all over the world cooking for a massive crowd. The location—a finca with a lot of dust and sand—made everything even more intense. The relentless rush of 15 to 20 people ordering at a time never stopped. At first, we didn’t have a clear leader, so we took turns running the kitchen based on the day’s specials. It was pure chaos—starting at 8 AM, finishing at 2 or 3 AM—but also incredible. The energy, the music, the adrenaline of service… exhausting, but unforgettable.
5. What happened, and how did you manage to get through it?
Honestly, it was a mix of pure adrenaline, the festival’s incredible energy, and our fantastic team. We supported each other and figured things out after that first chaotic day, and from there, it became easier—though still exhausting. We made the most of any downtime to rest, and when that wasn’t possible, we ran on coffee, Red Bull, and pure determination. What made it even crazier was that our small kitchen—maybe 10 meters wide by 4 or 5 meters long—was the only place serving food at the entire festival. We had over 15,000 people, and this tiny spot was their only option. It wouldn’t have been possible if it hadn’t been for the knowledge, experience, and teamwork within that crew. But thanks to them—and a lot of Red Bull—we pulled it off.
- What tips would you give to other cooks and chefs to help them navigate their culinary careers and find peace amid the chaos of the kitchen?
Take care of your physical and mental health. Passion alone won’t get you where you want to be—you need hard work, planning, and clear goals. Breaking big ambitions into smaller steps makes them more achievable. But above all, prioritize your well-being. Understand that nothing in the kitchen is personal. Everyone is under pressure, especially during a rush, and mistakes happen. Once service is over, take a step back and see things for what they were—just the chaos of the moment. Learn to own your words, apologize if needed, and have the maturity to recognize when your reaction wasn’t the best. Growth comes from reflection and constant improvement.
- What’s an underrated ingredient and why?
At least here in Costa Rica, I think the flor de Itabo (yucca flower) is one of the most underrated ingredients. It’s a flower native to Central America with a distinct bitterness that, when handled correctly, can elevate a dish in incredible ways. I’ve tried it in different preparations, and its intensity enhances flavors beautifully. Even though it’s only available for a few months of the year, it’s truly special. I love how its bitterness can be balanced to bring out the best in a dish. I really hope more people start using it.
8. What’s a must-try dish from your kitchen or the one you’re proudest to have prepared?
I’d say lengua de res en leche with almost-burnt tortillas. It’s a dish my grandmother used to make and one of the defining recipes from my maternal side. As far as I know, only two families in Costa Rica still prepare it—one of them being mine. It’s incredibly rich, both in flavor and history. The reason behind its creation, the way it has been passed down, makes it even more special. Everyone I’ve cooked it for has been blown away by it. Having this dish in my repertoire, giving my grandmothers and my family the recognition they deserve, is something I’m truly proud of. And beyond its history, the depth of flavor is just surreal.
About Your City!
San José, Costa Rica
- If Anthony Bourdain or a chef came to your city, what would be the perfect tour itinerary from breakfast to dinner?
I’d start with breakfast at Caféoteca—great coffee, simple and well-done food. Then, I’d head to Mercado Central or Mercado Urbano to dive into Costa Rican culture, explore local ingredients, and see what makes our food unique.
For an afternoon coffee break, I’d stop by Franco for a quick cup of coffee before heading to dinner. To finish the day, I’d take them to Sikwa. Right now, I’d say Sikwa or Conservatorium are two of the best spots in the city, but if I had to pick just one, I’d go with Sikwa.
If they had more time, there are plenty of other great spots to explore, but this would be my ideal itinerary for a one-day trip.
- Recommended Places in your city:
- Food Markets: Mercado Central de San José, Feria del Agricultor de Zapote.
- Dish or food you must try: Queso Pinto con extra de chicharrón (Feria del Agricultor de Zapote).
- Cultural Events: Festival Internacional de las Artes (FIA).
- Neighborhoods: Barrio Amón.
- Popups: Katuk Pop Up.
- Street Food/Food Trucks: Santería Handmade Street Food, Burga.
- Restaurants: Sikwa, Conservatorium.
- Cafes: Caféoteca, Franco.
- Bars: Pocket, Mercado La California.
- Hotel/Hostel: Hotel Grano de Oro.
What No Accolade Could Hold
Humans Of The Kitchen
From fast food to MasterChef—what he found was worth more than any accolade.
Thyago Rocha Sanches de Oliveira
I didn’t grow up dreaming of becoming a chef. I grew up learning how to survive. After my father passed away, it was just me and my mom. I was only eight or nine, staying home alone while she worked, cooking lunch for myself, doing the dishes, cleaning the house. That’s how I learned to care for myself, for a home, and eventually, for others.
At 12, I was already working as an office boy. By 18, I was flipping burgers at McDonald’s while studying at university. I studied physiotherapy, earned my degree, and even started building a life in that world. Still, when it came time to choose postgraduate programs in physiotherapy, I surprised everyone, including myself, and enrolled in a culinary course. That was the first leap. I was broke, so I picked up commercial modeling gigs, taught Aikido, and did some theater to make ends meet. It didn’t make sense on paper, but it made sense in my gut. Years later, I would go on to train in Italy, cook in Michelin-starred restaurants in Switzerland, teach gastronomy at a university in Brazil, and take my creativity to MasterChef and beyond.
One of the first kitchens I worked in was in Brazil. I was still a student when I answered an ad on Orkut for a head chef at a small buffet restaurant. I had no idea what I was doing, but I showed up confidently and learned as I went. That hustle, that energy, never left me.
Later, I took an internship in Piedmont at a restaurant perched on top of a hill. It was beautiful, demanding, and relentless. The real challenge wasn’t the technique; it was the isolation, the unpaid labor, the grueling hours with barely a day off. Eventually, I left in search of better working conditions and found a new opportunity in Switzerland. Despite the chef’s desire to hire me and my wife, a pastry student at the time, the human resources department refused because we held South American passports. That rejection stung. It still does.
Australia came next. I arrived with no job, no connections, just my wife and me. Within a week, I was scrubbing grease off a range hood while missing the last bus home. That moment lit a fire in me. I told myself that one day I’d be cleaning my own kitchen—and I did. I returned to Brazil, ran hotel kitchens, became a professor, and found my rhythm again. During the pandemic, I started plating again. Something clicked. My creativity surged, and I shared it online. My audience grew organically from 2,000 to 10,000, just from the joy of plating.
Now, I live in Perth and work at @tucciperth under Chef Chris Taylor, a creative force who believes in me. I’m grateful for that support, especially in an industry where work visas and bureaucracy can chip away at your spirit. Some days, I think about leaving the kitchen. But I find strength in meditation, nature, and conversations with myself and God. I still have something to say.
My cooking philosophy is simple: do the best you can with what you have. Reinvent constantly. Keep your head down and your knife on the board. I don’t believe in yelling or cruelty in the kitchen. I believe in building teams that work like families and creating experiences that merge food, music, and soul. I’ve paid out of my own pocket for musicians when restaurant owners didn’t see the value. I’ve driven my staff to and from work during transit strikes. I’ve made mistakes, sure. But I believe in showing up for people, including myself.
After MasterChef, I went through burnout and depression. I was eliminated early and thought I’d ruined two years of preparation. I isolated myself. I drank too much. I lost my sense of purpose. But eventually, I found my way back—not because someone handed it to me, but because I reached for it. Even on the hardest days, I know this work matters. I may not have a trophy, but I have something better: respect from my students, admiration from my team, and the knowledge that my story inspires others to keep going.
I love the energy of restaurants, the way they breathe and pulse like living things. But I also know their dark side. The injuries, the addictions, the exploitation, the long hours without dignity. We have to do better. I make videos, share what I’ve learned, and try to be the kind of leader who listens. I want to leave this industry better than I found it. That might not be the fastest path to fame, but it’s the one that makes the most sense to me.
Even on the days when I think about quitting, I remember that. And I keep going.
Credits:
Photos 1, 2, 3, 5 @brunobonif
Photo 7 @celinparadise
Secret Sauce
- What’s the most unexpected ingredient you’ve ever worked with, and how did it change your perspective on cooking?
Unfortunately, nothing uncommon, but I once came into contact with crocodile meat. To be honest, I thought it was a waste to kill such an animal for meat that isn’t particularly flavorful or has a good texture.
- What’s your “guilty pleasure” meal?
BOLOGNESE!!!!
- A food trend that you hate and why?
Truffle oil. Is it truffle? Is it oil?
- What’s the craziest shift you’ve ever worked in the kitchen? What happened, and how did you manage to get through it?
I once worked at a hotel without going home, starting at 6 a.m. and leaving the next day at 11 a.m.
5. What happened, and how did you manage to get through it?
It happened that I was the executive chef, with dishwashing staff missing, a football team staying at the hotel, a new bar menu to present, and the busy period of creating rosters.
- What tips would you give to other cooks and chefs to help them navigate their culinary careers and find peace amid the chaos of the kitchen?
Seek a routine that is as healthy as possible, not only for the body but especially for the mind. Constantly pursue inner peace. Do not let anyone take it away from you.
- What’s an underrated ingredient and why?
In Brazil, the Flat Iron. Brazilians are always looking for picanha and sirloin.
8. What’s a must-try dish from your kitchen or the one you’re proudest to have prepared?
I make any and all fresh pasta. With all the humility in the world, my pasta and how I prepare it are well above average.
About Your City!
Curitiba
- If Anthony Bourdain or a chef came to your city, what would be the perfect tour itinerary from breakfast to dinner?
- Brekkie: misto quente e um pingado. (ham and cheese sandwich and flat white)
- Lunch: Santa Felicidade (typical Italian quarter)
- Happy Hour: Barbaran – carne de onça (Uranian bar with typical food and drinks)
- Dinner: Lelis tratoria (cantina italiana)
Sweet, but Never Soft
Humans Of The Kitchen
Turning the unexpected into dessert—and obstacles into leadership.
Romina Gisela Yanarello
I’ve known I wanted to be a pastry chef for as long as I can remember.
When I was little, while the other kids were outside, you’d find me on the kitchen floor with a tiny notebook, scribbling recipes from cooking shows on TV. I wrote as fast as possible, terrified I’d miss a step. Later, I’d try them out, usually changing them. Back then, I didn’t know how ingredients really worked, so half the time they didn’t turn out. But it wasn’t about getting it right. I was learning how to create.
Later, in pastry school, I was the only one who put vegetables in my final cake: avocado and chocolate. In Argentina, at that time, it was seen as crazy. My professor told me, “Keep the avocado for guacamole next time.” But years later, I found myself in Denmark, standing in a Michelin-star kitchen on a trial day, and the ingredients they gave me were cucumber, pear, and celery. I knew right then I would have so much fun, and I had traveled to the right place in the world.
Today, at my restaurant @Surbydemitierra_in Oslo, my desserts include green peas, corn, mushrooms, and even garlic. And that notebook kid is still here, still trying things that might not work, still dreaming.
I never had another career. I finished school and jumped straight into pastry, even though almost nobody supported the decision. My family was worried. They wanted something “safer” for me. But I couldn’t see myself anywhere else. Pastry wasn’t just cakes and cookies to me. It was creativity, freedom, and the chance to travel and learn. When I was younger, I even dreamed about becoming a pastry chef on a cruise ship. That didn’t happen because life had other plans for me.
I first studied in Argentina, then in Spain, at the Basque Culinary Center in San Sebastián. That experience changed everything. I learned techniques I couldn’t have imagined before, and my entire view of what was possible opened up.
But before all that, my mom, trying to dissuade me, sent me to work unpaid at a neighborhood bakery. I was 17. She thought the long shifts and physical work would scare me off. Instead, I loved it. I learned how to handle 200-kilo batches of bread dough and industrial machinery. Later, that gave me the confidence to land my first job in a five-star hotel in Argentina. I was the youngest one there. After my trial day, they called me two blocks away: “You got the job.”
That first job taught me more than skills. It taught me to understand my value. I would later remember that lesson when offered unpaid work in prestigious places. Fair treatment matters—no matter how young or new you are.
Moving to Europe was a turning point. I wanted to grow, so I left for a Michelin kitchen. I started as a commis and quickly rose to head of pastry. It was exhilarating, but also a period that came at a significant personal cost. I learned the hard way about setting boundaries and protecting my well-being. At the moment, it nearly broke me. Now, I see it shaped me.
When things get tough in the kitchen, I tap into my creativity. Ideas come to me in dreams. I wake up with new flavor combinations in my head, or the vision of a new texture, a shape, a plate. When that happens, I run to the kitchen. It’s like a language I speak with myself. Sometimes I’ll sit before an empty plate for minutes, building something in my mind before my hands move. Drawing and writing help too. They connect me deeper to what I’m trying to say through food.
One night marked me forever. After a long shift, exhausted, about to head home, a guest asked the entire kitchen staff to come out. We gathered in the dining room and had no idea why. The couple told us they had decided, during that meal, to start a family. They thanked us for making it the most memorable night of their lives. That moment changed how I see food. It isn’t just what’s on the plate. It’s what food can hold—joy, memory, transformation. Since that night, I’ve never seen this work the same way.
My philosophy is simple: respect, cleanliness, love. Food can move people, tell stories, make you cry, or remind you of someone you’ve lost. It’s not just fuel. It feeds the soul and memory. In the kitchen, I create an environment where that power is respected and where every chef feels they can contribute to it. Leadership means putting ego aside and helping others bring out their gifts. We should all remember why we do this.
Cooking has saved me more than once. It’s my language, my therapy, my anchor. When few believed in me, the people who did became my family. Now, in my own restaurant, I’m trying to build a different kind of kitchen where respect is foundational, every voice matters, and we grow together.
Starting my own business five years ago is my proudest milestone. I came close to quitting many times, but something kept me going, and there are so many exciting projects coming soon that I know wouldn’t exist without the knowledge and experience of the road I have had to walk. Sometimes we need to trust our instincts.
What I love about restaurant culture is that in my country, Argentina, food brings people together. Around a meal, life happens—friendships, celebrations, hard conversations, love. But there is also a darker side to this industry: toxicity, ego, abuse. People suffer in silence, afraid to speak out. I’ve lived it. The unspoken rule is that you won’t work again if you talk. But that has to change.
I know I’m just one person, but I do things differently in my kitchen. I listen. I treat people fairly. I lead even when no one’s watching. If more of us did this, the industry could change for good.
My hope for the future is more collaboration, sharing, and support. We need to stop hoarding knowledge like it’s power. There is room for everyone in this industry. Let’s help each other, recommend good people, and lift each other. That’s how we’ll build a better culinary world.
Secret Sauce
- What’s the most unexpected ingredient you’ve ever worked with, and how did it change your perspective on cooking?
In the Vanguard Pastry Course, there was one class where we worked with blood. We made a blood mousse to learn the properties of how, if you cook blood in the runner, it will increase the volume of egg whites when whisked. That literally made me think there is no limit on how much I can create.
- What’s your “guilty pleasure” meal?
When I make my own dulce de leche, I can’t resist eating a full spoonful and enjoying it.
- A food trend that you hate and why?
The unconsciousness regarding how nature is not unlimited and the abuse of technology’s power nowadays goes against this.
- What’s the craziest shift you’ve ever worked in the kitchen? What happened, and how did you manage to get through it?
The restaurant used to be closed on Sundays, and on one Sunday, the 31st of December, the restaurant sold so many takeaway 9-course menus that there were not enough hands to pack them. My shift started at 10:00 a.m. on 12/31. At 8 a.m., I was sent home to shower quickly, and I started my shift again at 9:30 a.m. I finished at 01:30 a.m. on 01/02. You do the math.
5.What happened, and how did you manage to get through it?
My family back in my home country was highly concerned. I look at it now, and I really regret not having quit after that, but I was too young, and the brainwashing about how lucky I was to be there was a big deal.
- What tips would you give to other cooks and chefs to help them navigate their culinary careers and find peace amid the chaos of the kitchen?
Hear yourselves out. I wish I had, because inside me, I knew it was wrong, but I turned down the volume for so long that at some point, it stopped completely, and that was my alarm sign telling me to just walk out of there.
- What’s an underrated ingredient and why?
All types of veggies in pastry! The best combinations are hidden in the line between the hot and the cold sections.
8. What’s a must-try dish from your kitchen or the one you’re proudest to have prepared?
One of the desserts I really liked the combination of, and which used to be on my dessert menu as a signature because people were so pleased and surprised about it, was the green peas sorbet—ganache and sprouts with white chocolate mousse and lime and mint gel.
About Your City!
Oslo, Norway
- If Anthony Bourdain or a chef came to your city, what would be the perfect tour itinerary from breakfast to dinner?
Currently living in Oslo, so I would say:
- Breakfast at Lutlaget
- Lunch at Hrimnir Ramen
- Beers and snacks at Vinkassen
- Dinner at Sur!
- Sauna at SALT
- A walk through Vigelandsparken
- A drink in Grünerløkka
- Checking the fjords and walking through Aker Brygge, even a bit touristy, has its charm!
The Fire Still Burns: Chef Jass Singh, Crown Shy, and the Legacy of James Kent
Humans Of The Kitchen
A Legacy That Feeds, Inspires & Pushes the Industry Forward
Jassimeran Singh
NYC
Story by Nicole Votano
Some stories don’t just leave a mark—they stay with you.
This one’s been simmering since the night I sat across from Chef Jass at Crown Shy and felt, in that unmistakable chef-to-chef way, what it means to lead with grounded presence.
His journey? It reads like a world tour of growth. Born in India. Trained and tested in Australia. Landed in New York with the kind of kitchen chops most chefs spend a lifetime chasing. But beyond the techniques, what he brought was depth—a perspective shaped by constantly adapting, listening, and showing up in rooms where no one looked like him.
To Chef Jass, New York is everything. Not the polished, postcard version. The real one. The city that’s loud and layered, where cultures collide and food tells the truth. That’s what Crown Shy stands for. It’s why Biggie Smalls is on the wall. It’s why the staff looks like the city itself. And it’s why the dishes feel like they’ve got a point of view. James Kent believed in that version of New York. So does Chef Jass. And they built a restaurant that doesn’t posture—it breathes.
When James passed last June, the industry felt it. He was only 45. But what he left behind was more than a legacy—it was a blueprint. One built on mentorship, trust, and giving people a shot when others wouldn’t.
People like Chef Jass.
They met at NoMad. Chef Jass was new to New York, beard and all. Most kitchens saw it as a problem. James saw it as power. “You belong here,” he told him. And that kind of backing? It doesn’t just change your résumé. It changes your confidence.
Now, Chef Jass leads the kitchen at Crown Shy and oversees the SAGA Group. He’s not trying to replicate James. He’s building on what they shared—precision, care, and the belief that the best food comes from a team that feels safe to show up as themselves.
That shows up on the plate. The spicy tuna dish? It’s his. Inspired by an Indian street snack, layered with pink pineapple and nori fries. Crunchy, bright, bold. “I can still hear James saying, ‘I love this dish,’” he told me. That kind of voice doesn’t fade.
In this kitchen, trust runs deep. Chef de Cuisine Max Brenn started as a line cook. Now his snap pea salad is a favorite. “That’s Max’s dish,” Chef Jass said. “He should be proud.” And that’s how it works here—everyone contributes. Everyone has a voice. Chef Jass has built a culture where cooks are actively encouraged to workshop dishes. It’s not just about tasting the food—it’s about tasting the intention behind it. One person might lead the development, but the
dish doesn’t go on the menu until the team aligns. That shared ownership is rare. And it’s powerful.
This isn’t a comeback. This is a continuation. A kitchen where legacy fuels evolution. Where people move with intention. Where the fire isn’t just lit—it’s steady and strong.
Want to feel it for yourself? Crown Shy didn’t just join the industry-wide wellness conversation—they helped start it. What began as their own team-run crew has become a national movement. They saw the need for a healthier culture in hospitality and made it happen—one mile at a time.
Now, we’re proud to help carry that torch with 86’d Run Club chapters growing in cities across the country. Chefs, line cooks, dishwashers, Front of house, managers —all moving together, building community, and proving that wellness isn’t separate from the work—it is the work.
Still cooking. Still evolving.
And the torch James Kent passed? It’s in the right hands.
Chef Spotlight: Jassimeran Singh
Born in India. Trained in Melbourne’s competitive kitchens, where he worked under George Calombaris and spent over three years with Gordon Ramsay’s team. Then came New York, where he helped shape one of the city’s most talked-about restaurants.
Chef Jass didn’t arrive with privilege. As a Sikh immigrant, he faced obstacles that most people never see. But he met every moment with humility, work ethic, and an unwavering sense of purpose.
Mentorship shaped him. James Kent changed the course of his career by seeing potential that others overlooked. And now, Chef Jass is doing the same—lifting line cooks, spotlighting sous chefs, and inviting everyone in the kitchen to contribute.
He’s not the loudest voice in the room. But he’s the one people follow.
In a city full of noise, that kind of leadership resonates.
And right now? It’s exactly what hospitality needs.
A Legacy That Feeds & Inspires
Before his passing in June 2024 at age 45, Chef James Kent had built an empire rooted in purpose and passion. Raised in Lower Manhattan, he started his culinary career as a
14-year-old apprentice under David Bouley, eventually climbing the ranks at Babbo, Jean-Georges, and Gordon Ramsay’s kitchens before becoming chef de cuisine at Eleven Madison Park, then leading NoMad to its first Michelin star.
Alongside longtime partner Jeff Katz, James opened Crown Shy in 2019, earning a Michelin star within six months. They followed with Overstory—a cocktail bar named one of the World’s 50 Best—and Saga, which earned two Michelin stars. These three make up the beating heart of what is now Kent Hospitality Group.
Their family of restaurants has since grown to include Time & Tide (with Top Chef winner Danny Garcia), Birdee in Williamsburg, and an upcoming SoHo bar takeover of Bistro Les Amis. James’s wife Kelly, and their children Gavin and Avery, were often seen joining him on runs through the Financial District—part of what inspired the original Crown Shy Run Club, now honored and continued through the national 86’d Run Club.
When the hospitality world paused on Father’s Day to grieve James’s loss, it wasn’t just mourning a chef—it was honoring a man who made room for others. Who gave people a chance. Who changed the culture by showing up fully, and making space for you to do the same.
And through people like Chef Jass, that legacy is alive and well.
For more on James Kent’s work, see features in Eater, Resy, and The New York Times.
