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.
Two Dads, Two Pop-Ups, One Brick & Mortar
Humans Of The Kitchen
Built on food, mutual respect, and a kitchen culture that makes room for real life—still evolving, still to be determined.
Richard & Jhonny
Miami
We didn’t follow a blueprint. We just couldn’t sit still. One day, it was late-night shifts in someone else’s kitchen; the next, it was dragging tables into a rented apartment and calling it Seven. Seven courses, seven chances to say something honest about food. There was no signage, no guarantees—just us, cooking like it mattered because it did.
We crossed paths in kitchens and saw each other working, grinding, creating. Respect grew. Friendship followed. We always said we’d build something together. When we started Siete, we did it out of love and because we trusted each other enough to share the stove and the vision. That chemistry stuck.
Pop-ups were a way to express our art freely. More than a period of exploration or a direct resistance to the traditional system, it was a need to create something of our own without taking on the full risk of a restaurant from the start. We took steps forward, guided by a clear vision of developing a solid product with strong branding and growth potential. It was also our departure from regular kitchens, a more direct path toward building our own space, one more aligned with what we truly wanted to share with the world.
The idea of opening a permanent space was always there, hovering in the distance. But we didn’t force it. We wanted it to mean something. We didn’t want a restaurant just for the sake of having one. We wanted a home base for what we’d already started—a place with soul, where the food could continue to evolve, where we didn’t have to compromise.
Going from pop-ups to brick-and-mortar changed everything and nothing. Suddenly, you’re thinking about payroll, consistency, inventory, and the grind. But at the same time, we still wanted to cook the way we always had—raw, real, spontaneous. It was about scaling without selling out. We built @tobedetermined_miami from scratch ourselves. No safety net. No big money behind us. Just a lot of sweat, a shared dream, and a refusal to wait around for permission.
We don’t do strict roles. We move fluidly, depending on what the restaurant—and each other—needs that day. Not egos. Just alignment. Respect. A deep understanding that we’re building something bigger than both of us.
And now, something even bigger is on the horizon. We’re both about to become fathers. At the same time.
Fatherhood shifts everything. It forces you to reevaluate how you spend your time, how present you are, and what kind of example you’re setting. It’s possible to build a kitchen culture that allows us to be present at home, too, although we know it’s not easy and requires breaking with many of the inherited logic of this industry.
There’s a deeply held idea that for a kitchen to work, you have to give up everything, including your personal life, and that’s something we want to challenge. We’re working to build a more human culture where the team can have rhythm, passion, and dedication, while also having time for themselves and being able to be at home. It’s not about lowering the bar but instead finding more sustainable ways to do so. Adjusting schedules, delegating, trusting more, and letting go of control when necessary. And also setting an example: showing ourselves as present cooks and parents without romanticizing the constant sacrifice. We know we won’t change everything overnight, but it can start from spaces like ours and inspire others to do the same.
TBD—To Be Determined—started as a joke, something we said while we were still figuring it all out. But it stuck. Because that’s exactly who we are. Evolving. Questioning. Never boxed in. We don’t believe in fixed definitions. We believe in movement.
The menu changes every two weeks. The wines rotate. The vibe shifts with us. It’s not chaos—it’s intentional. It’s about creating an experience that feels alive, not templated. We want people to walk in and feel something. Curiosity. Comfort. Surprise.
What do we want this place to represent? That you can build something real without checking every traditional box. That you can lead with honesty, cook with feeling, and still make it work. That you don’t need a million dollars to build a restaurant with heart.
When our kids are older, we want them to look at this place and see proof that their dads built something from scratch. That we did it our way, with purpose and love. That we made room for both ambition and family. That we didn’t just dream—we did.
And we’re still doing it. Every damn day.
Photo credits to @oomsi.films
When the Chef Evolves, the Food Follows
Humans Of The Kitchen
A full-circle story of growth, sobriety, and soulful cooking.
Chris Scott
New York City
I was just a kid in Pennsylvania when I first stepped into the kitchen. Back then, it was pure joy—no rules, no pressure, just me playing around with flavors and finding confidence in the process. That joy stuck with me, but the real shift happened in my twenties, when I met a mentor who didn’t just teach me how to cook, but why we cook. He showed me that food isn’t just about technique. It’s about spirit, culture, and connection. That changed everything. It grounded me. Gave me purpose.
Funny enough, I never set out to be a chef. I wanted to be a teacher. Then a journalist. But life had other plans. I worked in kitchens to pay the rent and to have enough money to keep my lights on. The “pull” of the industry took hold of me, and I’ve never looked back. And in a way, I still became both. I teach every day in my kitchen. I leave behind a trail of breadcrumbs so the younger generation can find their way without making the same mistakes I did. And I also became a kind of “journalist” when I wrote my first cookbook, HOMAGE, which got nominated for a James Beard Award. Life has a funny way of bringing it full circle.
I took some formal classes, mostly in bread and pastry, but the school moved too slowly for me. The real education happened in kitchens with 30-second deadlines every 30 seconds. My first professional kitchen gig was around 1988. It was like watching a dance. I was hooked. But it wasn’t easy. Back then, you didn’t see Black folks working the line in Philly. We were in prep, or washing pots. So I did my prep shift by day, and when the clock ran out, I stayed, working for free on the hot line. I wanted to learn what the white boys knew. And I needed to prove to them, mostly myself, that I had what it takes to be one of the best.
The challenges were constant, but so was the inspiration. It came from everywhere—conversations, weather, even my own moods. I learned to push through it all. I remember doing this event at a museum back in the 90s, still early in my career, taking my lumps. At the end of the night, the chef looked me in the eye and said, “Good job.” That was the first time anyone had said that to me in a kitchen. That moment lit a fire. I started to believe in what I could do.
My philosophy is simple: feed people with love. That’s it. That’s the core of everything I do. Every dish, service, and conversation is all about love. That philosophy got even clearer when I got sober, eleven years ago. In that early stretch, I searched for who I was, not just as a man, but as a cook. And when I started to know and love myself, my food transformed. It still is. It keeps getting better because I keep growing.
I’ve had some big wins—cooked at the James Beard House a dozen times, wrote that cookbook, opened restaurants, did some TV. But what I’m most proud of isn’t any of that. It’s the legacy. The way I’ve shown up for the next generation. The honest conversations, the time spent making sure they’re good, that they feel seen, that they know their worth. That’s what matters. That’s what lasts.
What I love the most about this industry is the guests. I love sitting down with them, learning their stories, and making them feel something through food. What do I want to see change? The competition. The whole narrative around food media—this obsession with who’s best. That’s not what this is about, it never was. It’s about coming together, sharing knowledge, feeding people, and building community.
Secret Sauce
- What’s the most unexpected ingredient you’ve ever worked with, and how did it change your perspective on cooking?
Not sure.
- What’s your “guilty pleasure” meal?
Ice cream and pretzels.
- A food trend that you hate and why?
Gimmicky stuff.
- 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. Any year. It’s always overbooked and understaffed and a total shitshow.
5. What happened, and how did you manage to get through it?
You always get through. Scars and all
- What’s an underrated ingredient and why?
Parsley. Its clean flavors go underrated.
- What’s a must-try dish from your kitchen or the one you’re proudest to have prepared?
Toasted Sorghum Pannacotta.
8. 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?
Listen, be patient, and understand it’s not about you. It has always been about the food.
Built Outside the Lines
Humans Of The Kitchen
A self-taught chef blending precision and purpose—finding his voice through pastry, seafood, and pop-up community.
Mason Acevedo
“I guess it all started with a Chinese delivery box.” That’s what I tell people when they ask about the moment that sparked my love for food, and they usually look at me funny, but it’s true. My mom was deep into a cake-decorating phase, and one day we built a Chinese takeout box out of modeling chocolate for a friend’s party. That’s when I became obsessed, not just with how things tasted, but with how precise and careful the whole process was. You had to control the temperature. You had to pipe straight lines. You had to trim, adjust, and still stay flexible. It was discipline and art all in one.
In high school, I started baking seriously. I followed pastry chefs like Rustam Kungurov and Dinara Kasko. They inspired me to experiment with different methods like creating sharp edges with ganache, and mold making. I kept a cabinet stocked with baking supplies, even when life pulled me in other directions. Funny enough, that obsession with precision eventually evolved into a love for seafood. It turns out seafood, like pastry, demands technical discipline. You can’t fake it.
At first, though, baking was “just a hobby.” That’s what everyone told me. So I got my business degree and stayed on that path. Even now, I still juggle a corporate job with my work as a chef and running my pop-up, @piscator.ny. For a while, I was shy about telling people that. I thought it would make me less credible. But then I read this quote, “When you don’t have many resources, you have to be even more rigorous with your style. Limitations are style if you make them so.” That stuck with me. Now I lean into it. My time is limited, sure. But it forces me to be intentional, to create something curated and authentic. I think that’s a strength.
I never went to culinary school. I’m self-taught. That means when I create something, it doesn’t start from a recipe but from a vision in my head. I just try to get it on the plate and let that process guide me.
My first time in a restaurant kitchen was in college. I was a food runner in San Diego, working nights after classes. I didn’t click with my university community — connecting was hard. But I found myself drawn to the pastry team. I’d eat extra crème brûlée at the end of lunch shifts and chat with the pastry chefs. They took me in. A few months later, I was helping them make desserts. That’s where I first learned what kitchen camaraderie felt like. That unspoken bond you build through work and repetition.
But early on, one of my biggest challenges was advocating for myself. Cooking had always felt like a solitary craft to me. Suddenly, I was in environments where everything had to be communicated — my needs, vision, and values. You can’t stay quiet and expect results. I had to learn that.
What inspires me most now is the pop-up community in New York. There’s so much collaboration and openness. You get to create without ego, without being boxed in by traditional kitchen hierarchies. It’s a space where people are excited to share; I love that energy.
One moment that marked me forever was when a woman who’d grown up in Greece started coming to my pop-ups — every one of them. I eventually approached her and asked why. She told me that when she eats at @piscator.ny, she closes her eyes and feels at home. That was the first time someone had called my cooking nostalgic. It shook me in the best way. The realization that food can make someone feel affectionate and personal made me addicted to the pursuit of being a chef.
My whole philosophy now is about intention and community. I want everything on the plate to have a purpose. I always give a subtle nod to the ingredient’s original form or natural state. It’s a way of honoring its integrity and reminding the diner of its source. I love presenting a whole fish because of the flavor, but it also celebrates its natural beauty and connection to the ocean. It’s also an active food that can be shared with other people. This guides my approach to leadership in that every action must have some “why” or reasoning behind it.
I’ve seen firsthand how kitchen camaraderie can carry you through hard times. In college, I was closeted, guarded, and unsure of myself. But that kitchen was a space where I felt looked after—where people cared, even if we didn’t know each other well. That kind of support stays with you.
I’m proud of many things, but one of the moments that sticks out is when my fishmonger first knew my name. It was early in Piscator’s journey. I had finally acted on what I wanted to do, and that simple recognition — “Hey, you’re that guy”— meant so much to me. I served my first 3-course menu to a party of 50 a few months later. Growth happens fast when you’re in it.
I love the dedication in this industry and how people pour themselves into their craft. But I do find the barriers to entry frustrating. Too often, you’re expected to sacrifice pay, time, and well-being just for the “opportunity” to work in high-caliber spaces. That shouldn’t be the norm. Pop-ups help level that playing field — they give chefs from all backgrounds a platform. I hope that culture keeps growing.
For the future, I want to see more collaboration and community. I’m doubling down on my own pop-ups and building a stronger network around my home venue. I hope diners keep challenging themselves to try unfamiliar foods. That’s how we grow—all of us.
Secret Sauce
- What’s the most unexpected ingredient you’ve ever worked with, and how did it change your perspective on cooking?
Fish scales. If prepared correctly and deep-fried, they can be a very tasty snack. There are so many ingredients we consider waste that can be utilized.
- What’s your “guilty pleasure” meal?
Jiro ramen from Tabetomo in the East Village with a Sapporo on draft. Fatty, decadent, thick noodles, loaded with toppings. Pure comfort!
- A food trend that you hate and why?
Making a “truffle” version of your menu item, dousing it in truffle oil, and up-charging $4 completely overpowers what was already good to begin with and makes it more expensive.
- What’s the craziest shift you’ve ever worked in the kitchen? What happened, and how did you manage to get through it?
After my day job, I was prepping for a week-long residency when I received an order for 400 cookies due that Friday. It was a great opportunity, and I had just started my concept, so that I couldn’t say no. That week, I barely slept, my apartment was in shambles, and I had frozen galettes, cookies, and various ingredients spread out at different friends’ freezers throughout the city because I could barely hold one day’s worth of ingredients on my own.
5. What happened, and how did you manage to get through it?
My friends and my community were incredibly helpful. I felt lifted, and that motivated me to push harder.
- 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?
Utilize your resources; people want to help more than you think.
- What’s an underrated ingredient and why?
Cabbage is so incredibly underrated. It’s cheap, but it is dynamic and can be used in many ways—different textures, flavor profiles, and cooking methods.
8. What’s a must-try dish from your kitchen or the one you’re proudest to have prepared?
I value specialty over variety when it comes to food, so I’ve been focused on perfecting whole grilled fish. This is the essential dish to try at my pop-ups.
About Your City!
New York City
- If Anthony Bourdain or a chef came to your city, what would be the perfect tour itinerary from breakfast to dinner?
Selfishly, we would start in E Williamsburg, then head to the East Village since that is where my favorite restaurants are located:
- Recommended Places in your city:
- Breakfast: Simply Nova for lox and cream cheese bagel (E Williamsburg).
- Lunch: Emily’s Pork Store for a roasted soppressata sandwich with the works (E Williamsburg).
- Afternoon: 7th St Burger (East Village).
- Dinner: my favorite restaurant, Rosella (East Village).
Baking Through the Breakdown
Humans Of The Kitchen
From wild nights to early mornings—how a weirdough found recovery and bet it all on bread
Carlos Flores
Miami
I wasn’t born in the U.S. I’m from Mexico City. The noise, the street food, the chaos—it all shaped me. I wasn’t good at school, but I was always drawn to the kitchen. I’d worked summer jobs in restaurants when I was a kid and got hooked early—not just on the food, but on the energy. That tension. That urgency. The feeling that everything’s about to collapse—but somehow doesn’t.
It felt like stepping into battle every day. And if you made it out the other side, there were cigarettes, beers, music—pirates, really. A crew of misfits who showed up every day and somehow made it work. The cooks I met knew things—tricks, secrets, shortcuts that weren’t about cheating but about surviving. I was drawn to all of it.
I applied to the Culinary Institute of America from Mexico, but they didn’t accept me. So I enrolled at the Art Institute of Fort Lauderdale. That first year, something clicked. Cooking came easy. I was good at it. I’d always loved food, sure—but more than that, I loved the people who made it. From street vendors in Mexico to chefs in Paris, I paid attention to how they moved, how they carried stories in their hands.
Eventually, I reapplied to the CIA and got in. I spent two years there. I did well. I learned a lot. I also traveled, ate everything, asked too many questions, and soaked in as much as I could.
At 23, I opened a restaurant in Mexico City with my mom. I had no business doing it—but that’s youth. No fear. No doubt. Just conviction. I hadn’t designed a kitchen. I hadn’t run a team. But I thought I could take on the world with my fists. And for a while, I did.
I had great mentors—bartenders, captains, cooks—who taught me things I didn’t know I didn’t know. That restaurant lasted nearly three years. It was my first real-world education.
But eventually, things got dangerous. People assumed we had money. I started getting followed home. I sold everything and moved to Miami.
That’s where I bought Oasis Café—a quiet, iconic Cuban spot that had been open nearly 50 years. At one point, I ran five coffee shops. But I’m not a coffee guy. I’m a creative. I sold them all, kept Oasis, and started dreaming of something else—something slower, more intentional. A bakery.
I didn’t know how to make bread, so Renata taught me. Day by day, we built it from scratch. Flour & Weirdoughs was never meant to be normal. We mill our own grains. We cure brisket for 14 days and fold it into croissants. We bake chicharrón loaves that flake like memory. The flavors are ours—bold, strange, and deeply rooted.
We opened in February 2020. Five weeks later, the world shut down. No money. A walk-in full of product. Nowhere for it to go. But we’d already committed—so we said, screw it. I showed up at 5 a.m., sold all day, did dishes, helped with the bread, locked up, and did it again the next morning. Brutal. But it was ours.
That space already had stories. One night, Oasis caught fire. I got the call at 2 a.m.—everything was gone. I thought it was a prank. It wasn’t. We rebuilt everything. The plan was to reopen Oasis on one side and the bakery on the other. Then COVID hit. Both sides shut down.
We scraped together PPP money and kept the bakery alive. Coffee sales dried up. The neighborhood shifted. We had to choose what to bet on. We bet on bread.
Later, we opened up for pizza and natural wine in the evenings. We hung lights, painted the walls. It was cozy. I ran the wine bar until 11:30 p.m., then started baking again at 5:30 a.m. I told myself I could handle it. I couldn’t. We shut the bar and focused on breakfast.
In the beginning, the culture was messy. I’m not proud of that part. We’d bake bread while drinking wine. Smoke weed in the back. Then head back to the line. It was fun—until it wasn’t.
Alcohol and drugs were stitched into the rhythm of our days. First it was celebration—“We crushed it, let’s drink.” Then it was comfort—“Rough day? Let’s drink.” Eventually, it didn’t matter what kind of day it was. I kept showing up, thinking I was in control. I could pour a $140 bottle of wine and drink it with you if you didn’t like it. That was the vibe. That was the mask.
But eventually, it flipped. I stopped doing what I loved. Burned through my money. Burned through the business’s money. My health collapsed. I thought I was building something. But I was unraveling.
Then came the wall. A long weekend bender—Friday to Monday. No sleep. Just fumes and lies. I walked into the bakery Monday morning, wrecked. I knew something had to change. I went to a 12-step meeting. Then 90 in 90 days.
I stepped away from the wine bar. Could I handle it now? Maybe. But back then? I would’ve drowned. I chose mornings. I chose peace. I chose to stay alive.
The bakery held on. The business didn’t crash, but it limped. Bills had to be paid. Payroll had to land. Events had already been booked—and in this industry, you show up. No matter what.
Now? Now I love being at work. There’s calm. The team shows up because they want to. They stay. That means everything.
On weekends, I’m back on the floor—taking orders, wiping counters, bussing tables. It keeps me honest. Keeps me close to the fire in the best way.
I’ve been clean for over a year. I’m not perfect. But I’m present. And I’m still here. Baking. Growing. Learning how to live again.
The ship’s still sailing. We’ve lost a few along the way. Patched holes. Changed course more than once. But somehow, against all odds, it stays afloat. And I’m still on deck
Written in Fingerprints
Humans Of The Kitchen
His journey—from Cali kitchens to near loss—proves that food, family, and purpose live deep in the skin.
Nicolás Marín Quintero
Cali, Colombia
My story in the kitchen begins with my grandmother. As a child in Cali, Colombia, my mother would leave me in her care while she worked. My grandmother was the heart of every family gathering, bringing everyone together through her cooking. Watching her prepare meals sparked something in me—a love for food and the connections it creates.
In 2016, I landed my first job in the industry at the Marriott Hotel in Cali as a pizzero. It was my first taste of the professional kitchen, and it didn’t take long to realize how demanding this career could be. I sweated, cried, and came close to giving up more times than I can count. But with each challenge, my love for cooking only grew stronger.
A pivotal moment in my life occurred during an accident in which my right hand was severely injured. For a while, I feared I might never step into a kitchen again. It was a devastating thought, but thankfully, my hand healed, and I could return to doing what I love most.
In my journey, I’ve also learned that the heart of any restaurant lies in its people. Treating workers respectfully, listening to them, and understanding their needs is essential. They are the backbone of the industry, making up 80% of what makes a restaurant thrive. It’s something I strive to embody every day in my role.
Ten years later, I’m proud to be the head chef at @domingorestauranteco, one of the most exciting gastronomic projects in my city, led by the incredible Colombian chef Catalina Vélez. Together, we work to craft meals that tell a story and reflect our culture’s flavors and traditions. I can’t wait to welcome you to our table and share a taste of what makes Cali so unique.
Secret Sauce
- What is your guilty pleasure?
My guilty pleasure is discovering new burgers. I love them.
- What ingredient do you find overrated?
I think that some ingredients are simply used more than others. It all depends on how you look at it. Everything has a specific use, as none is better than another.
- If you could recommend one dish from your restaurant, what would it be?
I would definitely recommend the duck atollado rice dish, which tells the story of my region and what people ate in those days.
- Can you recommend any hidden gem restaurants or street food stalls that people must try?
Yes, I definitely recommend @cumbremasadre, a great place with lots of personality.
5. Where does the industry go in terms of dive bars or speakeasies? Can you share specific recommendations?
If bars and restaurants are not willing to move forward and innovate, they will be forced to remain behind, because today everything is changing and the public is looking for new things.
- Are there any pop-up concepts that people should not miss?
Yes, of course! For example, @florencioritualdesabores, a journey through flavors represented in delicious and delightful cocktails.
8. What local food staples or traditional dishes represent the city’s culinary heritage?
Cocoa, corn, borojo, Chinese potato, yacon, gooseberry… I could go on forever, but all of that is Valle del Cauca.
9. What are your favorite local food markets to explore in the city?
The Alameda gallery is the best, and if you go, order a tamal de ara, they’re the best.
Deconstructing the Kitchen Culture
Humans Of The Kitchen
How design, tradition, and resilience shaped one chef’s journey—from family kitchens to leading her own.
Lohanna Elena Suárez Amer
I was seven when I started asking my grandmother for all her recipes. I was obsessed with how her food tasted. There was something sacred about how she cooked for our family, like her “sazón” carried generations of love and survival. A couple of years later, my mom went to culinary school to become an international chef. I used to tag along to her classes. By age ten, I could identify every knife cut in the book. I didn’t just know the terms, I understood them. I felt like I belonged in a kitchen before working in one.
Even so, I didn’t go straight into cooking. I studied integral design, which taught me how to see the world creatively through texture, composition, and color. That training shows up every time I plate a dish. Later, I studied nutrition, which grounded me in food science. To me, the kitchen is where design, wellness, and emotion meet. It’s where creativity becomes sustenance.
I became a professional chef at Zi Teresa Culinary Institute ten years ago. I later specialized in Peruvian cuisine with an Asian fusion focus. But my real education began before that, at 17 when I cooked with my mom for weddings and big parties. That’s where I learned how to handle pressure, manage scale, and stay focused when you’re cooking for hundreds. One of my first jobs was as a private chef for large groups. It taught me how to create intimacy even in big moments.
From the start, my biggest challenge was my age. I was young, surrounded by people decades older than me, making some of them uncomfortable. And being a woman? That’s a whole other layer. When you’re the boss and a woman, people will question your decisions, not because they’re wrong, but because they came from you. You learn to hold your ground. You learn to lead without asking permission.
What keeps me going is love for what I do, the people I feed, and the process. I’ve had hard days when it all feels too much, but my passion for cooking never leaves me. I stay loyal to that gift. I remember who I am and why I started.
There’s a deep kind of validation that comes when people invite you into their lives, not just their kitchens. Over the years, more than six families have told me I’m the only chef they want cooking for them. That I’m the best they’ve ever known. That kind of feedback fills your soul. It reminds you you’re on the right path.
My kitchen philosophy is simple: respect, cleanliness, and love. Respect is everything. You can’t run a team or create great food without it. Cleanliness isn’t just about hygiene but discipline, clarity, and pride. And love? It’s the secret ingredient to every dish worth remembering.
I’ve worked with people who became like family. When I faced hard times, my kitchen team was there, not just with help but with heart. That kind of camaraderie stays with you.
One of my proudest moments was buying my own restaurant at 28. By then, I had a private chef career and did it all by staying loyal to my sense of service. @shakafood.rest is a celiac kitchen restaurant in Costa Rica dedicated to gluten-free cooking. It’s an extension of my belief that food should be inclusive, healing, and made with intention.
I love the tradition of family meals in restaurant culture. What frustrates me is how often management forgets that their team must also eat. We’re on our feet for 10 to 12 hours. A break, a meal, that’s basic humanity.
My hope for the future of the kitchen is that technology won’t replace us. I know it is weird, but honestly, it’s one of the things that scares me the most. Just thinking that a robot will make your food without any love is something that I don’t want to see.
Secret Sauce
- What’s the most unexpected ingredient you’ve ever worked with, and how did it change your perspective on cooking?
Eel sauce and Cajun. When I discovered them, I started using them in any prep, and they are so versatile that they would surprise you.
- What’s your “guilty pleasure” meal?
Hot dogs.
- A food trend that you hate and why?
I don’t think I have any.
- What’s the craziest shift you’ve ever worked in the kitchen? What happened, and how did you manage to get through it?
4 am in a marina to prepare the yacht’s food. I slept only 3 hours, enough to continue my shift and day.
5. 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?
To follow their intuition and let go of their ego.
- What’s an underrated ingredient and why?
Coconut. You can make coconut water, coconut milk, and coconut oil. You can even eat the meat, create desserts and drinks with it, and use the shell to make bowls, accessories, decorations, plant bases.
- What’s a must-try dish from your kitchen or the one you’re proudest to have prepared?
Definitely Pad Thai, and the funniest part is that I learned to make it myself. Also, the cacio e Pepe agnolotti. It is like going to heaven and never coming back.
About Your City!
Venezuela
- If Anthony Bourdain or a chef came to your city, what would be the perfect tour itinerary from breakfast to dinner?
I would start with a breakfast from Lara, the land where I was born. We would have arepas made from pilao corn and cachapas made from fresh corn, with fresh cream and a good Guayanese cheese, accompanied by guaro coffee, “guayoyo” style.
For lunch, I would have him try a pabellón criollo, but with a regional twist: shredded beef, beans, rice, and sweetened plantain chips! Or a mondongo de chivo (a dish that is not for everyone, but definitely one of my favorites).
And for dinner, I would offer him a symbolic trip to the Venezuelan Amazon. Dishes inspired by indigenous cuisine: fish wrapped in leaves, Amazonian chili peppers, and as the star of the show, casabe, made by hand as our indigenous communities do, cooked on a budare and accompanied by chili pepper mojito or merey butter. Because Venezuela is not only mestizo: it is a living land, with an indigenous memory that continues to nourish the present. And I know that Bourdain would have been fascinated to learn that truth through its flavors.
86ing the Old
Humans Of The Kitchen
From Ink to Fire, Forging a Safe Place for All
Lucas Dai Pra
I was six or seven when I fried my first egg. My sister and I would be home alone after school, and one day I figured it out—cracked, cooked, proud as hell. I made another one. And another. I don’t remember how many I ate that afternoon, but I remember getting sick from eating too many. Still, I was hooked. That feeling of making something with your hands stayed with me.
When I moved to California at 17, I thought I would be a tattoo artist. I spent most of my time at a tattoo parlor after school, learning to draw and helping set up appointments. That was the dream. But life had another plan. One day, Chef Pink walked in and offered me a dishwasher job. I took it, and something just clicked. The knives, the fire, the pace felt like a sport. That was it for me. The kitchen had everything I didn’t even know I was looking for.
I tried culinary school, and it lasted about three months. Sitting in a chair, taking notes wasn’t going to work for me. I needed to move, and I needed to feel the heat. So I went back to the line and started working my way up.
One of my first real gigs was at Wine Cask in Santa Barbara. A farm-to-table spot, everything made from scratch—stocks, sauces, braises, and market runs. That’s where I met Nik Ramirez. He was my sous chef, a former pro soccer player who treated the kitchen like a training ground. Precision, speed, endurance. We’d compete to see whose oven was cleaner at the end of the night. He taught me how to push myself and treat the kitchen like it mattered. He showed me what this path could look like.
In 2016, while working at Saison, I took a vacation to Hawaii. I was skating a bowl in Lahaina when I hit my head—traumatic brain injury, frontal lobe hematoma, induced coma for three weeks. They said sodium saved me. After seven months of therapy and volunteering at UC Gill Tract Farm, I was finally ready to go back. Saison welcomed me in. Chef Scott Clark, my CDC, created a plan. I started from the bottom again and worked my way back to the hearth. The fire, the pressure, the beauty of it, it brought me back to life. I am forever grateful to him and the Saison team for taking such good care of me during those hard times.
The kitchen’s never been easy. Embers have landed on my eyelids mid-service. I’ve finished the night with one eye, cleaned up, and gone to the hospital later. Glory mattered more in those moments. Still does.
Over the years, my inspirations have changed. The chase for perfection became a chase for purpose. I don’t just want to make good food—I want to create a space where people feel safe and seen. That’s why I co-founded @petitepercebes with my partner Natallie. It’s an oyster bar in Mendocino County, but more than that, it’s a space for community. We cook bistro-style dishes using ingredients from people we know—farmers, fishers, and foragers. Even our dishware is sourced locally. We want everyone to feel welcome, whether they’re here for coffee or crab risotto.
One of the most important lessons I’ve learned came from a hard one. Years ago, I confronted a chef about sexist and homophobic language in the kitchen. His response? “You dont understand the context, it was used as a joke” i was labeled as “too woke and problematic, not wanting to go with the grain, shortsighted and immature.”
Now, I’m trying to change what restaurant culture looks like—from the inside. Educating the staff and creating trips to town events for staff appreciation day is what is on our calendar starting this first year of owning Petite PERCEBES. We share playlists to shift the mood when someone’s having a rough day. Because I’ve been there, and I know how much that little shift can help. Chef Adam Lawrence and I built that bond through service after service. He’d see me down and throw on some rocksteady—lifted the whole room.
My biggest pride isn’t a dish or a title. It’s that I’ve built something that feels like home. Growing up in São Paulo, where social classes are divided, I never imagined I’d create a space where everyone eats at the same table. That’s what I care about now. Community. Access. Respect. We don’t charge more because a dish is served on a beautiful plate—that’s for me. I’m just glad they get to enjoy it too.
My hope for this industry is simple: tend your own garden, care for your people, cut out the big man, and support your community. Work harder to ensure that it all stays within us and does not spread to the massive corporations spraying and adding chemicals to food that should be intended for the nourishment of our body, mind, and soul.
Secret Sauce
- What’s the most unexpected ingredient you’ve ever worked with, and how did it change your perspective on cooking?
Lacto ferments, their flavor variety and development, utilize the liquid, introducing it to flavor certain broths or vinegars.
- What’s your “guilty pleasure” meal?
Cookies, all day, every day.
- A food trend that you hate and why?
Caviar on everything.
- What’s the craziest shift you’ve ever worked in the kitchen? What happened, and how did you manage to get through it?
A day that we did an outside event at a winery with Saison in Napa, we built a hearth outside that day and was cooking over live fire in a whole different atmosphere, aside from the paco jet breaking on us and one of the cooks having to rush to the Laundry to borrow one of theirs. Crazy day!
5. What happened, and how did you manage to get through it?
I always remember that the only thing impeding me from achieving my goals is myself.
6. What tips would you give other cooks and chefs to help them navigate their culinary careers and find peace amid the chaos of the kitchen?
Look in the mirror every day and tell yourself: “I see pride, I see power, I see a bad ass mother who dont take no shit from nobody!”
7. What’s an underrated ingredient and why?
Onion. Love onion!
8. What’s a must-try dish from your kitchen or the one you’re proudest to have prepared?
We are an oyster bar, so we take a lot of pride in sourcing and providing oysters from Humboldt Bay County. We never serve them past one week from harvest. Also, the broiled oysters with bone marrow butter. I also take great pride in the Crab Risotto we serve: fresh live crab cooled and cleaned every other day, sourced by women from Princess Seafood in Fort Bragg. Our vegan dishes are always up to the same level of attention and creation as the other dishes on the menu.
About Your City!
São Paulo - SP, Brasil
- If Anthony Bourdain or a chef came to your city, what would be the perfect tour itinerary from breakfast to dinner?
Breakfast
Place: Padaria da Aclimação bakery
Dish: Minas Gerais sandwich with orange juice
Lunch
Place: Tempero da Gerais restaurant
Dish: Carreteiro rice, pork knuckle
Dinner
Place: Ponto Chic restaurant, Paulista
Dish: Bauru sandwich
Activities
Municipal Market
Ibirapuera Park
Rua Augusta
Morumbi Stadium