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.

I was born in Cavite City, Philippines and raised in Virginia Beach, VA. 

My parents worked long days and multiple jobs to provide for our family, building a life as immigrants from the Philippines. Although they worked a lot, my favorite moments with my family were always with food,  like when my mom had time to cook. She’d teach me little things: how to cut evenly, why consistency mattered. It wasn’t just about food — it was about care. That stayed with me.

When it was just me and my brother, or when I was home alone, I’d try to help out and make food for us. In high school, a culinary teacher, Mrs. Johnson saw something in me. She told me I had skill. My Uncle Jimmy, a Chef from the Navy, and my mom backed me up. He convinced my dad: “Let her try.”

So I did.

I went to Johnson & Wales University to study Culinary Arts and F&B Management. I absorbed. I learned. I competed on the Culinary team. I studied abroad in Singapore and Thailand. I later traveled to Vietnam, Philippines, Japan. I fell in love with Southeast Asia all over again — not just because of my roots, but because of what it opened in me.

After school, I moved to LA. I cooked at Nobu. I learned the balance between Japanese technique and Peruvian boldness. Then I worked with Chef Kuniko Yagi, who mentored me on techniques in the kitchen and it was the first Female dominated kitchen I worked in and I admired her leadership style. 

Through working, I burned out physically. Mentally. I couldn’t physically cook for a while.  Instead of leaving the restaurant life, I shifted. I moved to front of the house. From reservations to runner, to expo, to server, to eventually landing an Assistant General Manager position for a Modern Vietnamese Restaurant in Downtown LA. It wasn’t the kitchen, but it taught me the full operation. And it taught me humility. The dots don’t always connect when you’re in it — but they always do in hindsight.

Eventually, I craved to be back in the kitchen. I was blessed to be on the opening Culinary team for the Waldorf Astoria Hotel in Beverly Hills.  I became a Sous Chef for Jean-Georges Restaurant in the hotel. I learned so much from my experience with the team and mentors from there. 

I eventually went on to be in Education. I was a culinary instructor. The youngest at my school. I loved it. I taught at the Institute of Culinary Education in Pasadena, California and at Miami Culinary Institute. Teaching made me less selfish. I stopped chasing recognition and started focusing on how to lift others. I told my students to chase their dreams, to take risks, to live fully.

But I wasn’t doing it myself.

Then came the pandemic. I was home with my partner Nancy, and all we could think about was the food we missed — Thai Town, Koreatown, Filipino dishes that reminded us of home. We cooked for ourselves. Then for friends. Then for strangers.

That’s how the thought of Sili was born. We even came up with the name and concept while our friends Nik and Joyce were visiting Miami. 

Sili means chili in Tagalog. It’s also a play on my mom’s name — Celie, short for Celerina. She’d always joke that people mispronounced it, calling her “Sili.” Now it lives on in our food.

After leaving a job as Chef de Cuisine of a local breakfast/brunch restaurant, we started with pop-ups around town in Miami. One pop-up was at the Filipino Block Party at 1-800-Lucky, where Cheryl Tiu invited us to be guest chefs at. This led to the opportunity to do a pop up at 1-800-Lucky after Gaby Chiriboga invited us to take over the container space. Then this container kitchen became our home. One baby fryer. One oven. Four induction burners. It isn’t glamorous. But it was real. And real is enough to start.

We cook with what we have. We’re still working full-time jobs — I’m still a server at COTE Miami. The team there was incredibly supportive when we began. That meant a lot.

It’s not easy. We budget week to week. We can’t buy in bulk or rely on reservations.

We try our best with what we have. We cook the comfort food we love from Southeast Asia — pulling inspiration from flavors of Filipino, Vietnamese, Thai cuisine . It’s food that reminds us of our loved ones who have impacted our lives, and moments had over food.

But Sili is still evolving. There’s the casual food we serve now, but there’s also the other version — the plated food we explored during our pop-ups. We don’t know if that becomes a second brand or just another chapter. We’re still figuring it out.

And through all of this, we’re learning to take care of ourselves.

We’re in a mode of reflecting on how to be better, how to stay healthy too — mentally, physically, emotionally.

The restaurant world teaches you to push through everything. But now we ask: Are we okay?

Some days are hard.

Mentally, I think there’s many times where we kind of just want to give up. It’s been hard to get up through certain days. 

But then a guest tells us it’s some of the  best food  they had in Miami… And we keep going. We appreciate the support of everyone who has come by to try our food or spread the word and our friends and family who encourage us to keep going. Even the support of our dog Riesling, who we have had since Sili was born. Haha. 

Even if some days doesn’t feel like we’re growing… all we can do is to become better every day, a little percent every day.

It’s better to build a wall brick by brick and put the brick well than just build a wall from one day to another that’s gonna fall.

We don’t know what tomorrow holds. But we’re here. Trying to grow in our skills and as people, and sharing with others along the way. 

Because the truth is — you can’t wait for the perfect scenario to chase your dream.

You just have to start.

Photos by @starchefs @rubenpictures @thechilledlens @lilow_75r