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.
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.