Deconstructing the Kitchen Culture

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.