After 14 Years, I’m back in the Kitchen

The sun had barely begun its ascent when I woke, lying in bed, heart pounding with the promise of a new day. My first day in a professional kitchen for 14 years.

I spent the first forty-five minutes in familiar digital haunts—email, Reddit, and Anthony Bourdain fan pages on Instagram. Nerves fluttered within me, making the idea of rising and starting the day feel monumental. I found myself tracing a mental timeline of great chefs, from Carême to Blumenthal, reminding myself that I am not here to revolutionise the culinary world. No, there’s no pressure to create picture-perfect dishes that tantalise the palate. Instead, I find solace in some meditative breathing, trying to calm the storm within. I knew I needed to get up and stretch, but I wasn’t quite ready to face the day.

The shadow of my chef’s jacket loomed large in the wardrobe, much like the nerves trickling treacle-like from the back of my mind to my belly. I had forgotten to close the cupboard after a drunken stumble into bed the previous night. What else had I forgotten? I was already beating myself up, and I hadn’t even moved.

My mind wandered to the stories I’d tell on the line today. Seeking comfort, I reread the opening words of Bourdain’s second book. His magical description of the ortolan banquet calmed my nerves, reminding me that I don’t cook for the elite. Today, I’d be cooking eggs and fry-ups in a café. It’s everyday food, perfect for getting my foot back in the door. Since becoming a dad and quitting weed, I’ve become an early riser. This café, with its early hours and closing at 4 PM, offers a chance to rebuild my culinary muscle memory and avoid the temptations of midnight finishes.

I knew I had to write all this down. If food is fuel for the belly, then writing is fuel for the mind.

7:30 AM: Early Bird on the Move

Despite my nerves, I left the house early. Far too early, in fact. The streets were alive with children in their school uniforms, mobiles in hand, the sun casting a golden glow on everything. After some stretching, I set off for breakfast. My little girl called, her innocent voice offering reassurance: “It’s going to be fine, Daddy” Her words were a much-needed boost. Maybe I’d grab a Sharpie on the way; I felt naked going into a kitchen without one.

The sun was shining, the sea and distant windmills offered a serene backdrop. It felt good to be heading back to work, to the kitchen. There’s a natural response to challenging concepts—a readiness bubbling up inside me.

8:07 AM: Playing the Customer

I arrived far too early, so I did the sneaky thing of playing the customer. I ordered a flat white—no batch brew available. I watched the chefs receiving orders, not wanting to intrude. The exec chef should be here soon, but clearly, I was too keen.

This gave me time to relax. One of the biggest lessons I’d learned during my time away from the kitchen was the importance of understanding customer experience. As a young chef, I never fully grasped this. Knowing how the customer experiences a restaurant before you work there is crucial. It’s about understanding what they want to feel and why they’re willing to pay for something they could make at home for a fraction of the cost.

The coffee was good. Drum and bass blared through my headphones. I’ve got this.

9 AM: Bourdain’s Wisdom

“Food is not rational. Food is culture, habit, craving, and identity.” — Anthony Bourdain

As I sat there, this quote resonated deeply. It’s not just about eating but the entire experience surrounding it. It’s the culture, the habits, the cravings, and the identity we form through our culinary choices.

I felt a sense of calm wash over me. I was here, ready to dive back into the heart of it all. The kitchen was calling, and I was ready to answer.

My Return

The hours in the kitchen flew by, a whirlwind of movements, sounds, and smells. The familiar rhythm returned, the dance of the kitchen staff, the sizzle of the pans, and the comforting hum of the kitchen machinery. It was as if I’d never left. By the end of the shift, I had secured the job.

I had chopped herbs, burnt my fingers poaching eggs and cooked on the line, sending dishes the chef was happy with and the customers could eat.

The two chefs sat me down and asked me if I wanted the job. Of course I said Yes.

This is just the first brick in another erection to my love of sharing my culinary joy with the world.

Walking out, the sun was still shining, the sea still in sight, and the windmills still turning. It felt right, it felt like home. Today was just the beginning, a small step back into the culinary world, but an important one. I was back, and it felt good.

Food has always been my love, my passion, and my drive. Cooking, whether professionally or at home, is one of the few times I find peace and share my joy. Today, I began rewriting my culinary story.