We were so exhausted after moving in all day but I was still adamant we would have a home-cooked meal on our first ever night living out of home together. I went to the local Woolworths and bought some cheap chicken skewers from the deli, pita bread, salad mix, yoghurt & BBQ sauce. We ate it on the floor and use a cardboard box as our table. That was one of the best damn meals of my life. 

I was never taught to cook, nor was I ever really inspired by anyone but for some reason, I wanted to be a chef. By the time I was 15 or so, I had never really cooked a meal but I still just knew I wanted to cook. 

I remember my step mum organised for me to do work experience at the TAB she worked at. I went into the kitchen in Noble Park with a head chef who absolutely hated his life and spent 5 days getting treated like absolute crap. He would bully me, give me vague instructions, give me cleaning jobs and have me peeling onions for hours. I walked out of my one-week experience in a “restaurant” (and I use the word restaurant very bloody lightly), never wanting to step foot in another kitchen again. 

But the fire and passion for food was a flame that wouldn’t go out. So here I am, many years later, living and breathing food in every aspect of my life. 

I am excited to see how much more I can learn and grow as I continue to dive deeper into the world of food.

I grew up in a small bush town in Queensland. The only “restaurant” within a 10km radius was the local servo which was dishing up fried dimmies and hot chips, and a few “burgers” which you wouldn’t dare order, they always had this sort of ‘crust’ that wasn’t meant to be there. 

Neither of my parents had much of a passion for cooking. I remember never enjoying the food they would serve up except for one. My dad used to cook sausages under the grill and smear some vegemite on them. They were pretty good.