16/05/2025
From Grandma’s Pot to a High-End Table – I’m Grateful
I still remember the smell of simmering beef stew from my grandmother’s pot, the firewood smoke in the air, and her hands—seasoned with years of love and wisdom—guiding mine as I stirred. That’s where my journey began. Not in a culinary school, not in a five-star kitchen, but in a small rural home where food meant love, healing, and community.
She’d say, “Cook with your heart, not just your hands,” and that stuck with me.
Years later, I found myself cooking for guests who’d never know my story—plating fine cuisine in polished kitchens, under lights brighter than our village lantern. The transition wasn’t easy—there were days of rejection, nights of doubt, and mornings of starting over. But I never forgot my roots. I never forgot her pot.
Today, as I serve dishes on high-end tables, every bite still carries a taste of that humble kitchen—of resilience, faith, and the fire that shaped me.
Grateful is an understatement. I am blessed. I am becoming.
