It’s Not Talent—It’s Everything I’ve Been Through
A tired chef pauses behind the line, overwhelmed by the pressure and chaos of the kitchen.
It’s not talent.
That word gets thrown around too easily — especially in kitchens.
“Talented cook.” “Natural chef.”
But let me tell you something most won’t say out loud:
It’s not talent. It’s pain. It’s love. It’s loss. It’s everything I’ve survived.
What made me who I am in the kitchen isn’t some gift I was born with. It’s every scar I carry from services gone wrong. Every dish that came back. Every time I had to swallow my pride and clean down after someone else’s mess.
It’s the nights I went home in silence, doubting if I even belonged here.
It’s the moments I felt invincible on the line, dancing through chaos like it was choreographed.
It’s the love I poured into plates that no one even tasted properly.
The hate I felt for the industry when I saw good people get burned out and thrown away.
It’s not talent. It’s all of that. And more.
The breakups because I worked too much.
The friendships that formed through fire.
The lessons learned from a chef screaming an inch from my face.
The quiet mentorship of a dishwasher who taught me more about humility than any head chef ever did.
Success? Sure, I’ve had some.
Failure? Oh, plenty. The kind that keeps you up at night.
But that’s the point.
You’re not shaped by what goes right.
You’re shaped by what goes wrong — and whether you show up the next day.
All of it — the good, the bad, the unforgettable, and the things I wish I could forget — it’s a mess. A beautiful, brutal mix.
A soufflé of emotion and survival.
A reduction of every day I’ve lived and cooked through.
So next time someone says, “You’re so talented,”
I’ll smile. But inside, I’ll know:
This isn’t talent.
This is everything I’ve been through.
This is me.
