On becoming a private chef pt 1

what's for you will always find you

I figured it may be time to take a few steps back, and share more on my (unconventional) path to becoming a private chef. Or rather, how this career path found me…

If you told me 10 years ago that I would be a private chef, I would have said you’re absolutely nuts. To be honest, I’m not quite sure I even knew that was a viable career path at the time. It’s crazy how much the profession has really skyrocketed since the pandemic, and its virality on social media.

I grew up in a food-obsessed family, to put it mildly, and always felt most comfortable in the kitchen. Watching my Dad show his love best through roasting a chicken on a Sunday afternoon has always stuck with me. It’s when I first learned that love is a real ingredient that can be the difference between a great meal, and a transformative one.

Cooking for friends and nourishing the ones I love through food has always been my greatest source of joy. But, when I initially contemplated a culinary career, I figured — Chef de Cuisine in a tall white toque OR an illustrious yet snooty food critic were my only options. I was rather misinformed. So, I continued working a 9-5 desk job at a company called Sakara Life, sending emails, designing decks, and pulling numbers (lol), while really just daydreaming about new recipes, and what I would cook for dinner that night.

I’ve also always dreamt of living in London, but it wasn’t until 2019 when I decided to really pull the trigger and fuse my two dreams together. After hosting supper clubs in both LA and my rooftop in NYC, and with the strong encouragement and validation from best friends, I applied and was accepted to Le Cordon Bleu London. The reality of finally pursuing a career in the culinary industry still felt like a surreal fever dream just beyond reach. Turns out it was closer than I thought, but not anything like I expected.

Rewind to January of 2020. Blissful ignorance. We all had plans, big dreams, and expectations for how the year would play out. I had a one-way ticket to London, 3 suitcases packed to the brim, and a Marylebone flat pre-paid for 6 months. On my last trip before the big move, I signed the lease with excitement in my spirit, but a knot in my stomach. Something felt off.

Touring Le Cordon Bleu was an out-of-body experience. I couldn’t quite picture myself there. My trusted loved ones assured me it was fear talking. But, somewhere deep down, I knew I wouldn’t attend. Although, I had no clue it would be a global pandemic that altered the course of my life.

This pandemic changed everyone’s lives. The strongest of couples broke up, new lovers were bonded forever. We moved home with our families, or traveled as far away as possible. Covid chewed everyone up and spit them out, ruthlessly. I really am (now) eternally grateful for what once was a really fucking horrible situation.

my London-themed farewell dinner…

Anyway. I was living at home, with my parents, in Florida, jobless. In attempt to not go completely and utterly mad, I took up tennis. Bet you didn’t see this story involving sports. And yet there wouldn’t be private cheffing without tennis for me.

A woman who I met at my morning tennis clinic referred me to cook for a lovely family up the road. They had 4 boys within the ages of 16 to 25, who all ate like linebackers and had conflicting allergies, which may have required a literal spreadsheet to manage. «fun fact: I’d make at least 8 packs of perfectly crisp bacon every day, which they’d go through like a bag of chips, and go home smelling like a greasy diner.» But man, I learned so much from that job. Namely, how much I enjoyed cooking privately. I was able to create strong relationships and delicious meals, in the privacy of a beautiful home, clocking out around 9pm. Not quite the same energy, or hours, in a restaurant kitchen. It felt like I had won the life lottery.

One client lead to another, which lead to another, which then lead to dinner parties, catering, and other private events. I had struck a real groove and before I knew it, I was cooking for 30+ person events with no sous or dishwasher. «shoutout to my mom for being my “Sue-chef” when I was really in over my head.» Private chef life is glamorous until it isn’t, y’know? But the desire to learn, in a professional setting, never went away. It was a bit of imposter syndrome mixed with genuine curiosity for improving my craft. When I dreamt at night, it was no longer London I saw.

The abundant produce, the rustic approach to cooking from the heart, and the unmatched passion and love for food redirected my path to, you guessed it, Italy.

I spent weeks searching for programs, institutes, and any Nonna that would have me. With luck and good fortune on my side, I found two incredible (and unrelated) programs in Sicily that were held back-to-back, with only a few days in between. I decided to book a one-way ticket, and explore (read: nudge my way into kitchens soaking up every ounce of knowledge possible) on my own before and after the programs — an independent immersion program, if you will.

Truthfully, I had no idea how it was all going to go. But the previous pretzel-like “knot of knowing” in my stomach was replaced with a sense of calm and purpose, planted deep in my soul.

If you listen close enough, your body really does always have the answers.

PROGRAM 1: COOK THE FARM GOES FISHING

Anna Tasca Lanza : Cook The Farm Goes Fishing Program

When I arrived on the tiny Aeolian island of Salina, fresh off the ferry, I had no idea what to expect. What would my classmates be like? Would I feel overwhelmed? Would I regret not training at a formal French institute?