“Are you hungry? Come, let me set a table for you.” That instinct sits at the heart of why I cook. Seeing the happiness on someone’s face after a meal still reminds me why I chose this work.
Good food and eating together were part of everyday life at home. My mother taught me the care that goes into a meal; my grandmother taught me to follow the seasons and prepare for the months ahead. Drying, preserving and filling jars each summer remain part of my culinary memory. From my father came a taste for good ingredients and the pleasure of sharing a table.
I do not define my cooking by one geography or technique. A childhood flavour, an ingredient from Anatolia or something discovered while travelling can become the beginning of a new dish. Mediterranean produce, French technique and Japanese simplicity may all appear, but flavour, ingredient, memory and lived experience remain at the centre.
When a brief arrives, I first want to understand why people are gathering. Who is coming? Where will they sit? How will the meal unfold? What part will the tableware, light and music play? My role is to give these elements a shared creative direction, alongside the food.
I hope guests remember more than a good meal. Perhaps a dish, a scent or a small detail stays with them. More than anything, I want them to remember how the evening felt.
Flavour, ingredients, memory and lived experience.