The culinary world is a fickle place. One minute, you’re the name on everyone’s lips; the next, you’re just another chef in a crowded industry. I’ve felt that high, and I’ve also felt the plateau—that space where creativity flattens, where you feel like you’ve done it all. It’s a terrifying place for any artist.

I have served dishes to some of the most influential people in the world. Private dinners for global icons, tables surrounded by actors, musicians, world-changers—the kind of clientele many chefs dream of. And yet, I have never cooked for status. I cook for home!

There was a moment when I stood still in the heart of a bustling Makola market in Accra Ghana, the scent of fire-roasted plantains thick in the air, the rhythmic scramble of kin folk echoing through the stalls. That moment, the collision of scent, sound, and soul, reminded me of why I cook—not just to feed but to connect, to tell a story, to remember home.

The culinary world is a fickle place. One minute, you’re the name on everyone’s lips; the next, you’re just another chef in a crowded industry. I’ve felt that high, and I’ve also felt the plateau—that space where creativity flattens, where you feel like you’ve done it all. It’s a terrifying place for any artist.