There are moments in a career where you stop thinking about cooking and just cook. Scotland gave me two of those this year. A supperclub at Balgone Estate where the produce told me what to do. And a lobster boat in Belhaven Bay where the freshest shellfish I've ever touched went straight from the water to the heat. This is what happened — and what's coming next.

Moments like that remind me why I love this life.(not the orgy) The travel, the stories, the plates that tell you everything about a place without saying a word. Food isn’t just food. It’s how i understand people. It’s how i remember who i am. Some people chase landmarks, I chase the next meal.

As a kid, I put that relish on everything, fresh fish, bacon, pasta, fried eggs, cold sausages from the fridge. It didn’t matter. That sauce made every bite feel better. She taught me that this type of cooking wasn’t about showing off, it was about feeding people because it was the most human thing you could do.

Deep in the kitchen, my days blurred into a rhythm. I pounded curry pastes until my arms throbbed, chillis, galangal, and ginger ground into paste beneath a mortar’s weight.

From those late nights in lockdown, something new began to take shape.

Flavour isn’t an ingredient. It’s an understanding. It’s knowing when to stop adding, when to listen, when to let fire, fat, and time do what they do best. And maybe, if you get it right, one day your food will stop someone mid-bite, not because it’s fancy, but because it tastes like something they thought they’d lost.

Taste is simple, Flavour is not