I was 15 when I got my first kitchen job in Canberra, inspired by food shows and eager to cook. I jumped into an apprenticeship and spent my days off whipping up meals for friends, leaving behind a mountain of dirty dishes.
But as time passed, my passion waned. Toxic workplaces, long hours, and bullying made cooking feel like a chore. I often found myself eating cereal on the floor instead of creating something delicious.
In many ways, the hospitality industry is unforgiving. It’s demanding—taking your time, energy, and passion without much in return. Over my 12-year career, I didn’t quit after one bad day; it was a slow decline of many frustrations. The pandemic forced a pause that helped me reevaluate my life. I realized I was unhappy, but deep down, I still loved food.
I wanted to reconnect with that passion. So, I sought experiences outside traditional kitchens, learning directly from farmers, cheese makers, and winemakers. I was particularly interested in women in the food industry, so I began gathering internships.
My first internship was with an artisan cheese maker in New South Wales. The thrill of learning something new reignited my interest. My second experience was with Jonai Farms in Victoria, where pigs roamed freely outside. Here, butchery happened on-site, offering a profound understanding of farm-to-table processes.
When I arrived, my living space was a cozy shipping container. It felt worlds apart from the sterile, stainless-steel kitchens I’d known. The communal farm kitchen was warm and inviting, filled with homey touches. We cooked together, sharing meals that brought everyone closer.
At Jonai, meals were often vegetable-based, highlighting better meat eaten less frequently. We savored local mushrooms in butter or lentil soup, showcasing the richness of what the surrounding land offered. Each meal felt special, like a cozy dinner party with friends.
In contrast to the rushed staff meals at restaurants, this communal style created a connection I’d missed. I realized that my past workplaces lacked the community I craved, often prioritizing efficiency over relationships.
As I engaged with the farm’s produce, I felt a renewed eagerness to cook. I made fresh pasta and even tackled puff pastry—skills I had learned years ago but never applied at home. Cooking became almost meditative: fold, roll, chill, and repeat. I discovered joy in every step, stirring homemade ricotta and incorporating fresh ingredients.
When I placed my onion tart on the table, a wave of nostalgia hit me. It reminded me of the first muffin I served as a teenager—filled with pride and anticipation. It was a moment of homecoming, reconnecting with my love for food on a deeper level.
The Bigger Picture
This journey speaks to a larger trend in the food industry. More professionals are seeking a balance between their careers and mental well-being. According to a recent survey by the Restaurant Workers’ Community Foundation, about 25% of hospitality workers reported feeling burnt out during the pandemic. This shift highlights a longing for connection and satisfaction—the very elements that can revive our love for cooking.
So, if you feel lost in your culinary journey, remember that it’s okay to step back and explore new paths. Passion can often be found in unexpected places.
