One of the greatest joys of my post–MasterChef life has been cooking at festivals, food fairs, and demos. On paper, it looks like I’m standing behind a stage or counter, preparing dishes for an audience I don’t know. But the truth is, the moment I start cooking, something shifts: strangers become friends.
I always go well-prepared, with most of the vegetables chopped and everything ready to be transformed into a dish. It’s not because I want to take shortcuts — it’s because I want to be respectful of people’s time. At festivals, there’s so much happening around you that the last thing anyone needs is to watch me chopping onions for ten minutes. Instead, I prefer to use that precious time to share something of real value: why good olive oil matters, how honey varieties differ, or how a small tweak in seasoning can elevate a dish. People seem to appreciate that, and I’ve learned that those insights stay with them far longer than knife skills.
I also make it a priority that everyone in the audience gets to taste a morsel of what I’ve cooked. For me, this is non-negotiable. Talking about flavour is one thing, but tasting it is what truly connects us. That simple act of generosity — offering food to another — is deeply rooted in how I was raised. Food is nurture, and it is meant to be shared.
Knowing how deeply I’ve been moved at times when others have cooked for me, I try to recreate that gift whenever I can. In that sense, I see my food as edible gifts. And I encourage others to do the same: instead of buying something the next time you want to thank a friend, bring them a jar of soup you’ve made, a loaf of bread, or a tray of biscuits. Those are the kinds of gifts that carry memory, care, and love.
Of course, standing up in front of an audience can be nerve-wracking. I know many of the people watching may feel the same way about cooking in their own kitchens. But here’s the thing: when you cook for others — even strangers — they are already grateful. They don’t expect perfection. They simply appreciate the generosity. That’s why I always encourage people to be braver in their own cooking and entertaining: most of the time, the act of cooking is enough to turn strangers into friends.
As a little takeaway I would leave you with this thought: Try giving an edible gift this week — a cake, a jar of chutney, or even just a plate of food you’ve cooked. You’ll see how quickly food breaks down barriers and creates warmth where words alone may not. I would love to hear about your experience of giving or receiving edible gifts. Drop me a note here.