Cooking from the Heart Isn’t Just a Saying.

Why I became a chef.

Why I’m on this path.

Why I keep going—when the fire burns low and the noise in my head gets loud.

There’s a word in Hindi: Seva. It means selfless service. And that? That’s me to the core.

I’ve spent years carrying weight I couldn’t name. Depression. Food addiction. Doubt that clung to me like kitchen grease. I didn’t have a voice back then. Hell, I didn’t think I deserved one. So now? I am the voice—for the ones who feel invisible in the back of the house, or trapped behind a smile they can’t keep holding.

As a chef, I get to do something sacred: I feed people’s souls.

That’s Seva.

That’s Bushidō.

It’s not about the spotlight. It’s about the service. The duty. The why.

I’ve always said: “If we could just cook the food we want to eat, how much better would it be?”

Now? I get it.

At 54, I finally understand that cooking from the heart isn’t some Hallmark bullshit. It’s survival. It’s passion, yes—but it’s also pain, and healing, and respect.

Respect for the ingredients.

Respect for the farmers.

Respect for the gift I’ve been given—to turn chaos into beauty on a plate.

It’s a dance.

A messy, gritty, beautiful dance between fire and flavor, discipline and intuition, trauma and triumph.

And when I cook like that—when I show up like that—I’m not just feeding people.

I’m serving something deeper than just a meal. I’m healing something primal.  It’s my calling and that is why I am still here serving