I did not grow up with a spatula in my hand. I didn't even cook that much in high school. I was busy being a teenager and doing everything that goes along with that.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
I left school when I was 14 to work in kitchens.
I had to learn how to chop wood actually - I don't think my dad would have let me go chop wood in the backyard growing up.
My childhood wasn't full of wonderful culinary memories.
When I was 14 years old, I decided I could cook. It was either that or puberty.
I stopped using plastic cooking spoons years ago and love my bamboo spoons and spatulas by Bambuhome.
When I was 13 or 14, my parents had a bit of a windfall so bought a lovely new kitchen, but I burnt it down. I was making cheese on toast when flames escaped from the grill. My father stopped the fire with blind panic and excessive water. I was forgiven, but it put me off cooking for years.
My mother fed me with a spoon until I was 6 years old.
You know, my parents had a restaurant. And I left home, actually, in 1949, when I was 13 years old, to go into apprenticeship. And actually when I left home, home was a restaurant - like I said, my mother was a chef. So I can't remember any time in my life, from age 5, 6, that I wasn't in a kitchen.
As a child, I'd help my mum cook, and it was ridiculous - she had the correct gadget or utensil for everything. 'Stop! Don't use that, I have exactly the right utensil.' After I left home, I survived on cup-a-meals and never saw myself as being like her. Now I've become her.
I started cooking 30-something years ago. When I was 14, 15, I was a short-order cook in a snack bar. That was at a place called the Gran Centurions. It was an Italian-American swim club my parents belonged to.
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