Her mother took another mouthful of food. The crushing feeling of inadequacy broke over Minnie like a wave. How could her parents spend so much of their lives fixing things and fail to see what was broken right in front of them?

New Year’s Eve 2010

‘Don’t touch that plate before it’s garnished,’ Rob the pastry chef screamed across the kitchen.

Minnie whipped her hand back from the service counter as though she’d been scalded. She hadn’t even planned on picking it up, she had just been straightening the plate. In any other environment she would have talked back, defended herself, but in this kitchen she’d quickly learnt you said, ‘Yes chef’, and took whatever criticism was dished out.

Minnie had been working in Le Lieu de Rencontre for six months. It was a Michelin-star restaurant in Mayfair and a very different experience to the place she’d worked before. Victor’s, where she’d got a job straight out of school, had been a family-run restaurant in Kentish Town. There had only been three chefs in a cramped kitchen, whereas here there were usually over twenty people cooking at any one time. The clientele at Victor’s had been families and young foodies, whereas Rencontre was stuffed with city suits with expense accounts who liked to be seen in expensive places. At Victor’s she’d been allowed to cook. Here she was barely allowed to turn on the oven.

Minnie had left school with no clear career plan or vocation. It had been Leila who’d suggested she learn to cook.

‘You’ve got a natural taste for food, you always know what’s going to work well together,’ Leila said.

‘What bangers and mash, spag and Bol, Weetabix and milk?’ Minnie laughed.

‘I’m serious, Min, you’ve got a natural flair. If you got trained up in a proper kitchen, you could be really good.’

She’d been amazed when they’d offered her the job at Victor’s; she had no experience and barely a CV. Paul, the head chef, had asked her to cook him a Spanish omelette and hired her on the spot as he watched her make it. She’d loved working with Paul, the atmosphere of the cosy family-run restaurant, the regulars who came in, learning about food, improving her skills week on week. It was Victor himself, the elderly French owner, who had told her to leave.

‘Minnie, you have a gift, but you can’t learn everything from Paul. You need to work in more kitchens, see how other chefs work. Only then will you grow.’

‘But I love it here, I’ve still got so much to learn,’ Minnie protested.

‘We have a saying in France, “À chaque oiseau son nid est beau” – the bird loves his own nest. You don’t know any other nest, Minnie. You must spread your wings and learn to fly.’