There was a point, once I grew up and started to understand what I wanted from life—or maybe more accurately, what I wanted to reach—that I realized I would have to fight.
Fight to be heard, fight for my path, and face many no’s along the way.
No one meant any harm, and it was never intentional. But somehow, maybe because I look younger than I am, and because I’m not the kind of person who walks into a room perfectly put together and immediately takes over, I always felt I had to prove that I knew what I was talking about. That I had lived, that I had experience.
It’s also why it’s always been easier for me to communicate online. There, people listen before they see. They read before forming an impression. I could finally say everything I wanted without someone cutting in halfway through, thinking they had something more important to say.
For years, I wondered how to deal with it. Should I speak louder before I listen? Would silence be mistaken for not understanding? And deeper than that—was I even in the right profession?
Because honestly, there are better cooks than me. Better photographers. So much talent everywhere. Who am I in the midst of all that? And how do you make dreams happen?
Then, a few years ago, I was given a chance—to edit a food channel. Suddenly, all the PR people, chefs, and journalists—the very people I had wanted to reach for so long—were ready to listen.
And that’s when I understood something simple: the only thing I need to do is succeed.
I don’t need to shout. I don’t need to step on anyone. I don’t need to become someone else. I just need to show—prove to them, and to myself—that I have something to say. And maybe, just maybe, it’s worth listening to.
I received a food column, a dream years in the making, which was first and foremost a kind of self-embrace—for all those years of trying to prove myself. It’s my way of speaking, of telling stories, and of reminding others to chase their dreams, even when no one is listening. Even when a small voice tells them they’re not good enough.
Instead of folding inward and giving up—go. Show yourself, and the world, that you can. And work hard. There’s no short, easy way to reach the top.
And a word about the recipe—this is a beloved, old-school chocolate salami. I can still see myself as a child, going to the freezer, cutting off another slice, and carefully wrapping the foil back around it so no one would notice I had taken more.
