I love food. I think it’s a “thing” about big families. And I’m perfectly happy to compromise vanity for a delicious, gorgeous meal that sparks my “happy hormones.”

I grew up watching my mum cook, and I learned a great deal just by observing her. By age 13, I was baking cakes. On Sunday afternoons, I baked a huge chocolate fudge cake. Neatly packed in a rectangular “Tupperware” box, I take it to school. The moment I walked into class, my classmates would start reserving their slices to enjoy at recess. A few years later, I found myself taking orders for Black Forest gateaux and cherry fruit tarts. It became a thriving little business during my university years, with orders streaming in from cousins, my mum’s friends, and my aunties’ circles.

In later years, cooking became less about money and more about joy. Dave (my husband) and I love entertaining (and eating, of course!), and nothing makes me happier than a table full of friends and family, plates piled high, laughter filling the air. I’ve always been a “feeder”, a trait I’m sure I inherited from my grandmother, Lola Marciana. Every Christmas, she cooked not only for her ten children but also for all their families. Nobody left empty-handed; each went home with a pan of “leche flan” (a Filipino version of cream caramel but much more decadent and velvety) and a tub of her famous “morcon” (a beef dish roll cooked with onions, garlic, paprika, olives, and chorizo). Food wasn’t just served in her house; it was gifted with love.

For me, the reward is in seeing people enjoy what I’ve prepared. A good meal unlocks conversation, sparks memories, and somehow makes space for stories that might otherwise stay tucked away. Food becomes the common thread that weaves people closer together.

Even out in town, food creates connection. I’ll happily strike up a chat with the butcher or linger by a food stall. There’s a petite Indian lady in Rugby who serves the most incredible keema wraps from her big orange van, alongside fragrant lassi and masala chai. I don’t just go for the food. I go for her warmth, her stories, and the sense of community she brings with every dish.

Because food isn’t only about nourishment. It carries heritage, memory, and love. It builds bridges between strangers, brings comfort to families, and turns a gathering into something unforgettable.

When I think about it, every recipe is really a story, passed from one hand to another, with care folded in at every stage. And that’s the magic of food—it feeds the body, yes, but more than that, it nourishes the soul.