Do Female Chefs Dream Of A Happy Kitchen?
I met Hiro in Vue De Monde. After Chika’s birthday lunch in 2012, he gave us a tour of the kitchen, which I later found out was the least favourite part of all chefs in VDM.
The second time we met, it was dinner rush and I was photographing for The Melbourne Magazine. He took me aside and asked if I’d photograph his wedding.
We became friends.
And I had unlimited access to a chef’s life. Correction: chef working in the best restaurant in Melbourne.
We even organised a supper club.
To date, he was the best chef I’d ever known in terms of technique, sensibility, creativity.
Why did we lose touch?
You know, the usual - burnout, divorce, addiction, the spiral-down effect. Last I heard, he was doing well.
Before VDM was sold, I witnessed four generations of head chefs through the revolving door.
The last rotation went something like this:
Summer menu shoot.
They lost a hat, the head chef was asked to leave immediately, second in command took over.
Autumn menu shoot.
Got the hat back, got married, but headhunted to Europe.
Winter menu shoot.
Came back, now with kids.
Spring menu shoot.
Separated, everyone showed up late for the shoot.
Lost a hat, left immediately, second in command took over.
That was then.
VDM in 2024 is a completely different creature - new owner, new head chef, new kangaroo leather on the tables.
My point was 2014 VDM was tough.
But being able to peek behind the scenes, cemented the idea that cooking and running a restaurant weren’t something I’m cut out for.
It’s brutal, demanding, and if most people had a choice, they’d most likely not do it again.
Present day.
“You should catch up with Rupal, she’s like my best foodie friend in Melbourne,” Jennifer Wong said as she sipped through her batch brew in Antara 128.
And I found out Rupal’s already followed me.
Jennifer must’ve told her the same thing.
Coincidentally, Chika was watching a Japanese program about Sri Lankan food, so, like a complete twat, the first message I sent to Rupal was to ask for a restaurant recommendation. She's from Goan, and I assumed Sri Lanka was ‘same same’. (Although I wouldn’t be too offended if someone asked me for Korean or Japanese restaurants. Vietnamese, maybe I’d err.)
Out of her long list of recommendations, we went to Maalu Maalu and Citrus.
Both ‘all you can eat’, $25 per person, Sri Lankan buffet.
Happy wife, happy me.
We finally met for coffee, at Antara, again.
And Rupal just took off, like a cousin I never met.
She found me because I had a ‘zine’ at her favourite coffee place in Brunswick, this place called Bench / Little Cardigan.
She is a senior chef at Nomad, one of the most highly-regarded restaurants in Melbourne. And I don’t mean hats or ratings or stars. Everyone I respected has nothing but praise for Nomad. My lawyer-client brings his client there. Jess Ho replied with two words ‘it’s great’.
And the twist, the reveal, what I get out of our meeting is that
Rupal loves her job.
She quit her high-flying job in Dubai with her husband and moved to Melbourne pre-COVID.
Did culinary school, worked at Miznon, Nomad, Gimlet, and then back to Nomad.
Her story was covered by ABC (also Jennifer), she’s been on Dani Valent’s podcast, featured on Guardian …
Before writing the post I thought I’d give her a shout out, but perhaps I should beg her to shout me instead.
Surely, with your MBA you could get back to marketing in Melbourne?
I asked as we queued up at Ceylon, another Sri Lankan spot in the middle of Paramount food court.
“Yes, but I am happy with my life,” she said.
No, chefs are supposed to be miserable.
Destructive.
Addicts.
My bullshit meter was going all over the place.
But it’s hard to see Rupal as a bullshitter.
I mean, what’s the play?
“When we were both working in Dubai, the first thing we do when we wake up, was to check emails on our phones. We had to schedule to spend time with each other in Dubai. Nowadays, I get to work at 12pm, clock off at night. We get to have coffee once or twice during weekdays and hang out during the weekends. Life is good,” Rupal said.
I walked her to Nomad, and we met the pastry chef.
“Come with your wife, we’ll take care of you,” they said.
Perhaps, I saw it wrong.
Maybe men with their egos and testosterones are miserable; females who are better at regulating emotions, finding meaning, and building relationships can find peace as chefs.
So, my worldview has shifted.
Not everyone hates their job. Not everyone is miserable in Melbourne.
I went home and made Rupal’s dal.
Or Goan Daliche Toy, as she calls it.
Ingredients
1 cup Split Red Lentils
1 Green Chilli (slit down the middle)
1 tsp Turmeric Powder
½ cup Tomato (chopped)
1 tsp Salt
3 cups Water
1/2 tsp Sugar/Jaggery
1 tsp Lime Juice
10-12 Fresh Coriander Leaves (roughly torn)
For the Tempering
1 tbsp Ghee or Neutral Oil (if vegan)
¾ tsp Black Mustard Seeds
⅛ tsp Asafoetida/Heeng
6-8 Fresh Curry Leaves
Instructions
Wash the split red lentils in a colander until the water runs clear. Soak them covered in water for at least 30 mins. Discard soaking water when ready to cook.
Once soaked, add the green chilli, salt, water, and turmeric powder to the lentils. Bring the pot to a boil on a medium flame. If you see any foamy impurities, skim them out.
Once the lentils have come to a boil, reduce the heat to a gentle simmer. Using the back of a spoon, gently mash some of the lentils to make the final dal creamy. It’s important not to overcook the dal – you still want some texture.
Now, add the chopped tomato and let it cook until softened slightly. Add the sugar and adjust the seasoning if necessary.
For the tempering – heat the ghee (use a neutral oil if you'd like to make this vegan). Add the mustard seeds, let them bloom and splutter in the oil on a low flame. Turn off the heat and immediately add the heeng (asafoetida) and the curry leaves, and quickly pour the tempering to the dal, and mix through nicely and turn off the heat.
Add the lime juice and taste the dal for balance. Garnish with coriander leaves and let it rest for about 15-20 minutes before you serve.
Serve your dal with some steamed rice, a side of vegetables or greens. and some yogurt.
I usually use tor or chana dal, but Rupal’s recipe uses split red lentils, which are cheaper and accessible in the supermarket. With the help of turmeric and soaking, the red lentils break down and turn yellow.
This recipe comes together so quickly I’ve been making it almost once a week since we said goodbye to the summer of ‘24.
It brings me joy to know that the recipe is written by someone who enjoys being a chef.