Beyond Michelin
Perfection is a prison. I choose freedom.
“Why don't you go for Michelin? Why don't you want to reach the top, where the stars are awarded?”
My answer is simple: because I don't want to. Keeping my feet firmly on the ground has brought me great projects and spectacular challenges. But... I also did internships in Michelin restaurants. I know what that world is like from the inside. I experienced discipline taken to the extreme, obsessive precision, and constant pressure. I saw how a kitchen works where there is no such thing as "almost good," only perfection (as much as a human being can understand). And yes, the experience shapes you. Respect for detail, rhythm, ingredients, and techniques gets into your blood. It shows you how far you can go, gives you strength and endurance. But I also saw the price: zero personal life, sacrificed relationships, body pushed to the limit, mind stretched to the max. In a Michelin kitchen, there is no "you." There is only the restaurant, the standard, perfection.
Some will say: "But even in normal restaurants, you have no life—you work hard, earn little, and sacrifice everything."" True. The kitchen, whatever it may be, demands a high price. The difference is that there, at Michelin, everything is taken to the extreme. In a regular restaurant, there is at least the possibility of balance, a moment of respite, a drop of freedom.
And here, I believe, lies the challenge for our generation: to demonstrate that "normal" HORECA does not need to remain trapped in the prejudice of "modern slavery." We can build restaurants where people don't just come to work, but to grow. Where service is a school of life, not a marathon of exhaustion. Where teams find meaning and joy in their work, not just a paycheck at the end of the month that is often barely enough to survive on.
How? With concrete steps: more intelligently designed programs, rotations that leave room for personal life, menus adapted to real resources, culinary schools that also teach balance, not just discipline. And above all, employers who understand a simple truth: people give more when they are happy and free. A respected team brings value. An exhausted team just endures.
The shift in public perception
One of the biggest challenges lies not only in the kitchen, but also outside it: the way people view the HORECA sector. All too often, chefs and waiters are referred to as "modern slaves," condemned to a lack of personal life, endless hours, and low wages. This image has taken root, and many shy away from this fascinating profession because of prejudice.
But hospitality doesn't have to be like this. Real solutions can be found to enable teams to work smarter, not just harder. Rotations, shorter shifts, menus designed with respect for resources and people. In addition, customers have a huge role to play: understanding that behind their plate there is a whole chain of work, effort, and passion. Respect for hospitality begins with educating the public, with recognizing the value of this profession. If we change the mindset, we can also change reality. If restaurants choose to invest in the well-being of their teams, and customers accept that a fair price reflects the work involved, then this profession regains its dignity. Cooks and waiters can be seen not as cheap and disposable labor, but as artists, professionals, and creators of experiences. On the day that hospitality is perceived as a respected, modern profession with a future, and not just as hard, lifeless work, we will be able to attract talent, passion, and new energy once again. The kitchen demands a lot, but it can also give a lot—when it is built on respect and vision.
I return to my star...
I don't want to chase Michelin stars. I don't want to climb onto a podium that doesn't belong to me. My cuisine isn't about perfection, it's about truth. About life. About me.
My star is elsewhere: in a customer's smile, in the silence after a chaotic service, in the afternoon coffee, in the message waiting for me, full of motivation and love from the right person (which I so often neglect myself), in the dish that tells a story and leaves a memory.
My star is the freedom to be myself.
