The Journey That Shaped Chef Akanksha
Food has always been more than a profession for me.
It has been memory, emotion, discipline, culture, and a language through which
I understand the world.
Long before I wore a chef coat, I belonged in a kitchen.
Not because someone taught me how to cook, but because food was always
happening around me.
I grew up in a family where everyone loved food. My father cooked. My mother
experimented with recipes and always found joy in creating something new. My
sister loved cooking. My grandmother could turn the simplest ingredients into
something unforgettable.
I still remember sitting on the kitchen slab as a child, watching my
grandmother cook — from everyday aloo sabzi and litti chokha to homemade mango
kulfi and her own sambar masala.
Nothing was complicated, but everything had a memory attached to it.
I honestly don't remember the day I “learned” cooking.
I just remember coming home from school, sometimes not even changing my
uniform, pulling a stool near the kitchen counter, climbing up, and trying to
add my own little touch to whatever was already prepared.
A different tempering on dal.
A small experiment.
A new idea.
Sometimes successful, sometimes not.
But always with curiosity.
I also discovered something funny very early — food had the power to change
emotions.
If someone at home was upset with me, cooking something for them became my
little trick. Somehow, after a good meal, conversations became easier and anger
became softer.
Years later, I realized that maybe this was my first lesson in hospitality:
Food is never only about feeding people.
It is about how you make them feel.
A Chef Coat I Never Planned For
Growing up, I never imagined becoming a chef.
I was creative. I loved making things. I would sketch dresses and explore
ideas, but I never had a clear picture of my future.
After school, I started pursuing B.Com because that felt like the expected
path.
Then a friend suggested that maybe hospitality was where I belonged.
That suggestion changed everything.
My father was unsure at first. He worried about the hotel industry and whether
it was the right place for me.
But my mother believed in me.
She quietly supported my decision, encouraged me, and became one of the biggest
reasons I started my culinary journey.
The first time I wore my chef coat at IHM, I still remember that feeling.
Excitement.
Pride.
A strange feeling that maybe I had found something that belonged to me.
The same person who was never interested in studying suddenly started reading
culinary books for hours.
My family would joke after seeing my books, especially Larousse Gastronomique:
“If you had studied this much earlier, you could have become an IAS officer.”
But the difference was simple.
For the first time, I was studying something I truly loved.
Entering professional kitchens introduced me to another reality.
I grew up vegetarian and had never consumed meat. But classical culinary
training was built around many ingredients that were never a part of my life.
Before entering this industry, I never thought being vegetarian would become a
challenge.
But slowly, I started hearing the same advice repeatedly:
“Choose bakery. It will be easier.”
Some people genuinely wanted to guide me. Some doubted whether I could survive
in professional kitchens.
And slowly, I started questioning it too.
During my training, there were moments that stayed with me.
I remember accidentally touching minced meat because I thought it was soya. I
remember carrying meat from the butchery to the kitchen and feeling emotionally
overwhelmed for the entire day.
For others, these were normal parts of kitchen operations.
For me, they created a question:
“How will I build my future in an industry where so much revolves around
ingredients I personally cannot connect with?”
Later, during my first job at an authentic Italian restaurant, another moment
shook me.
After handling a lobster order, some colleagues joked about how I would survive
as a chef if even this affected me.
That day, I called my father crying and wondered if I had chosen the wrong
path.
The same father who once worried about me entering this industry said something
I will always remember.
If I wanted to cook meat, he would support me.
But if I didn't want to, I should never force myself.
That conversation mattered.
Because slowly I realized - the problem was never that I didn't belong in
kitchens.
I just had to find the kitchen where my values belonged too.
Finding Italian Cuisine
Among all cuisines, Italian food became my language.
I don't remember one exact moment when it happened.
Maybe it started with reading about Italian cooking. Maybe it was the first
time I experienced how something as simple as aglio e olio could create such
beautiful flavours from a few honest ingredients.
What attracted me was not just pasta.
It was the philosophy.
Fresh ingredients.
Respect for simplicity.
Techniques passed through generations.
Italian cuisine taught me that great food does not always need complexity.
Sometimes it needs patience.
And somehow, the cuisine that once made me question my place became the cuisine
where I found myself.
Discovering a Different World
During my final year at IHM, I worked on a research project about veganism in
Italian cuisine.
While studying, I discovered a side of food I had never deeply understood
before.
I learned more about animal agriculture, dairy, and the questions surrounding
our food choices.
It did not happen overnight.
But something changed.
For someone who grew up feeling deeply connected to animals, veganism felt like
discovering another world.
A place where my profession and my values could finally exist together.
When I later entered a completely vegan kitchen, I still remember the feeling.
Freedom.
I could taste anything. Experiment with anything. Create without constantly
questioning whether an ingredient aligned with me.
For the first time, everything connected.
Rebuilding Traditions My Way
My journey with plant-based Italian cuisine grew deeper at Bodhi Greens.
There, my experiments with pasta and vegan cheese became a big part of my
identity.
Chef Varun started calling me “Pasta Queen,” and slowly people recognized me
for that craft.
Even on my days off, I found myself in the kitchen — experimenting with
millet-based pastas, buckwheat mezzaluna, ravioli, and vegan ricotta.
One of my most memorable moments was when an Italian chef tasted my buckwheat
mezzaluna with vegan ricotta and aglio e olio.
He came to meet the person who created it.
For me, that moment meant something.
The same cuisine where I once wondered if I had a place was now the cuisine
where my work was being appreciated.
Later, representing plant-based cooking and training experienced culinary
educators at Chandigarh University became another full-circle moment.
At 26, teaching chefs and professors who had decades of experience reminded me
that this path had meaning.
The girl who once questioned if she belonged in professional kitchens was now
helping introduce another perspective within them.
And the family who once joked about my endless studying proudly kept that
recognition displayed at home.
The Journey Continues
Looking back, every chapter taught me something.
My childhood taught me that food creates emotions.
Traditional kitchens taught me discipline.
Italian cuisine taught me respect for craft.
Veganism taught me compassion and innovation.
And every experience shaped the chef I continue becoming today.
My journey was never about removing something from food.
It was about adding something more:
More thought.
More kindness.
More creativity.
And that philosophy continues with everything I create today through Vegan
Piatto.
A small beginning built on a simple belief -
Food can honour where it comes from, while still imagining where it can go
next.
— Chef Akanksha