My nonna truly was the best cook and she loved it too. She’d spend hours everyday pottering around her small kitchen, watching over her pans, slowly peeling vegetables and grating Parmesan. She really took her time over everything and never overcomplicated it. Her fridge and cupboard had the same handful of ingredients in them at all times, yet she had the ability to always make something delicious out of very little. What I learnt from her was more an attitude and approach to cooking rather than technique and certain skills which I picked up later working in restaurants. She found it amusing when I tried to write down her recipes because, for her, there were never any specifics - everything was just ‘a little bit of this, a little bit of that’. She cooked with instinct, being led by taste, feel and look rather than following a set of rules and that’s what I think I’ve brought forward with me now.

I think it influences it in a many different ways. Firstly the emphasis on tradition - the importance of those recipes that are so of a place or so close to each family's heart that they become passionate when speaking about them. Everyone’s mum/nonna/hometown does the best something or other and they truly believe that and won’t be told otherwise. The desire to carry on tradition and to preserve recipes of the past has stuck with me. Then there is the focus on ingredients. Again, the passion that Italians feel about certain ingredients is infections. The care that can be seen from the farming and production through to someone selecting what they will cook with that evening from their local store, then bringing it home to prepare with love is one of the things that makes Italian food so special. Using the best ingredients and treating them with absolute respect. And as an extension of that, having worked and travelled in Italy for a lot of my adult life, I became completely aware of the fact that eating seasonally is simply a way of life there. Growing up in London, with access to all sorts of ingredients from around the world at any point in the year can be an amazing thing but also disconnects us from how we should be eating. In Italy, things are simpler. Of course, in larger cities with big supermarkets it can be a similar story, but for the most part, people still shop locally and buy what is available then and there - what’s been growing around them. This creates excitement for what each new season will bring - the summer’s abundant tomatoes, mushrooms, truffle and pumpkin in autumn - and they celebrate them by cooking and eating with them until it’s time for the next thing. This was the inspiration for my cookbook Stagioni.

It's now ingrained in me to start by asking - what is at its best now? In Summer when there's so much choice with all the colourful fruit and veg at its peak it's easy. In the colder months, you've got to be a bit more creative. I then think about who I'm cooking for and where - this might mean thinking about how to refine a certain dish if it's a smarter event, or adding an element to reflect the location, like using a local cheese, or specific product that the area is known for. With that all said, for the most part, I'm cooking things that I personally enjoy making and eating, things that feel very me and that I'm confident in.

I love having different elements to my work because it keeps things varied and interesting. I do struggle without a traditional routine sometimes but I’d also struggle to do the same thing every day. I was really into art and photography growing up and being able to keep up that creative side is important to me and I’m grateful that the fluidity of my work encourages it.

My nonna sadly passed away just weeks before I was offered my book deal. I would have wanted to include some of her recipes anyway but I think the timing of it meant I put more in Stagioni as a way to honour her. One in particular is really precious to me and also one I feel weirdly protective over. It’s called Piggy (a name I gave it when I was little) and it’s a stuffed cabbage that she used to make at Christmas. It’s a perfect example of her style of cooking, it’s hugely nostalgic and feels like so much more than the sum of its parts. It’s an essential on our Christmas menu and the tradition has continued even though she isn’t around to make it anymore - I honestly look forward to it more than most of the other Christmas foods and I’m sure the rest of my family would agree.

It has to be pasta. The smell of pasta boiling is one of my favourite smells and will always remind me of home. My mum would (and still does) cook dried pasta multiple times a week -  simple ones, with pesto or with butter and cheese. My nonna would make fresh pasta and the smell of her tagliatelle and ragu as soon as you walked through the door was the most inviting thing, or a close second after a hug from her.

There are definitely more recent (and probably more impressive) memories of times at work where I’d felt a bit out of my depth but managed to pull something off and show myself that I’m capable of more than I think. That’s an amazing feeling. But if we’re talking earliest memory… every year since being quite little, my cousins and I make anolini (small filled pasta) for the extended family to eat at Christmas. It’s a long but enjoyable day and the accomplishment that’s felt afterwards, looking over rows and rows of hundreds of pasta, lined up on trays, ready to be divvied out to each family is very rewarding

I think to be really open to learning something from everyone you meet. I used to carry around a notebook to write down everything from kitchen I worked in (stages are particularly good for this). Ask lots of questions, whether it's how to do something, where to get something or for a recipe - people are generally generous and happy to be asked. Be curious and say yes.