Where does one even begin when trying to explain the complex series of events that leads a person to become a chef and leave their home in search of adventure and brighter, better things...?
The beginning is always a good place to start isn't it.
Hi, my name is Kyle. I am 29 and British. I was born in the same hospital my grandmother, grandfather, father, mother & four siblings entered into this world in South London. I spent my first seven years in London until, both my parents tired of the city life both sides of their family had always endured, they packed up shop and off we moved to country living in East Sussex. This move for all our sake's was unequivocally the best decision when thinking of bringing up a family. When looking back at the years spent growing up around the perfect idyllic beauty of Sussex I remember happiness and freedom. As long as we were back by sun down, we could go off playing and getting up to no good amongst the forests and fields without much worry of anything else. These were indeed good times and fond memories which will always remain close to my heart.
By the age of thirteen the smaller semi-detached three bedroom house that my older brother and sister and two younger sisters shared with my parents had increasingly, over the years become smaller and smaller. Enough being enough and the fact that the option for three teenagers sharing the same room no longer seemed as pleasurable we moved home to a larger abode surrounded by rolling hills and fields in all directions. Locating to a small hamlet with the village pub and local garage being the only amenities for miles around.
In the previous town my first job comprised of waking up at the crack of dawn, something I had never done before, dragging myself into the village newsagent, organising the newspapers for my round and cycle around for thirty minutes delivering these rolls of paper for the great weekly sum of twelve pounds! Well, in my new place of residence the local newsagent was too far a bike ride to justify itself so there I was jobless, penniless and unable to pay off the instalments for my nearly acquired game boy colour. What was a young teenager to do?
It just so happened that directly opposite our new home was the local pub. Perhaps the fact of being directly opposite or more probable the reason my Dad liked a little tipple every now and then it came to the acquirment of his knowledge that they were seeking a part time dish washer to help out on weekends. So as with all things in life and which either way you comprehend it, a series of events closely succeeding one another or to the anomaly of fate my experience as a chef was born.
Part Two to come...