Tala Bashmi reflects on her journey from disciplined early kitchens to a confident, pared-back style, sharing how food can stir memory, connect people, and shape the next chapter of her journey
What first sparked your interest in cooking? Was there a specific moment or memory that set you on this path?
For me, it was realising how much power food holds. You can genuinely change someone’s day with a dish. You can comfort them, heal them, and bring them back to a memory they didn’t even know they were carrying. Food has the power to do all that and more – it has the power to bring people together that might not otherwise sit at the same table. That feels magical to me.
Once I understood that, I didn’t see cooking as just a profession. I saw it as something much more powerful, and I wanted to be part of that.
Looking back, what were some pivotal experiences in your early kitchen journey that shaped your philosophy as a chef?
Working in professional kitchens taught me discipline very quickly. There’s no romance in the early days; it’s repetition, pressure, and humility. But one pivotal realisation was that I didn’t want to imitate European fine dining. I wanted to understand it technically, but emotionally, I wanted to cook from where I’m from.
How has your creative approach changed with time?
In the beginning, creativity felt like proving something. More components, more technique, more complexity. Now if something doesn’t need to be on the plate, it’s gone. If it doesn’t add meaning to the dish, then what’s its purpose? Confidence for me has meant stripping things back, not adding more.
Are there particular ingredients, techniques, or stories from Bahraini culture that you find yourself returning to?
Bahrain has 5,000 years of civilisation layered into it. From trade routes, migration, and pearl diving, so much has passed through this island. There are a plethora of dishes and techniques we are still discovering today, and I’m still unpacking them.
It’s not only about specific ingredients, although black lime, dried shrimp, Mehyawa, and preservation techniques are constant anchors. The more I research, the more I realise how much there is left to understand.
How do you approach storytelling through food? How important is it for guests to connect emotionally with a dish?
Storytelling is important, but there’s no need to force a story for every dish. Things need to be authentic. When a guest tastes something and pauses because it reminds them of their grandmother, a place they once visited, or a fond memory, that’s the real success.
I don’t need everyone to understand every reference. But I do want them to feel something. Emotion makes a dish unforgettable.
How do you see your culinary style evolving with this next chapter in your career?
This next chapter feels more intentional. Instead of reinventing or reinterpreting our dishes, I approach them as part of an ongoing culinary history. Cuisine is not static; it moves through generations. My role isn’t to replace what exists but to extend it by adding the next chapter.
What lessons from your career so far do you wish you could share with aspiring chefs in the region?
Don’t rush. Master your craft before chasing recognition. Don’t dilute your identity to fit what you think the world wants. The world is far more interested in authenticity than imitation. And finally, understand the business side of things, because creativity without structure doesn’t survive.
If you could change one thing about the MENA dining scene today, what would it be?
We’re in a very strong moment right now. The talent coming out of the region is exceptional, and the confidence is growing. We’re no longer trying to prove that we belong; we know we do. If I could change one thing, it would be the pace. Everything moves quickly, and sometimes that pace doesn’t allow ideas to mature properly. I think our region has the talent and the cultural richness to build something truly world-class, but that requires patience and long-term thinking.
We’re absolutely on the right path. I just think the future of the MENA dining scene lies in building things that last.
What keeps you motivated and inspired in the kitchen, especially during challenging periods?
Honestly? Stubbornness. I don’t like stagnation at all. When things feel hard, I experiment more, read more, and test more. Sometimes inspiration comes from frustration, and if something isn’t working, it irritates me enough to find a way.
As a woman working in professional kitchens, do you feel the industry has shifted for female chefs over the years?
Yes, there is more visibility now, more conversation. But real change is structural. It’s about opportunity, pay equity, and leadership roles. I try not to position myself only as a “female chef,” but I understand that representation matters. If my presence makes it easier for the next generation, then that’s meaningful.
How do you want diners to remember your food and your approach to gastronomy?
I want diners to sense that nothing on the plate was accidental, that every ingredient, technique, and decision is there for a reason. Of course, it has to be delicious; that’s non-negotiable. But beyond that, I want the experience to feel considered and intelligent without being heavy or overexplained. If people leave feeling like they were part of something thoughtful, something rooted in place, time, and care, then I’ve done my job.
Finally, what’s next?
A new space, a place to honour where I come from, while showing what’s possible for the future of our food. That takes time. And I’ve learned that patience, in the kitchen and in life, is never wasted.
