Ioana: How did this all start for you — the cooking, the pop-up dinners, and eventually cooking with your dad? Were you already cooking before moving to Amsterdam?

Anastasiia: Cooking was always part of my family. I spent a lot of time in the kitchen growing up. I think I made my first soup by myself when I was six. It’s always been in my DNA.

But things really took off when I was studying abroad in Canada. I was supposed to focus on my bachelor’s — art philosophy, journalism, writing — but I thought, I’m on the other side of the world, no one’s watching, this is my chance to do what I really want. So I started going to restaurants around the city — Winnipeg — and asking to speak to the manager or chef. I told them, I don’t have a work visa, I can’t be paid, but I want to learn. Can I peel your potatoes? Most people didn’t get it. They thought I was asking for a job. But I just wanted to be there and learn.

After a couple of weeks, I got a call. I didn’t understand anything on the phone — the English was impossible — but I just said yes to everything. I had an address and a time. I figured it was about cooking, so I went.

I arrived and it turned out to be the best restaurant in town — Deer + Almond. It had trees inside, a herb garden on the roof. I sat down with the chef, Mandel, told him my story — the whole “peel your potatoes” thing — and he said, You should come hang out. That night, I was already in the kitchen.

He put me at the station next to him. Every dish he made, he made a mini version for me so I could taste it. He’d ask me to close my eyes and tell him what I thought. I was also prepping dishes myself — we had this little pizza with shrimp as a starter, and I was making it, dressing it, putting it in the oven, serving it. No training, no hand-washing ritual — just “Here’s your station, go.”

It was the shortest and best cooking school you could imagine. I stayed for a month. We even washed the restaurant floors together. I learned so much from him. Even now, he follows me on Instagram, still checks in on my journey.

That experience made something click. When no one is watching, and I have full freedom, this is what I want to do.

Ioana: What happened when you left Canada?

Anastasiia: I finished my studies and moved to Amsterdam. Same feeling — I had the freedom to do whatever I wanted. I started cooking again , doing pop-up dinners once a week with with a friend and boyfriend at the time. We did crazy menus, just for the joy of it. Ten euros, three courses, every Tuesday night. Then the pandemic hit and we stopped. But the thrill stayed — feeding people, creating this temporary little world of trust where guests don’t even know what’s on the menu, but they trust it’ll be good. That feeling stuck with me.

Ioana: Tell me what happened when the war in Ukraine started?

Anastasiia: My dad has four kids, including me, so he was legally allowed to leave the country. Only those men who are fathers of three or more don’t have to oblige to the martial law and are allowed to leave the country. But my family didn’t leave immediately. For two weeks, they moved from house to house, trying to stay safe. The plan was to stay unless it got really bad.

But when food started running out, and stores would only let you buy a tiny amount per family, they realized it wasn’t a place for children anymore. They packed up and left — not in a panic but also not really prepared — one morning they’ve had enough and went West.

Ioana: But how did you start cooking with your dad in Amsterdam?

Anastasiia: Well, when my dad arrived, it was a big shift. He’s a self-made Ukrainian man — very active, used to always doing, doing, doing. At first, they landed in Poland, staying with friends of friends. It was just temporary while they figured things out. Then someone in Brussels offered them a house — it was going to be free in April. This was mid-March, so they needed a place to stay just for a few weeks in between. That’s when they came to me — I was living in a big countryside rental at the time, and it could host all of them.

They arrived, we had about 24 hours together… and then I got COVID. Fever of 40 degrees. They had to leave almost immediately. But that short time did something. Even though we were physically apart again, it brought us emotionally closer. We started calling more often, checking in. Evereything changed. I see my sisters more. I talk to my dad. The whole family dynamic shifted. It’s beautiful.

After that, they went to Brussels. But my dad doesn’t speak English, or French, and didn’t have a job there. He started feeling low. One day, he said, “Maybe I should just open a restaurant here.” He did not have any horeca experience or the means to start one.

Instead, I remembered — I had this cooking project I’d been doing for a while. What if I did it with my dad? It could be something more sustainable. I wouldn’t always have to find help. He could earn a bit. He’d have something to do.

I got so excited. I texted him and said we needed to talk in the morning. I was ready for a long discussion. I had all my arguments lined up in case he said no. But the moment I explained the idea, he just said, “Let’s do it!” That was it. It was this ridiculous, instant kind of love — a “yes” from both sides. We started planning right away.

We cooked together for private dinners, public events, catering. We created something I never imagined would come from my relationship with my dad.

And then there was the summer. We did a bunch of really nice summer dinners, using seasonal produce. That’s when I introduced my dad to the idea that I really want to cook seasonally, because it makes more sense. We organize things together, we make a plan, and he helps me out. We have different strengths, which is why we work so well together. Plus, he’s my dad, which…

Ioana: Tell me more about your dynamic. In family relationships, especially between parent and child, there needs to be some balance. He needs to let go and trust you as an adult now.

Anastasiia: Yes, exactly. And he really does that -which is so cool of him. He doesn’t carry that attitude of, “I’m older, so I know better.” I think that’s very rare, especially for a man from his generation and nationality. I’m actually really proud of him for that.

But of course, every once in a while he does have something to teach me. Even though I sometimes react defensively at first, like “Never tell me what to do!” – I actually take it in later, because it’s a chance for us to have that father-daughter relationship. It’s his way of sharing his wisdom and being my dad. Because we didn’t live together since I was ten, I feel like now is our time, when he gets to really be a parent – even though I’m an adult now.

Occasionally, people notice how we speak and think we’re fighting, which is funny – because we’re not. It’s just how we communicate, Ukrainian sounds as passionate as Italian. I think we just have different temperaments, yet we are actually the same person. At the same time, we have the same temperaments explosive temperaments, only he’s learned over the years how to handle his. He lets me be annoyed for a second, knowing I’ll calm down quickly.  Sometimes he knows me better the I do myself.

When we cook together, we have the best time. We laugh, we play Ukrainian songs, and it all suddenly makes sense. People are happy, they ate good food, and they’re having a wonderful time!

I remember one of the events: there was my dad, standing there quietly while I’m talking to guests, just watching. It’s his dad moment, seeing me in my element – in a different country, speaking another language, surrounded by a community. I think that makes him genuinely happy.

Do you know what he said after the first dinner we hosted? He didn’t understand anything people were saying. His English was not as good back then. He barely spoke to anyone, just “hi” and “welcome.” At first, I worried he felt left out. But afterwards he said, “This was the best day so far since I’ve been here. I really got such an infusion of life—people chatting, happy, drinking wine, eating, laughing. Everyone has something to discuss, and even though I’m not directly part of the conversation, I still feel included and energised.”

That made me realise that cooking with him was the best thing that I could offer. It gave him something valuable – more than anything else I could provide. It’s really precious.