On the eve of the Russian offensive in 2022, my restaurant in Odesa had been open for six years. Despite the conflict that loomed over the country at the time, I had a good life, with my bistro, my kitchen, my family, who have lived there for four generations. Then the war broke out. We went through a winter without electricity, people began to flee and the Russians were preparing to invade us. Every night, we had to take shelter in the basement. I would go and get my mother so she could hide as well. I lost sleep, lost my lust for life, lost sight of the light at the end of the tunnel.
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After two years, I decided to leave the country to try to rebuild my life and career elsewhere. I left my mother and my restaurant behind. I know my mother will never want to leave her country – it's her language, her culture, her friends, her market. She wouldn't be happy anywhere else. But I needed to go.
I first went back to France, where I had learned to cook at the Ferrandi hospitality school, when I was 18. I spent a little time in Paris, then in Nice. But I didn't have the strength to start over or settle down for good. I couldn't do anything lasting or permanent; first, I needed to heal, to take care of myself. It was the third year of the war in Ukraine. I did a little catering, charity events and took part in the Refugee Food Festival, which was very symbolic and powerful for me.
