I grew up very poor.

My eyes filled with tears. I’d never been given something like this, never been told I had enough potential to learn from a real chef. I could barely get the words out to thank her. But Ms. Allen just smiled and waved her hand, like it was no big deal. “Just promise me you’ll show me everything you learn.”

That workshop was a turning point. I realized how much I truly loved cooking. I met other kids who loved to experiment with different flavors. We shared tips, tasted each other’s dishes, and gave feedback. I started to picture a life where maybe, just maybe, I could become a chef someday. Or own a small café. Or teach other kids the way Ms. Allen taught me.

In my final year of high school, Ms. Allen helped me put together an application for a culinary scholarship. I didn’t think I had much of a chance, but I tried anyway, figuring I had nothing to lose. My mom, who had always been shy and humble, suddenly became my biggest cheerleader. We pressed submit on that application, and then we waited. I remember checking my email every day after school, heart pounding, until one afternoon—I saw it.

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