Slutty Cheff started her faceless, nameless Instagram two years ago while working full-time in a London restaurant. She explored gourmandise and sexual appetites with equal zeal. Her first post was about sharing a steak sandwich with a girl who had been nicknamed “Long Labia Lily” in school; her second post was about a boy who reminded her of a ham sandwich and went down on her for hours. Going against her cooking school’s advice not to get a job while still a student, she swiftly found the kitchen humbling but thrilling. Although she finds the term ‘foodie’ “godawful”, she becomes fully implicated in a scene that caters to them.

Her Instagram gained attention and she became a contributor to British Vogue (sample articles include “Furious About With Love, Meghan? Go Cool Off With A Lavender-Scented Flannel, Mate” and “Eating Alone In A Restaurant Isn’t Sad. It’s Hot”). Her first book, Tart: Misadventures of an Anonymous Chef, published today by Bloomsbury, wasn’t even released before she started adapting the work for TV. “The market is already saturated with far too many middle-class white girls talking about their sex lives as if it’s wildly controversial,” Slutty Cheff admits in Tart. What’s one more? 

We spoke with the author about the complex gendered dimension in professional kitchens, using hotness as a job metric, and the benefits of being both indiscreet and incognito.

Let’s start with the anonymity: first as an Instagram account and now as a book. Why decide to describe your real-life namelessly as opposed to just fictionalising it? 

Slutty Cheff: It was all sort of accidental. The Instagram started as sharing personal anecdotes as you would when you’re with your friends at the pub. I didn’t expect to get the opportunity to write a book from it. I think the reason for that anonymity is just because it’s a bit sexy, so it’s a bit embarrassing. I just don’t really have any interest in being online personally. I didn’t have a personal Instagram account before my Slutty Cheff one. It was really just to have fun exploring writing, as opposed to creating this personal brand. 

With the book coming out, are you worried that someone might out you?

Slutty Cheff: It’s a little bit anxiety-inducing, I suppose. I just don’t want anyone to be mean to me. Obviously. Nobody wants anyone to be mean. If it happens, it happens; I would just prefer it not to. A lot of people do know who I am: friends, or friends of friends, and they are cool about it. I don’t really know if it’s a story in itself — I don’t think it’s that interesting to find out who I am. But if it does [come out], so be it. I’ll just deny it. You can’t prove it.

While job-seeking initially, you wrote that you ‘looked at pictures of the staff, carefully scanning the line-up of men to see if there were any hot chefs to be found’ as well as looking at pictures online to see if the customers were young and hot. 

Slutty Cheff: At that point, that was a priority for me: I just wanted to be around hot people. I didn’t go to university, so my early 20s was about me finding people I wanted to be around. But I think it’s also just innate in the world of hospitality that there is that kind of underlying sex thing. It’s putting all of these people in a place together and, inevitably, sexual tensions will grow. Even in an office, when you’re spending that much time with people, you end up fancying someone. I kind of anticipated that. But it’s very shallow. I ended up sleeping with someone who I didn’t actually fancy that much, it was more just this blind obsession with getting laid. The restaurant industry is similar to creative industries of art, TV, fashion, and media where there is this thing of sex and status.

I wanted to be in the food world... And then when it comes down to it: is the food actually that nice, or is it just style over substance? Are these chefs actually good, or are they just smarmy, swaggy cunts?

Speaking of which, you found it validating cooking for VIPs while also being exasperated by the fact that ‘they are Veruca Salt and they want it NOW’-style demanding. You yourself also went out to hyped-up places.

Slutty Cheff: When you work in restaurants, you can be with a group of other chefs for 16 hours and end up talking about other restaurants and what other people are doing and where. People are harsh critics. Why wouldn’t you be, when you’re giving your whole life over to it? I just imagined what kind of personality or identity I wanted to have, and you can see that when I’m hanging out with this guy who is fundamentally a dick — but with access to places that I deemed places I wanted to be in the food world. My whole desire to get in there was just all about validation, I suppose. And then when it comes down to it: is the food actually that nice, or is it just style over substance? Are these chefs actually good, or are they just smarmy, swaggy cunts? It’s me being a young woman in London trying to do the things that I observed other people do. 

Speaking of perceptions, let’s discuss the gendered aspect. One thing that came up a few times was wanting to be perceived as a desirable woman. In one part, you write: ‘I resent my earlier self for choosing to wear my ugliest sports bra, then I resent my current self for caring about my sex appeal at this moment’. Elsewhere, you talk about how, even if you don’t fancy the staff, you don’t want them to think that you’re ugly. Can you expand on this?

Slutty Cheff: I think it’s innate in all heterosexual young women to question their desire with the men that they’re around. I talk about it so much because a lot of the time, you are the only girl or one of the few girls in a kitchen. Naturally, you feel like the odd one out, and therefore you analyse your differences. Working in a kitchen is a physical job. Sometimes you feel your lack, be it lifting up something heavy or if you’ve got agonising pains; you might feel like a little bit of a weakie compared to the men. People accidentally brush past your tit when they’re reaching for something; the way your apron sits on your waist is different. You change in the same rooms and middle-aged men see your bra. If you are in a vulnerable position, you feel your femininity even more.

You have this rallying cry of: ‘I don’t want my job to be a means to an end; I want it to be a pilgrimage of passion. I don’t want my sex life to be active; I want it to be award-winning.’ There’s wanting the best, but then having to deal with underwhelming reality. 

Slutty Cheff: I idolise everything, and then the reality comes. That’s where the comedy comes in, and then you learn from it. If you’re a person who romanticises things, there is always going to be that inevitable anti-climax, but it’s never going to stop me from continuing to romanticise stuff, because you still get a better outcome if you go hard. Obviously, things don’t always work out. But I don’t really see these anti-climaxes as harrowing, depressing moments. I just see them as ways to pivot and do the next thing, just keep on chugging and figure out what you’re going to do next.

Cooking is a catalyst for recovering from a mental slump. If you’re someone who can get manic or anxious, doing something with your hands is really helpful. Everybody has different variations of that. Some people touch grass, some people eat bananas, some people fucking rock climb or play paddle. 

Did you set out to make a horny book?

Slutty Cheff: Sex is just what I talk about most with my closest friends; it’s what I like reading about. I think that’s just top of mind for a girl when you’re in your 20s, and you and your friends are all figuring out what type of person you want to date. It’s just fun. Again, it comes into the whole greed thing. I find it empowering to talk about desire, because you don’t really see it that much, not to act like I’m fucking doing something special. But I remember seeing Girls and sex and dating with such great open-minded spirit that is not always in movies, TV, and books. A lot of the time, there is this epic orgasm that a woman will experience from this crazy, motorised dick-pumping. That’s not the way that a woman orgasms. I don’t know – it’s fun to sort of wind people up, I guess. A bit naughty.

I wouldn’t shit-talk someone who didn’t deserve it

Is the idea of getting back into a kitchen pretty foreign at this point?

Slutty Cheff: I loved working in kitchens — something I definitely would have done for years and years longer if this book thing didn’t come about. But it’s also fucking hard work for a fraction of the money you make sitting on your ass writing stupid shit. So, like, why? I mean, I still love cooking. I still love food, and I always will. I have a chef boyfriend, so I like to live vicariously through his experiences, steal his stories, and also get fed by him.

That’s the best of everything.

Slutty Cheff: Exactly. Also, the fucking reality is, you get to a point where you cook in kitchens and then you kind of realise the trajectory is: you keep working. You keep working. You’re either a head chef for not that much money and you’re still working these crazy hours, or you open your own place, which is basically a fucked prospect because of the costs. I have such unrelenting admiration for people who do it. There’s no reason why you would carry on other than fucking passion, because it’s a fucking hard job: you’ve got 30-year-olds with back problems and knee problems, and it’s hard to maintain relationships with people in your personal life, be it family or friends or dating. I’m too spoiled now by this bloody lifestyle. I don’t want to abandon hospitality forever. I love it so much, but I need to figure out the right way for me to do it.

Fair! When people you date know that you use material from your life, even if it’s anonymous… has that made anyone wary, at any point?

Slutty Cheff: No, because I heavily anonymised people to the point where you could never know who they are. If someone were to find out who the Luca character is, I don’t really give a shit, because he’s a cunt, so he deserves it. The only one I would feel slightly bad about is Topknot Barman, the poor bastard, because he is a really sweet guy. I was thinking about messaging him, but I didn’t. But the whole thing is about these kind of things you tell your friends — there’s no point sugar-coating stuff, because it just takes away from the impact. I wouldn’t shit-talk someone who didn’t deserve it.

Tart: Misadventures of an Anonymous Chef by Slutty Cheff is available now.