Ciao, my name is Giulia Moretti, and I’m a 34-year-old chef from a sunny little town near Naples, where the scent of tomatoes, basil, and the sea all seem to mix in the air. If you had told me when I was a girl that one day I’d be teaching others to cook, I would have laughed — I used to burn toast and cry over clumpy risotto!

My real education began in my grandmother’s kitchen. She never measured anything. A handful of this, a splash of that, and always a story to go with it — about how her mother made bread during the war or how the fishermen brought in the best anchovies at dawn. She used to say, “Giulia, you must cook with your heart, not your head.” I didn’t understand her then, but now I think about those words every single day.

When I started cooking seriously, I was terrified of making mistakes. My first lasagna came out so dry it could have doubled as a roof tile. But instead of giving up, I laughed — and made it again. That’s something I want every beginner to remember: the kitchen isn’t a place for perfection, it’s a place for learning, tasting, and trying again. Even the best chefs started by getting tomato sauce on the ceiling (yes, I’ve done that too).

These days, I run a small cooking studio in Rome called Casa Moretti, where I teach people — mostly beginners — how to cook Italian food without fear. We dance around to old Italian songs, sip a bit of wine, and I show them how to feel when the pasta dough is just right or when the sauce has found its balance. My favorite moment is always the same: when someone takes their first bite of something they made and their eyes light up. That’s magic.

Cooking, to me, is like falling in love — messy, unpredictable, sometimes frustrating, but always worth it. Start with simple things. Let your hands learn the rhythm of chopping, stirring, kneading. Don’t rush. The kitchen will become your friend if you give it time. And if you ever feel lost, remember what Nonna said: “If it smells good, you’re doing fine.”