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Kate Whitehead

I was born in 1987 in Venezuela and raised there, but my family history is a mix of Latin American and European cultures.
On my mum’s side, my grandpa was Italian. He moved to Colombia after World War II and married my Colombian grand­mother.
They had my mother and moved to Caracas (the capital of Venezuela). On my dad’s side, my grandpa is from Argentina. He moved to Venezuela and met and married my grandma.
When I was five, my parents divorced. It was traumatic and as a child I suffered a lot of resentment. Both my parents remarried.

At first, I lived with my mum in Caracas. I was a good student, but I was also naughty and got into fights and kicked out of schools. Later, I moved in with my dad and my mother moved to Colombia.
To be closer to school, I often stayed with my Venezuelan grandmother. She took care of me like no one had before, I love her so much.

Her cooking was a grandmother’s cooking – she would open the fridge and see what there was; that is the most beautiful way to cook. It was a philosophy that I followed for many years in France.
Island life
I was quite a rebel. I didn’t prepare for exams – I thought I knew everything – and I failed. My dad agreed to send me to an expensive private school to study sociology, but I didn’t like it and left after a year. He was furious.
I thought about studying hospitality at a public university on Isla Margarita. My Italian grandfather lived on the island and I stayed with him. The internet wasn’t great in those days and when I got there, I discovered I’d just missed the start of the academic year.
I made a friend on the island who was passionate about his culinary studies and I decided that’s what I wanted to do.
It was like a war zone – there were plates flying all over the place, people banging into each other and screaming
Ricardo Chaneton on the first time he stepped into the kitchen of lauded French restaurant Mirazur
My dad eventually came around to the idea and introduced me to his friend Roberto, who ran a pizzeria.
My dad said if I worked there, I could use the money to pay for culinary school. He didn’t want to pay for anything.
All-consuming passion
I fell in love with working in the kitchen from the first service – I loved the pressure and adrenaline. For a year, I studied in the morning and worked at night. I worked hard and quickly moved up the ranks until I reached Le Gourmet, a French restaurant at the InterContinental Tamanaco hotel, in Caracas.
In the year I worked there I fell in love with French gastronomy. I worked a lot. I was so passionate I stopped seeing my family and friends and got into the culinary world. It’s such a life that when everyone is working, they are enjoying themselves.
He wanted to be a doctor, instead he became a chef
After a year, I felt burned out. I didn’t know how to handle the pressure. I left the kitchen and went to work in my girlfriend’s parents’ business. But after a few months I missed cooking.
What am I doing here?
In 2008, I got an apprenticeship at the three-Michelin-star Quique Dacosta, in Dénia, Spain, and after two months they offered me a paid position. I fell in love with the ambience.
In the summer, we started at 9am and finished at 2am with a one-hour break for lunch. I learned so much there. When I wanted to leave after a year to move to Mirazur, in France, the chef was very supportive. He knew Mauro Colagreco, the chef at Mirazur, and even paid for my train ticket.
As soon as I got there, I went to the kitchen to see the service. It was like a war zone – there were plates flying all over the place, people banging into each other and screaming. I thought, “What am I doing here?” It was very difficult.
A melting pot of cultures, and food that melts in the mouth
I didn’t speak French and the two chefs de cuisine were French, from the school of Robuchon and Ducasse, a military style of working.
The language was a real problem; the sous chef didn’t get the things I asked him to order, so I had to walk for an hour just to buy the cream for the sauce. After three months, I’d had enough and sent my CV to restaurants in Spain.
It happened that a chef from Valencia received my résumé when he was in Japan and with Mauro. When Mauro got back, he asked me what was going on.
I explained my difficulties and he told me the two sous chefs had already handed in their notice. He asked me to be patient and there would be a new way of working.
Survival instinct
Even though Mauro is Argentinian and speaks Spanish, he always communicated with me in French. One day, in the middle of service, he yelled at me in front of everyone, “If you want to live in France, if you want to stay here, you have to learn French, or I’ll fire you.”
Something in my mind clicked. The need for survival and my will to stay was so strong that within six months, I was fluent in French – spoken and reading.
I worked at Mirazur for seven years. It was the most important experience in my career and a fun time. There were many nationalities working there, so I also improved my Portuguese, Italian and English.
Super special experience
While I was at Mirazur, my mum called and told me my Italian grandpa didn’t have long to live; he had terminal cancer. I went back to Venezuela for a few days. I brought olive oil from Italy and made him pumpkin soup; he was very happy. He passed away days later.

Mauro began to do international consulting. One of the first projects was in Shanghai. I told him I didn’t know what to do. He said he didn’t either and we’d learn together.
It was a super special experience doing something from scratch. It took me to Asia for the first time. I was travelling back and forth between France and Shanghai and it was there I met an Australian woman.
We got married in France in 2014. I told Mauro I’d stay one more year. My wife was impatient to leave France, she didn’t speak French and didn’t have friends or a job and I was always working.
Name on the menu
I ended up staying longer at Mirazur to open the restaurant during the winter season. By the time I left, I was in charge of the kitchen, the chef de cuisine; in charge of consulting; the executive chef for outside events; and also the assistant to the chef. When I left Mirazur, Mauro had to hire three people to cover what I’d been doing.
I love Hong Kong – I love the culture, the friends I’ve made here. I don’t see myself living anywhere else
Ricardo Chaneton
In October 2015, I came to Hong Kong with Mauro for a promotion at the Island Shangri-La hotel. When I was back in France, the hotel contacted me and offered me a job as executive chef at Petrus. I started in March 2016.
Before, I’d been chef for someone else, but this was the first time I had my name on the menu, so I really wanted to prove myself. My marriage was already strained and with the long hours it crumbled, and we separated. I worked there almost four years.
Bad timing
When I resigned, I wasn’t sure what to do. I took a break in South America. A guest, Yenn Wong, CEO of JIA Group, suggested opening a restaurant in Hong Kong and said she’d invest in it. We opened Mono in 2019 in Central.
Mono is very Latin American in terms of flavours and ingredients, but very French because that’s my training.
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The year 2019 was a difficult time in Hong Kong. Before we opened we had a week for just friends and family. There was tear gas coming through the windows from the social unrest. And in 2020, there was Covid.
We were fortunate, we had a product that was different from other places.
Mediterranean diet
I have a 13-month collaboration with The Upper House, more specifically for Salisterra, as the culinary adviser. I’m part Italian and I have worked on the Mediterranean coast, so I have a link to this culture and knowledge of the seasons and products.
I am very passionate about Mediterranean cuisine. I work in a restaurant that is very French, but I will never forget how much I enjoyed cooking staff meals for 35 people, and I did Mediterranean dishes – paella and fresh tomato salad with goats’ cheese.

At home in Hong Kong
I got divorced and was lucky that, a few months later, I met someone who is very special to me. Ariane is French, and also works in food and beverage, at front of house. We’ve been together for six years and have two sons, a one-year-old and a three-year-old.
They were both born in Hong Kong. I want them to be proud of the place where they were born and raised. My three-year-old goes to a local nursery school which is 100 per cent Cantonese.
Yesterday I was showing him the Nasa rockets and he counted in Cantonese – yat, yee, saam. It made me super proud and happy.
I love Hong Kong – I love the culture, the friends I’ve made here. I don’t see myself living anywhere else. I owe a lot to Hong Kong because through thick and thin we have been together, me and my team bringing something unique.


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Chef Ricardo Chaneton at his Latin-American restaurant Mono, in Hong Kong’s Central neighbourhood. The Venezuelan talks to the Post about how he fell in love with cooking, and labout iving in a city he loves. Photo: Sun Yeung

Chef Ricardo Chaneton at his Latin American restaurant Mono, in Hong Kong’s Central neighbourhood. Photo: Sun Yeung

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The chef of Hong Kong Latin American restaurant Mono on making it in the restaurant industry armed with a love of French cooking, and why he loves the city


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‘I owe a lot to Hong Kong’: Venezuelan chef Ricardo Chaneton of Mono on finding his passion, and a home

.css-1mniedq{color:inherit;font-weight:inherit;font-size:inherit;font-family:inherit;line-height:inherit;}The chef of Hong Kong Latin American restaurant Mono on making it in the restaurant industry armed with a love of French cooking, and why he loves the city

The chef of Hong Kong Latin American restaurant Mono on making it in the restaurant industry armed with a love of French cooking, and why he loves the city