Neill’s Story
I always had a feeling I would end up on TV one day. Maybe it was wishful thinking. Maybe it was instinct. When the cameras finally pointed at me during the filming of Private Chef, it felt strangely natural. While the lights blasted enough heat to scramble an egg on their own, I’d be trying to explain why you shouldn’t rush figs or why a shoulder of lamb needs the kind of patience you usually reserve for small children and flat-pack furniture. Somehow that honesty resonated. The show took off in more than 160 countries, which is bizarre when you consider that half the time I was talking to the camera like it was an old friend and the other half ignoring it completely. These days I split my time between filming, writing recipes, and private chef work, sharing the kind of food that travels well across kitchens, continents, and weeknights.
“I cooked for Madonna and McCartney the same way I cook for anyone - with intention and care.”
People think TV changed me. It didn’t. It just made the kitchen louder. Before all of that, I spent a decade in London’s toughest kitchens, where Ramsay, Wareing and Williams taught me to respect the ingredient, trust my instincts and keep my head when the room gets hot - literally and figuratively. When I came back to South Africa, I built a private chef career cooking for people whose names tend to appear in headlines. They are impressive, sure, but here is the truth. I cooked for them the same way I cook for anyone: with respect for the ingredients, and the understanding that the best meals are not the fanciest but the ones made with what you have and a whole lot of heart.
But if I am honest, all of this started long before London or Los Angeles or a film crew asking me to repeat a line. It started in Zimbabwe, in my mother’s kitchen, where the smell of baking carried more authority than any chef I would meet later. She cooked with reverence, not fuss. My sister taught me scrambled eggs. That was the spark. Everything since has been me following that spark through kitchens, across continents, onto screens and now into whatever comes next.
Book signing with Chef and restaurateur, Marco Pierre White
“Those studio lights were hot enough to scramble an egg. I took it personally.”
At the end of the day, I am still that kid who realized food could say something. I have just learned a few better ways to help it speak.
“Great food isn’t glamorous or scripted. It’s honest, and that’s enough.”