A Tribute to Skye Gyngell

One of the many things that unites the late Skye Gyngell’s industry peers, mentees and friends is the belief that the chef, mother and grandmother had sublime taste – in every sense of the word. And it was this that took her from her Sydney, where she was born in 1963, across the world to the UK, where her elegant, produce-led style would cement her as a culinary visionary long before sustainable, farm-to-table dining became the standard for a certain echelon of dining.

At 19, Gyngell trained at La Varenne in Paris under the school’s founder, Anne Willan, then at Paris restaurant Dodin-Bouffant before crossing the Channel to make a home in London. Later stints with Anton Mosimann at The Dorchester and the Hendersons at The French House further shaped her instinctive, hyperseasonal style, before she brought that philosophy to national prominence at the Petersham Nurseries Cafe. A year after earning the restaurant a Michelin star in 2011 – an award she famously dismissed as a “curse” for the expectations it brought with it – Gyngell departed and became culinary director of Heckfield Place in rural Hampshire.

In 2014, Gyngell brought her elegant, unpretentious vision to its fullest expression with her own restaurant, Spring. She built a kitchen defined by close relationships with growers such as Fern Verrow, a 16-acre biodynamic holding in Herefordshire, while championing whole-ingredient cooking and introducing Londoners to projects such as her more affordable Scratch menu, which transformed surplus produce into low-waste dishes.

Spring became a model for contemporary, aspirational, seasonal dining: a place where beauty, ethics and craftsmanship were inseparable, and where members of her team – many of whom went on to lead kitchens of their own – were encouraged to cook with confidence and always from the heart.

Here, some of her peers share their memories of Gyngell as a collaborator, inspiration and friend.

We loved each other as cooks primarily – that’s how we fell into each other’s arms. We met back at the Blueprint Cafe many moons ago, when her books were coming out, and we did a book-club dinner there. Not long after, [racing driver] Johnny Bute – a great friend of hers – and his love, Serena Bute, invited us all up to cook at [Johnny’s home] Mount Stuart. It began a series of yearly dinners at this incredible house, which is like some crazy Hogwarts on the Isle of Bute, where we cooked amazing local fish and produce and oysters, and we raided the garden. They were very special times. Any time we were able to cook together was always a rip-roar.

Whenever we bumped into each other, she was just so unbelievably kind, generous and supportive. She was so elegant and stylish, and she always had a fantastic quip.

It was that strange thing, our friendship – we lived very crazy, busy lives, so it wasn’t a friendship based on seeing each other for dinner or lunch every week; it was different. You would suddenly get a call from Skye saying, “I want to cook for you and Simon [Hopkinson] and Rowley [Leigh]. Will you come to Petersham [Nurseries], please?” And I would go, “Yes! That’s the loveliest invitation.” So Simon and Rowley and myself would tootle on down to Petersham and sit down at this extraordinary place she created with the Boglione family. And, indeed, you could see the flip side of a Michelin star being awarded to someone who was just happily cooking in a shed. It was amazing, and we loved it. We all celebrated her. It was brave and brilliant and bold and beautiful.

When she then took on the harnessing of Heckfield, and subsequently Spring, it was love and adoration all the way. She was a brilliant pioneer for women; she did an enormous service to the whole restaurant and food community at large with a predominantly female crew. And she would quip, “None of it’s easy, dear.” She always had a great quip for all of these things.

I’ll never forget the last gig we did together where she was very bright and bolly – her darling self.

It’s just unfathomable and so cruel. It just defies belief completely. It’s a tremendous loss, a real void. The loss for her family is incalculable, and for the businesses. Skye’s legacy is so darlingly impressive and brilliant. Her imprint on every facet of what she’s left is so great that the crew will certainly thrive and continue, because it’s amazing what has been done.

For the restaurant business at large, it’s a loss that just can’t be calculated. She was not only unique, but such a strength and such a presence. She had such style and amazing taste. To have Skye wander into the restaurant going, “Oh my god, have you tasted these peaches today? They’re stunning” – that just summed it all up. She had such a sense of it all. A very natural possession, and one that takes years of honing.

My relationship with Skye was amazing. It was inspiring. She gave me my first job in a kitchen. She believed in me – that I could be a cook. I didn’t have much confidence, and she gave me a chance with almost no experience whatsoever. She saw that I had the willingness to learn and get better slowly.

After Spring I went and worked at other places, but then after I opened the cafe, I found the first year really hard. I had to take a step back for a little while and try to get myself back in check to be able to manage the restaurant, and she really helped me through that. She always cared for me, not so much as an employee but as a person.

She influenced my cooking in so many ways. She had a famous quote: “Nature does the hard work, we just have to not fuck it up.” And I kind of go by that now. We try to get the best ingredients we can and then not add too much to it. That was really her philosophy. I spent a year on the salad section at Spring; I was there for three years in total, which is a long time for kitchens. We would go to the farm, see what they were growing, and then we’d have a different appreciation for the product you saw on the plate.

She really taught me to care for the produce. So when you pack it into the fridge, when you’re checking things out of the fridge, you treat it with care because the more it’s touched before the plate, the more it devalues. They’d be like, “Stop. You need to spend time to pack this salad away nicely because the next person is going to use it. If you just throw it in the box, it’s not going to look as nice on the plate.” And that was because someone might have saved up money to come to eat at Spring for their birthday. She would always say, “Don’t short-change a guest. Why should one dish not be as good as the next?” I like that level of consistency and treating everyone the same. No one should be short-changed. That’s what we try to do here at the cafe.

I met so many amazing cooks at Spring. We can all carry the message of Skye, but she put so much into her education of chefs. London’s really going to miss that. We can try to teach our chefs the same philosophy of Skye, but the world will really miss the pioneer of British farming. She really was the first to champion farms before farm-to-table was “cool”. She did it before it was a thing. We have lost a pioneer. And we’ll also miss the chance to just have her food, of course. Spring will carry on the legacy, I hope, but I’ll miss the joy of eating her food.

Skye’s food philosophy was built on the implicit understanding that good ingredients not only taste better but are better for one’s health; that how an ingredient is produced, grown or reared is as fundamental to its characteristics as its DNA. It was partly this understanding that explained why her food tasted so exquisitely good. Her relationship with the visionary grower Jane Scotter [of Fern Verrow], meant that all her ingredients tasted incredible before they even arrived at her kitchen door.

But, of course, that is only half the story. Skye was a brilliant and confident cook who didn’t bring needless embellishment to her food, knowing instead that a few delicious sauces or dressings and some careful cooking was often all that was required.

She inspired generations of cooks who had the good fortune to work with her, and more still through her recipes and writing. She will be seen as a visionary in her understanding of how the natural world and food production are so intertwined. We are a less enlightened, and definitely a less colourful, stylish world, without her.

Skye was a good friend and a mentor figure to me when I first moved to London. She was always supportive of any project I came to her with and always keen to get involved in cooking for a good cause.

Together we cooked a big feast at Spring using food waste and a dinner for Action Against Hunger at Hawksmoor, held panel discussions on sustainability at Spring, held fundraiser dinners for Choose Love at 180 Strand and cooked at the V&A for the launch of their Food: Bigger than the Plate exhibition. She believed in the power of food as a force for change and wanted to use her position to make a difference.

She was the true pioneer of the farm-to-table movement in the UK, and her commitment to sustainability was totally unwavering and authentic but always displayed with such humility and elegance.

Her taste in art, design, food and fashion was immaculate, and you could always tell her plates of food immediately: it was resolutely her – discreet, quiet but so elegant.

You could also tell immediately if chefs had worked for her by the way that they cooked and plated – but, more pertinently, by their kindness.

I’ve never cooked with someone like Skye in my career. She had incredible confidence in what she was doing and what she wanted on the plate. She taught me so much more than food; it was more about nurturing and love than actually cooking. I’m heartbroken that the next generation of chefs will never get to experience first-hand how amazing she really was.

Years before my own restaurant was even a twinkle in my eye, I was a beauty journalist. I ate at Petersham Nurseries when Skye was cooking and was blown away by the beauty of her food. It had a woman’s touch – a tenderness and a sensibility rooted in the seasons.

Years later, my first birthday dinner with my now husband was at Spring, and we decided there and then that if we got married our reception would have to be there. She was a cook’s cook.

On my wedding day, as I walked in, I was greeted warmly by Skye. She met my husband’s parents and asked to meet mine. When I told her (a little tearfully) that they hadn’t come, she flung her arms around me and said, “Do you want to see your bonkers cake?” It was February. It was a “spring” pink, three-tier cake made by my friend Lily Jones (from Lily Vanilli) filled with seasonal rhubarb and custard, and topped with vegetables like kale, artichokes and garlic flowers. It was as much about my love for vegetables as it was a tribute to Skye and her inspiring relationship with nature and Fern Verrow. Her legacy will live on through her beautiful restaurants, but also through chefs like me who she has touched and inspired.

You can tell a chef who has worked for Skye, as they take onboard her beliefs. Her impact on me and everyone who was lucky enough to work in her kitchen is immense. Her passion was unmatched, and when she spoke about food, you couldn’t help but be 100 per cent sold on her vision. She taught me about simplicity and really letting the produce shine.

Skye was generous, nurturing and truly passionate. When I first met her, she gave me the opportunity to be part of the management for the high-profile opening at Spring. This was a big turning point in my career.

Skye was an inspirational chef. Her ideas changed the way we look at food in this country and helped shape the next generation of chefs.