Chef and writer Magdalena O’Neal on being honest about your means

You’ve done pop-ups all over the world. I’m curious who you decide to collaborate with?

I trust my gut a lot. And I’m genuinely inspired by my friends. I was listening to a podcast recently that was talking about how you shouldn’t want to date somebody or have a friend who you don’t want to be like. Not in a way where you’re like, “I want to be you. I want your life.” More in a way where you’re like, “Wow, I admire you so much.” I have friends who are really good at communication in ways that I fail at, and I’ll watch them communicate professionally or personally and think, “I should try that.” It’s genuine, pure inspiration. That’s when I feel like a friend becomes a collaborator for me—because they’re actually inspiring me in my craft.

What’s most helpful about working with others as a chef?

More than anything, it’s about knowing that I don’t know everything. I had to lean on my friends so hard yesterday for an event, and they would do something that wouldn’t be how I’d do it. And then I’d be like, “Actually, it’s fine that way.” There isn’t one route to success. I don’t have the roadmap and need everyone to follow me. Other people’s ideas are so inspiring.

A couple of years ago, I started referring to everybody I engage with as someone I’m in a relationship with. I feel like when we’re growing up, you only refer to relationships romantically. But now I understand that my closest friends and I are all in relationships. Sometimes we have to “vibe check” each other. We have to be like, “Hey, I haven’t heard from you in a few days and I miss you.” We have to check in and make sure we’re still happy with each other and showing up for one another, and if we’re not, assess the problem.

What are some challenges about working with friends?

I think the biggest challenge is comfort. It’s a bit too easy sometimes to stray from the task at hand when I’m with my friends. We have to be aligned with the goal. If it’s my event and they’re helping, they might not be as focused on the end game as I am.

With strangers, it’s even harder because I feel like I don’t know how far I can push a stranger. I don’t know how directly I can say not to do something. I don’t know how fragile people are. You never know what people are going through or how they got to their process of handling things. With my friends, I know their love languages. I know how they want to be cared for and spoken to, and when I know how people like to be handled, I can actually do it.

A bunch of my friends helped me with a pop-up dinner a couple years ago, and it was one of the first big dinners I did. At the end, I was crying and they were hugging me. And they were like, “Hey, we do not mean this disrespectfully, but next time we help you—and we’re so down to help you—try saying please and thank you.” I was like, “Oh, I’ve never worked in a kitchen where people say that.” But I realized they’re not all professionally trained line cooks who’ve been in the trenches with only time for a few words. They’re actually my friends, so I will say please and thank you. Sometimes I say it to actual chefs and they’re like, “Stop saying that. You’re wasting time.” They think I’m being condescending, and I literally mean “thank you” and “please, can you do this.”

How do you balance friendship and collaborative projects with alone time?

I think it helps that I have a full-time job. I’m a writer and a chef, but outside of doing pop-ups and private events, which is my freelance work, I’m a full-time branded content editor at Time Out. That job is such a singular position. No one in my personal life really understands what I do there. In some ways, that makes it easier to separate.

It’s an interesting balance. Yesterday, I ran this pop-up event with all my friends, and then I woke up this morning and spent most of the day on my laptop doing my full-time job. That part of my life is a moment of peace, isolation, and routine. People always ask, “How are you doing a full-time job and all of this at the same time?” But my full-time job offers me so much stability and comfort while allowing me to use my brain in a different way. It’s also the only way I can have a real routine in my life. I go into the office twice a week. I wake up, make my coffee, sit at my laptop, and do the same work five days a week. It’s peaceful and monotonous, and I need that because nothing else in my life is necessarily peaceful or monotonous.

I hate to say that I balance my alone time with more work, but at this point, I do. I solo travel a lot. I prioritize taking trips alone. I’m about to spend six days in Tokyo by myself. This summer, I solo traveled through Europe for five weeks. I met up with some people in between, but for the most part, it was just me and the world. That’s how I reset my foundation.

Do you treat your art practice like a business? How did you figure out how to make a living through your creative work?

I went to school for media and professional writing, which is really close to what I do in my full-time job. I never thought I would cook for a living, but somehow, all signs pointed to cooking for me. I never thought I could make a career out of it. I was like, “I’m not going to be a chef. I don’t want to open a restaurant. I don’t want to be a line cook. I have no idea what this life looks like.” But somehow, I fell into it, super gratefully.

When I first moved to LA, I got a job at a bakery. The woman I worked with ended up getting a job at BuzzFeed, which was one of my bucket list goals. I really wanted to be part of a BuzzFeed cooking video. She invited me to do one, and that’s when I realized that food styling is a real job. You literally get paid to make food look good, even if no one is going to eat it. Turns out, it’s a lot harder than it seems, but I did it for years in LA for a bunch of different companies. It’s really one of those trust-based, word-of-mouth fields—one job turns into another because someone you assisted passes you a gig they can’t take.

There’s also this constant rebalancing of priorities, needs, and lifestyle practices. Sometimes I went three months with way less work, and I had to adjust. No going out, no trips. As a freelancer, you have to be really honest with yourself about what your means actually are. Sometimes I hate that I go out so much, but networking is essential, especially as a chef. So many of my gigs have come from just happening to be in a room with someone who introduces me to someone who needs a chef for an event, and then that event turns out to be one of the biggest of my life.

I will also say that recognizing my* why* has really helped—knowing why I do this and being able to explain it to people has changed a lot for me. Money is a circle. It comes back to you if you put it out into the world, if you put yourself out in the world. I still stand by that.

I always say, “You have to spend money to make money.” That’s such a 1%-er thing to say, but I really believe in putting good energy into the world. I’m always trying to be fair, to give back, to bring people in as much as possible. And I feel like I receive what I put out. Energy is a circle. Everything in life is a cycle. You can see that in nature, in science, in birth, and death.

I love the idea that we already have everything we need, as long as we’re putting back into the system as much as we’re taking out of it.

Yeah, but you have to find the balance for yourself. And you have to be honest with yourself. There are so many creatives out there trying to figure out what the fuck they’re doing and I think not knowing your why and not having a clear sense of purpose makes it really hard to stay true in these fields. The people who are the most successful—the ones who receive the most abundance—are the people who are true and honest with themselves.

What do you think your why is? What’s that purpose you always return to?

Figuring out my why, especially why I cook, was huge for me this past year. I spent six months living in Mexico City, and that really solidified a lot for me. My why is about furthering global understanding of ancestral practices in Black American cuisine. My family is so unique. I’m half Black and half Hungarian. The Hungarian side of my family are Holocaust survivors who left Budapest after the war. The Black side of my family are descendants of enslaved people from Arkansas. There’s oppression on both sides, and because of that, they see each other really well and that’s always inspired me. They recognize what the other side has been through. It’s kind of a “phoenix rising from the ashes” thing. They suffered; they worked so hard to get where they are. And I want to be a physical representation of that hard work. Through my work—through food and nourishment—I feel like I really am.

There’s so much misunderstanding of Black cuisine and Black American history in the U.S. I think you can teach people anything through food, so I use that. That’s my vessel. That’s what I was given and blessed with. The biggest part of my why is feeling my ancestors through me and making them proud through the way I nourish people.

How do you define success? And do you define failure at all?

Someone asked me what my deepest desire was recently, and I realized my deepest desire right now is to feel personally successful. And I do. But then I had to define that for myself. I think success is comfort, but it’s also about constantly pushing forward my truest self—showing up fully as me and not wavering on that. I feel most successful when I give myself the tools and resources I need to do my best work. Any time I show up as my best self, I consider that a success. Failure, to me, is when I don’t support myself. Like, if I went out for three martinis last night knowing I had a big day today, I wouldn’t be setting myself up for success.

I’ve had to stop defining my wins and losses by other people’s actions. If I hire someone and they make a mistake, that doesn’t mean I failed. Ideally, it becomes a foundation for them to grow, if we can have a conversation that makes space for that. I’ve had to let go of the idea that my success is tied to control—control over others, over outcomes.

Sometimes success is measured by how much power or control you have, but that’s never been my goal. I always joke, “Thank god I’m not a white man”—otherwise, I’d probably struggle with that a lot more. I don’t have this innate need to take credit for other people’s work or accumulate the most money in the world.

For me, success is living a life that feels true to myself. Toni Morrison talked about this in the documentary The Pieces I Am. She described waking up in her house by the water, making coffee, not calling anyone, writing for hours, making herself lunch, and then watching TV if she felt like it. Just doing what genuinely fulfills her. Not in a selfish way. She said, “My kids are grown; they’ll call me if they need me.” She had built a life that nourished her. That’s success to me. And failure? We’re failing upward. I haven’t failed down in years.

That’s such an interesting distinction. Say more about that.

I think people talk a lot about hitting rock bottom, but I see failure more as failing upwards. It’s like climbing a ladder, looking down, and realizing how high up I am—feeling scared, thinking, “If I fall, it’s over.” But the only way to keep that fear from coming true is to keep climbing, and the more you climb the closer and stronger you get. We all start on the ground.

Magdalena O’Neal recommends:

Solo trips: Traveling alone has not only broadened my perspective but has also fostered a greater comfort within my own thoughts. Over the past year, I’ve spent significant time by myself in vibrant cities like Mexico City, Berlin, London, and Tokyo. Each experience offered moments of introspection, free from outside distractions. Being solitary in unfamiliar places has empowered me to enjoy my own company, engage my creativity, and learn to support myself consistently—plus, I can indulge in whatever food I crave and linger in bed as long as I wish.

“Dancing On My Own” by Robyn: Whether it’s the fact that I’m rewatching Girls for the first time in over a decade or simply resonating with the lyrics, this song captures a feeling of longing and reflection perfectly. Dance alone to it, and you might just find the answers you seek.

Playing Monogamy by Simon(e) van Saarloos: I stumbled upon this insightful 130-page book in a small bookstore in Berlin during a moment of feeling isolated despite my professional success. The opening chapter, “The Single as Pariah,” critiques the notion that being a good person and diligent worker guarantees a fulfilling romantic relationship. It disassembles the idea of relationships as trophies and explores unhealthy attachments in a digestible and relatable way, far surpassing the insights of All About Love. Each chapter unveils the author’s vulnerabilities, providing valuable lessons for readers to reflect on in their own lives.

Wangechi Mutu and Santigold’s The End of eating Everything: Since first encountering this work in college, I’ve revisited it multiple times, each viewing revealing something new. Wangechi Mutu has long been an inspiration to me; her exhibit at The Legion of Honor in 2020 remains a favorite. The title of the exhibit, “I Am Speaking, Are You Listening?” evokes a profound engagement, prompting me to absorb the intricate details in each piece.

The Best American Food Writing (2019, 2022, and 2023): I may have “borrowed” the 2019 edition of this book from an Airbnb in Upstate New York, and if that copy belonged to you, I apologize—but I have no regrets. Samin Nosrat’s selections from the 2019 edition are filled with humor, emotion, and culinary wisdom. The 2022 edition, guest-edited by Sohla El-Waylly, and Mark Bittman’s 2023 edition continue to inspire me deeply. There’s nothing more motivating than discovering what fuels the creativity of those I admire.

This content originally appeared on The Creative Independent and was authored by Colleen Hamilton.

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