Top Chef’s Melissa King on Why Good Things Come to Late Bloomers

At age five, Melissa King knew she wanted to be a chef. By ten, she was putting dinner on the table every night for her working parents. And by her teens, she was determined to turn her passion into a career.

Growing up in Los Angeles as the daughter of Chinese immigrants, King felt pushed by family and culture toward more traditional paths. She acquiesced long enough to get a degree in cognitive science from the University of California, Irvine, but all the while, she knew she really belonged in a kitchen.

“[My parents] wanted the best for me, but the best was not what I had in mind,” she tells W ahead of the publication of her debut memoir, The Girl Who Became King, out October 6. “I think that's something teenagers are kind of great at. They'll fight for what they believe in. I was like, ‘I want to be a chef, no one's going to stop me, and you're either on board with that dream, or you're not.’”

King did just that. She went on to graduate from the Culinary Institute of America, then trained under female chefs in a male-dominated industry before making a name for herself in the Bay Area, where she spent her twenties in Michelin-starred kitchens. At 30, she competed on Top Chef's 12th season in Boston, and five years later she won Top Chef: All-Stars Los Angeles, along with its fan-favorite title. She has since published a cookbook, Cook Like a King, and served as a culinary curator of the 2022 Met Gala.

Now 42, King is tracing her path in her memoir. The book covers growing up between her family's Shanghainese and Cantonese heritage and her American upbringing, coming out, chosen family, and burnout. “I feel so grateful to be in this full-circle moment, where people tell me they came out to their very strict Asian parents because they saw my story,” King says. “Strangers DM me or stop me on the street to tell me how my life has impacted theirs. That's priceless, and it's what compelled me to write a memoir. This book is for anyone who has felt different or like an outcast, or like they don't belong where they are in life. I want them to feel a little less alone.”

You were cooking dinner for your family by 10. What did that look like?

I feel lucky to have known at a very young age what I wanted to do with my life. I was five years old, and I think my heart just knew that food was the one thing that lit me up. My mom and dad were engineers, so they were quite busy, and cooking became a necessity. I tied a lot of my sense of worth to that, and to achievement in general. Food became my voice. It was the thing I used to channel my feelings, my emotions, my expression of love.

Your parents wanted you to take a more traditional path. What was that time like?

I came from an immigrant family. They didn't want me to pursue culinary arts or anything creative. As a teenager there was a lot of resentment and pushback: Why don't you understand me? This is my passion, this is my craft. There were years when I didn't feel supported, but I couldn't let those outside voices take over. Those years, my teens and my twenties, are such beautiful parts of my life. It was a journey of self-discovery.

Who did you look up to back then?

I watched a lot of PBS, and seeing a woman, Julia Child, cooking on television was very powerful for me. Also, seeing [Hong Kong-American chef] Martin Yan—there was this commonality of him cooking Cantonese cuisine and dishes that my mom and my grandma would make at home. I had never seen anything like that before in the media.

Later, my mentors were the chefs I trained under, especially the women. In my first role, as a pastry assistant at the Getty Museum, Megan Garrelts took me under her wing. In the early 2000s, it was a very male-dominated industry, and quite frankly, it still is. Later I trained under Dominique Crenn, a high-profile executive chef at a Michelin-starred restaurant. There was no one in San Francisco doing that who was a woman, particularly a woman of color.

What would you tell a young person who's afraid that choosing their own path means losing their family's love?

It's scary. I thought that if I wasn't the obedient daughter, I would lose love or be punished. I held a lot of shame and guilt for choosing myself, whether it was choosing to come out or choosing to be a chef. For decades I put everyone else's happiness first. But I realized early that I could create my own family through my friends, my mentors, the people in the kitchen, and the queer family I built in San Francisco.

If people love you, they'll be at the end of that tunnel waiting for you, but you have to fight for yourself first. And mistakes are okay. You have to oversalt things, cut your finger, and bleed everywhere to become a better chef, and life is the same. I was painfully shy and deeply fearful for many years. Fear holds us back from so much. You have to lean into it.

You first competed on Top Chef at 30. A lot of young people feel pressure to have everything figured out by 25. What did that experience teach you?

I felt like a late bloomer for most of my life, with my first kiss, with romance, even in my career. By 29, I felt like I was running out of time. I went through burnout many times, and I questioned whether this was really what I wanted. My five-year-old self wanted it, but at 29 my body felt 50, and I wasn't where I thought I'd be. Then I went on Top Chef, and looking back now at 42, that's where I really became the person you see today. It's never too late. Watching the two seasons is like a video diary of my life. I see someone blooming into their confidence, owning their identity and owning their cooking, going back to my roots with more Chinese food.

What was it like writing about the people you love, including your parents?

I tried to write with a lot of empathy and compassion for where we all come from, particularly my father. My younger self didn't always hold space for that, but now I understand that my parents were kids coming to America with nothing, not speaking the language, working hard for their dreams. Those dreams might have fallen short, and that pressure might have been placed on me. I had a difficult relationship with my father when I was young, and I often felt misunderstood. Today we have the most beautiful relationship, and I feel the closest I've ever been to my dad. I want young people to know things can change. You may not be close to your parents today, but there may be a time when you come back together.