‘Katie, come down, it’s Ben on the phone! London calling!’ shouts my dad from the bottom of the stairs as I carefully hand my absolutely gorgeous baby niece and god-daughter back to my sister.

I sneak one more kiss on Catherine’s tiny little nose and smooth the collar of her little lace christening gown that I made from my mother’s wedding dress. She smells like talcum powder and Jammy Dodgers and I adore her. My mother would have adored her too. She’d have adored every second of us all here, together, celebrating the present, excited about the future.

‘Hurry up, it’s long distance! It’ll cost a bloody fortune,’ yells Dad again.

Rachel waves me away and I run down the stairs two at a time to the landline.

‘Hey you!’ I say breathlessly down the line. ‘How’re you? I can’t believe it’s been a whole week. I can’t talk for long, people will start arriving any minute and I’ve still got to ice baby Catherine’s cake.’

‘Sounds like Oz is treating you well. What’s the weather like?’

‘Sweltering, but beautiful. Alice is already brown as a berry and I wouldn’t be surprised if I’ve got to make another cake for her and Conor at some stage in the future. There’s been some serious flirting going on between those two, which is funny considering he used to make her scream and chase her down the fields with baby toads in his hands. Thankfully he’s a bit smoother than that these days! The pair of them haven’t taken their eyes off each other since we’ve arrived, so watch this space. He’s even promised to rebuild the stone wall around the house, sorry, I mean “The Lodge”. She’s toying with the idea of expanding to camping retreats next year to keep up with all the demand and he’s up for helping her! Adam is arriving in later today, so then we’ll all be here, together again. Except for you, of course. Everyone says hi and sends their love. How are you? I miss you. Tell me everything!’

Ben assures me that everything is perfectly fine and under control at Martha’s Cellar. And he breaks the news that we’ve made it into The Time Out Best Newcomers top five, which is a major – another major – achievement in our first year of opening.

‘Have you time for me to read the review to you? It’s a good one,’ he tells me and instantly I can picture him, leaning towards the sunlight, against the back kitchen door, phone hooked in to the crook of his neck, magazine in hand, half-smile on his lips. Of course, I’m pleased about the review, but really all I want is to hear more of his voice.

‘Yes, please! Do read it to me.’

He clears his throat and begins. ‘Drum roll please! It’s that time where we reflect – while rubbing our bellies and promising ourselves that next week will be the one where we go on a diet – on the last twelve months in eating. And this year, there’s been a frankly stupid amount of brilliant restaurants. Which has made whittling the shortlist down to a manageable size one a helluva challenge. But we’ve done it. So here you go. The very best London restaurants of this year. We’ve said it before and we’ll say it again: eating out in London kicks ass.

‘First place awarded to… Oh, Martha’s Cellar. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

‘Food: Gutsy platefuls of seasonal ingredients, but Chef Katie Kelly’s light touch lifts the likes of cod with fresh peas, lentils and bacon, or whole Portland crab with chips and mayonnaise, to another realm. Eat the trifle. Trust me. Here is the new home of beautiful traditional cooking. From meaty croquettes to blood orange marmalade Bakewell tart… Mmm. But this is by no means Sunday lunch, the distinction is from head chef Katie Kelly, the youngest female chef in the UK at the moment to hold a Michelin star. Teamed with seafood specialist Ben Cole, these two are a match made in heaven. Think culinary Fred and Ginger. These guys just blend, they harmonise, they excite. They just work, goddammit. And all this magic happens in a simple, elegant room, with a short blackboard selection of gorgeous regional faves. The food riffs on a range of hearty Anglo, American and French influences, but with them a British sheen. The likes of toad-in-the-hole and fish pie sit comfortably alongside chicken liver parfait and mac ’n’ four cheese – and all are prepared with impressive precision.

‘Atmosphere: Two long communal tables. Two settings per night. Here’s where Martha’s Cellar is different. You arrive for dinner at six or at nine every night, just as you would at a family gathering. Couples, solo diners, large groups, who can tell? Everyone sits and eats at the same time. It’s beautiful. Somehow, it doesn’t feel like this should be a new or revolutionary way of dining, but it is and it feels very, very right.

‘Even if you don’t live near Chelsea, you should try to visit this exceptional restaurant at least once. The decor is understated: a soothing grey-green colour scheme and unobtrusive artwork. The real artistry arrives on the plates. As “British cuisine” continues to establish its own identity, it becomes clearer how ground-breaking this new restaurant really is. It’s far from faddy, and its continued commitment to well-sourced, simply cooked traditional food is attracting a lot of interest – and so it should.

‘So many textures, so many colours, so many flavours. It’s seriously va-va-voom. From the polished service and the serene, airy setting, this is one of the best new spots to hit our capital in an age. We are lucky, so lucky. For the best spectator seats, head to the tall stools by the bar. Because the chemistry between chefs Katie Kelly and Ben Cole is not something you want to miss.’

Omfg.

‘Pretty good, eh?’ Ben asks.

‘More than pretty good! It’s phenomenal,’ I tell him, wanting so much to throw my arms around him and tell him that he is my world. That he makes my life what it is. That I’m happier than I ever dreamed I could be.

Who’d have thought this could happen? That from the moment we secured our investment, our amazing rollercoaster ride was only beginning. A few months after we opened Martha’s Cellar, Ben and I were working, as normal, at the kitchen pass, side by side. Georgia’s desserts had already won her a Rising Star award and this time we really were given full autonomy by our investors, so Ben and I were able to hire the team we wanted. And that made all the difference. Our team really does feel like a family. And more importantly, acts like a family. A very special family who knows exactly how much every mouthful means to us all. We look out for each other with a common purpose. Sara broke through the swing doors, looking unusually wide-eyed for an early-bird service on a Thursday evening.

‘This is it!’ she whispered, crossing her heart and hoping to die. ‘This time for sure! I know it!’

Okay. So this time it was real. It was Michelin. And this time it wasn’t Jean-Michel at the Marchand. This time it was me and Ben at Martha’s Cellar.

Ben glanced over at me, raising his eyebrow. I smiled, place my hand over his, interlocking our fingers and giving a gentle squeeze.

‘It’s fine. You know, why don’t we just do what we always do.’

I stayed calm. And this time I didn’t have to talk myself into it. Didn’t have to counsel myself to combat the shakes. Because I was excited. I was confident. I knew what we could do and I wanted to cook for this person, this diner, this inspector. Just like I want to cook for everyone. I want every meal to be the best plate I’ve ever served and they’ve ever eaten.

‘Let’s just do us. The way we do every time.’

And that’s what we did. We didn’t even tell the rest of the staff. No need. We knew they’d do a great job because they always do. Every. Single. Time.

And that’s how it happened. That’s how I got my first Michelin star.

But what I’m most proud of is that we did it our way. Knowing that whether we got the star or not, we’d be fine, we’d survive, we’d live to see another day.

We close two days a week and that’s non-negotiable. It means we can all have a life. We can all keep our relationships. We can all get rested and recharged and come back to work renewed. That’s important. And it works. I have a filing cabinet packed full with CVs of hospitality staff willing to step in and work with us anytime. So we train them, just in case, at Parklands on the last Monday night of every month. Where all the residents and their families are treated to a three-course meal on us. We spoil them. It makes them happy, but it makes us even happier. And it’s all thanks to Mel and Zoe now running the place; they made this happen. Along with the herb garden, the music and quiz nights, and all the picnics and parties they’ve organised for the residents, Parklands is now a much, much better place. Not just a place to recall memories but also keep making new ones.

‘Katie? I need you out here, love.’ I can hear my dad calling me now from the veranda. Naturally, I’m in charge of the catering but he’s the drinks man and boy is he taking his role seriously. Wetting baby Catherine’s head is going to be a night to remember and may well stretch long into the early hours of tomorrow based on the amount of spirits Dad has stockpiled.

‘I’m so sorry, I’m going to have to go, but I’ll call you tomorrow when things are a bit quieter, okay? I love you and we’ll chat soon.’

‘No problem, I love you too. Oh, just one last thing, okay?’

‘Yep?’

‘When you get back, I want to ask you something about asking you something.’

‘Fire away,’ I smile as I kiss my goodbyes down the line. And I hear him laugh and for a split second, everything else falls away and the hundreds of thousands of miles between us collapses and all I can hear is his voice in my ear telling me that he loves me. After everything that we’ve lost and everything we’ve found, everything we ran from and everything we rebuilt, I’ve come to believe that there is no ‘one’ way. That this journey is endless and meandering and wondrous and when you can’t see where you’re going in the darkness, you just have to muster enough faith to take the next step, to just keep moving, that’s all it takes to stop you getting stuck and keep you pushing forward. The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that life isn’t about finding your way or anyone else’s way but creating new ways. So, when I get back to London and whatever it is that Ben wants to ask me, I’m ready. But he better be quick, because I just may beat him to it, I may get my question for him in first. And whichever way it takes us, I know we’re all going to be just fine.

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