Chef Peter Gordon reflects on his childhood, career, and lessons learned along the way. Photo / Michael Craig
In our new four-part series, we ask well-known New Zealanders to write a letter to their younger selves, offering advice, guidance and reflection on where their life has taken them. First, chef and restaurateur Peter Gordon, who has owned restaurants in Auckland, Wellington, London, New York and Istanbul
When people ask, I tell them that I had a really cool and fun childhood, but looking back on it, there were a lot of things that could have derailed me.
Apart from my three older sisters, I was the only person I knew with divorced parents. My mum Timmy and dad Bruce both remarried and soon I had two half brothers, one step-brother and step-sister. I went from being the youngest of four siblings to being the fourth of eight, albeit living in two different cities – Whanganui and Auckland.
I’ve always had an interest in cooking and would help Dad prepare dinner each night. Mum tells me I made a cooking scrapbook at age 4 but it was lost as the whānau split up. One of the most pivotal moments in my life was when, aged 7, I was alone in the kitchen cooking fish and chips. I had set up a (wobbly) stool so I could reach the pot, but inevitably I fell from it, and in the process, I managed to pull the pot of boiling oil over my head.
I remember the moment vividly. I remember the American sitcom Julia, starring Diahann Carroll, was playing on the TV. I remember watching Dad skid past me on his knees on the fat-covered kitchen lino, waiting for the ambulance to arrive – it didn’t. I remember Dad and my step-mum Rose putting me in their V8 Chevy Impala and rushing to get help, nearly hitting the ambulance as it left the hospital gate on its way to collect me. I had three long stays in Whanganui, Palmerston North, and Lower Hutt hospitals where I had a skin graft. I’ll sometimes say to people “Kiss my butt” as the skin from there is on my neck.
I had various nicknames at school but the ones that stuck were Scabby and Peter Poof (both true, but still…). I wasn’t sporty and I had to wear T-shirts to swim in and a wide-brimmed sun hat during summer to help my scarring heal. At intermediate, the principal told me to grow my hair long as kids would pick on me due to the scars on my head. In school photos, all the boys have short hair, and then there would be me, a long brown-haired flower child boy who looked like the girls. I was a prime target for bullies.
In 1960s and 70s New Zealand, not being into sports made you weird. I played volleyball for one year, a significant step for me, but I always preferred to bake a cake rather than run a mile. So in my own time, that was what I focused on, and everyone, likely even the bullies, benefited from my lunch box. I remember perfecting butterfly cakes – it was as good as scoring a goal. I learnt to be resilient and focused, and when I found myself in an occasional scrap at primary school, even though I wasn’t powerful, I sure as hell could clamp on the bully and stop myself from being hit.
As an adult, I would find myself thinking, “Wow, I’m from Castlecliff, Whanganui and I’m about to cook lunch for the Queen and Prince Philip” or “I’m about to shake Angel Merkel’s hand”, or “I’m about to cook for prime ministers Jacinda Ardern and Theresa May at No 10 Downing St”, or “I’m about to cook dinner for 900 people for Barack Obama’s first visit to New Zealand”. As a result of my cooking, I’ve had so many experiences that I have found unbelievable. Other things I’m proud of include donating my bone marrow to my sister Tracey, who had acute myeloid leukaemia, in 1995. Then I created an annual fundraising event in London in 1999 (where I lived for 31 years) for a charity and we have raised more than $15 million in London and almost $1.5m in New Zealand.
As I look back on all these ups and downs, I’ve reflected on what I would say to my younger self and it might sound something like this: “No doubt you’ll get burnt along the way, and it will sometimes hurt more than you ever imagined and possibly last your lifetime. The trick has always been to focus on those willing to offer you a wide-brimmed hat, no matter how silly it might be, to protect you from the sun. These are the people who really matter. Believe in yourself and do good s***, you only have one chance at this life.”
Oceania Healthcare donated $1000 to the National Foundation for Deaf and Hard of Hearing on behalf of Peter Gordon to say thanks for sharing his story