“Dinner’s ready!” was never just a call to the table in my household. It was an invitation to a culinary United Nations assembly, a symphony of flavors where Dutch practicality met Spanish passion and a hint of French and Russian extravagance. As a child, with a Dutch polyglot mother and a rocket scientist father, I wasn’t just raised on stamppot and paella; my childhood was a whirlwind of cultures, languages, and a relentless pursuit of excellence.
My mother, Veronica, was a remarkable woman with a gift for languages – she already spoke fluent English, French and German when she met my father aged 20 or 21. Though they continued to speak in English to each other for the rest of their lives, she rapidly became fluent in Spanish too.
She wasn’t simply fluent in Spanish; for most of my teenage years, she was a “drug mule whisperer” at Schiphol Airport and the prisons of Haarlem and Amsterdam. Many South American drug couriers, often referred to as “camels,” were apprehended at the airport with their illicit cargo. Scared, disoriented, and often unable to communicate effectively in Dutch or English, these individuals found themselves in a foreign and hostile environment.
My mother’s role, as a freelance interpreter to the Dutch Probation Service, was to bridge that communication gap. Her ability to speak Spanish fluently, coupled with her innate empathy and understanding, allowed her to connect with these bewildered “camels.” She would patiently listen to their stories, deciphering the tales of desperation, poverty, and coercion that had led them to become drug mules. At dinner, my mother would share anecdotes from her work, vividly describing the intricate methods used by drug smugglers and the devastating consequences faced by those who were caught. These stories were both fascinating and sobering, highlighting the harsh realities of the drug trade.
Meanwhile, my father, Santiago, was not your average dad either. Mostly, he had his head in the stars, quite literally. As a dedicated space engineer at the European Space Agency, he was at the forefront of building and launching technology that would unravel the mysteries of the cosmos. Born in Cadiz, and the son of pioneers and adventurers himself, he headed to Madrid as a 17-year old to attend the recently opened faculty of Aeronautical Sciences. A bit of a rascal as a youth, he dared not waste his scholarship and dedicated himself to his studies. Missing the eclectic meals he had enjoyed at home, he taught himself how to cook.
Having graduated, my father was offered a scholarship to complete his PhD at The University of Alabama in Tuscaloosa in the early ‘60s. He arrived a fit, handsome rugby player but soon learned to savour, and then cook, all of his landlady’s favourite Alabama food. Sixty years later, my brother and I both still keep a copy of the faded piece of paper with Aunt June’s recipes for Alabama ribs and BBQ sauce – written out in pencil by my dad. I have shared these recipes with people all over the world, who just like my dad fell in love with Aunt June’s food.
Needless to say, by the time he arrived in the Netherlands to start his new job in the Young Engineer program of the European Space Agency, he was a big man of 120kg, but with a sexy MG and an even sexier story, that my mother clearly found hard to resist. He ended up staying with “the Agency” for over 30 years and had the amazing opportunity to work on satellites like Meteosat, Ulysses (ISPM), and ISO.
I was overjoyed when, a few years after he passed away, I found him in an online video, at work in anxious anticipation of the launch of Arianespace V80 at the Guiana Space Centre near Kourou in French Guiana in 1995 when the ISO satellite was put into orbit. As Satellite Mission Director, he talks about the ISO mission around 20:10, and around minute 55, you will see him opening a briefcase to a carton of Camel cigarettes, before he lights up a big cigar in celebration of the successful deployment of the satellite into orbit.
From a young age, my dad instilled in me a profound sense of wonder, curiosity, and the audacity to reach for the unknown. He taught me to look up at the night sky and see not just twinkling lights, but a vast expanse of possibilities waiting to be explored. He encouraged me to dream big, to work hard, to challenge the boundaries of the known, and to never shy away from the unknown. While other children might have idolized rocket scientists from afar, I had the privilege of living with one.
The branches of my family tree extend far beyond the realms of earthly linguistics and cosmic exploration. My paternal grandmother, Beatriz, was the daughter of an eccentric Catalan composer, who in his private and family life behaved in ways that were considered avant-garde or extravagant for the time, such as following a vegetarian diet, or having his children sunbathe naked on the roof of his house. He moved the family to Brussels, stating that in Spain he did not find the artistic and musical environment he needed for his creative ambitions. Aged 18, Beatriz decided to return to Spain to explore her Catalan roots and improve her Spanish. She would speak Spanish with a French “r” for the rest of her life, which didn’t stop her scolding me for not speaking properly – I too am unable to roll my r’s. In Barcelona she would meet my grandfather, Nicolas.
Nicolas, a man of the sea and science, dedicated his life to pioneering radar navigation for ships, ensuring safer voyages across the vast oceans. His father, Saturnino Ximenez, was a renowned figure in the world of archaeology, his adventurous spirit and groundbreaking discoveries earning him the nickname “The Indiana Jones of Catalonia” in a newspaper article in 1992. His mother, Natalia Turbin, oldest daughter of Nikolai Maleevich Turbin, was a Russian princess whose lineage could be traced back to the illustrious Romanov dynasty, adding a touch of regal elegance to the family’s rich tapestry. Of course, the family had lost everything when they fled their home in Mogilev during the Bolshevik Revolution and, while regal in their behaviour, they were also destitute. When my grandmother visited Nicolas while he was working on a nautical project in Cadiz, the Spanish Civil War broke out. My father and his siblings growing up in Cadiz was basically a freaky consequence of getting stuck due to a war.
As you can imagine, dinner table conversations in our household were nothing short of extraordinary. Lively debates seamlessly transitioned from the drug tales of my mother to the intricacies of space navigation my father studied, with occasional detours into the realm of royal etiquette, mysteries of lost tombs, or the alleged spy adventures Saturnino had been on. Each meal was a veritable feast for the mind, a testament to the diverse passions and intellectual pursuits that ran deep within my family’s veins.
This melting pot of cultures wasn’t just about heritage; it was about a constant quest for excellence. My mother’s linguistic prowess, my father’s scientific rigor, and my grandfather’s pioneering spirit all spoke of a family driven to push boundaries and explore the unknown. Having collected all 27 books in the TIME-LIFE Foods of the World series, the meals my father prepared were as diverse as the conversations. This early exposure instilled in me not only a deep appreciation for the nourishment that food provides but also a profound understanding of its ability to connect people, bridge cultures, and tell stories.
And so, my culinary journey began in the heart of my family’s kitchen, where the tantalizing aromas of my father’s cooking and the lively conversations around the dinner table ignited my passion for food, travel and a lifetime of learning.
With such a family history, my father had strong opinions about career choices. When I suggested becoming a chef after high school, he vetoed it instantly. “Get a degree first,” he said, “passion projects are hobbies.” So, to annoy him, I studied psychology—what he considered the least scientific of sciences. I dropped out after a year.
Suddenly, I was on my own. Without ESA-funded study allowance or intergovernmental residency status, I had to find work fast.
A small bookkeeping firm took a chance on me, despite my lack of experience. My boss had developed his own accounting software, and I was tasked with reading the manual and completing the demo. Surprisingly, I loved it. Bookkeeping felt like solving crosswords with numbers, and within 18 months, my boss advised me to pursue a Business Administration degree.
While everything related to economy, business, finance was the furthest thing from my passions – music, dance, art, food, travel – I was undeniably good at it (thanks Dad, for all those hours tutoring me in high school). I completed my degree quickly and entered the corporate world, riding the 90s IT boom into functional ERP consulting. My father beamed with pride—his “rebellious” daughter had become a computer expert.
And then the dot.com bubble burst, the Y2K problem had people worrying about planes dropping out of the sky, and companies switched their IT budgets from software implementations to hardware upgrades. Where we had been able to pick and choose the juiciest contracts, work completely dried up. My boss at the time was blunt about it: “”Retrain as a coder, or leave.”
I left. Coding felt too close to my father’s world, and I still had something to prove. But the idea of retraining stuck. With savings from my corporate career, I decided to defy my father’s original veto. I was an adult, I was self-funded and independent, and nobody could tell me what to do or not do any more. I was going to retrain as a chef.
In September 2000, I started at Leith’s School of Food and Wine in Kensington to complete the Advanced Diploma of Food & Wine. Amidst the exhilarating chaos of professional kitchens, I truly discovered my flow state. The meticulousness of mise-en-place, the intricate choreography of service, and the unwavering commitment to excellence felt deeply familiar. The kitchen, much like my family, demanded nothing short of perfection, yet it also fostered an environment where creativity and adaptability thrived. At the same time, the same structured thinking that made me excel in ERP consulting also made me a disciplined chef.
The fast-paced, high-pressure nature of the culinary world pushed me to my limits, honing my skills and sharpening my instincts. It was here that I learned to think on my feet, to problem-solve under pressure, and to lead with confidence and composure. When I returned to the corporate world in 2004, I was changed. Cooking had fine-tuned my ability to – intuitively almost – see systems holistically. To recognize cause and effect, action and reaction, the big picture and the details simultaneously, all in one instant.
Today, as the CEO of Shutta, I lead with the same principles that guided my culinary journey: precision, adaptability, and a deep appreciation for teamwork. My multicultural background informs my leadership style, fostering a culture of inclusivity and innovation. Every project is a recipe waiting to be perfected, and my team is the brigade that brings it to life.
Reflecting on my journey, I see the indelible influence of my family’s legacy of curiosity and resilience. From my father’s meticulous engineering to my mother’s empathetic linguistics, every thread of my upbringing has shaped the person I am today. My cousins have joked that I am the most “Saturnino” of our generation—the one who embodies our ancestor’s adventurous spirit the most.
In the end, my father’s veto wasn’t a barrier; it was a detour that enriched my life in unexpected ways. And he was wrong about one thing: life isn’t just about responsibility. With the right mindset, success and passion can go hand in hand, making it entirely possible to fill a life with fun and find meaning in every moment.