Written by Elle Asiedu

Chef Hani Firin, Senior Sous Chef at Cambridge Mill in Cambridge, Ontario, on second chances, sober clarity, and leading kitchens with kindness.

Hani Firin didn’t come to kitchens the usual way. “I started out in a different direction—going to school for social work,” she says. “I talked to my parents in high school and was like, ‘What should I be?’ I loved cooking and I loved basketball. My parents—Muslim, Somali, hardcore, strict—were like, ‘Those are not realistic goals.’ So, I shaped my goals to what they wanted.” The fit never landed. “I found myself not being happy, not being complete,” she says. “I got sober, I was real with myself, I came out. Being Muslim, Black, lesbian, a woman—it’s intense. Therapy helped. Self-care helped. I started asking, ‘Where did I feel the most connected?’ ”

The answer kept leading back to a kitchen table in her childhood. “My mom and grandmother always cooked together,” Hani says. “I’d be in the kitchen with my grandmother, just staring at what she was doing. She’d cook for a family of ten or twelve with the most minimal ingredients, and you could see that complete look in her eyes—bringing happiness to everyone, breaking bread. That felt good to me. I wanted to go back to that feeling.”

She gave herself a true reset. “I finished getting sober, finished working on me. Then I found myself at culinary school—a one-year certificate, an introduction to knife skills, techniques, mother sauces, discipline. My teacher was a woman, so gender didn’t come into play. That’s when I really learned that what you put in is what you get out.”

I’m always honest, transparent, vulnerable. The chef asked when I could start. I said, tomorrow—or today. That’s the difference: I was ready right there and then, because I wanted it more than anyone.

Instead of jumping straight into a high-pressure brigade, Hani took a job at a vegan shop—“I was happy and bubbly, ready to learn the basics: vegan, vegetarian, dietary restrictions”—while juggling classes, meetings, and life in a sober-living house shared with two other women. Her newfound passion for structure led her to apply at Cambridge Mill in 2014 as a cook. That interview changed everything. “I’m always honest, transparent, vulnerable,” Hani says. “The chef asked when I could start. I said, tomorrow—or today. That’s the difference: I was ready right there and then, because I wanted it more than anyone. This was my second chance at life.”

From there she moved forward fast. “I didn’t want to stay stagnant. Always keep learning, always keep growing,” she says. She went from plant-based counters to competitive Canadian, French-driven kitchens with Italian and Japanese touches. “It became second nature—like grabbing a glass of water,” she laughs. “I almost shocked myself.” Within months she was wearing stripes. “I was already junior sous maybe six months in. The company was growing, and the Elora Mill Hotel & Spa was opening. Everyone wanted to transfer to open it. I thought, ‘Great—Chef de Cuisine might open up here for me.’ ”

I didn’t fit the hetero cis-male models in front of me, so I wanted to create something for myself. I had to research, find chefs I wanted to be like, and learn from them.

A classic French cuisine mentor set a high bar. “Boom, boom, boom—everybody fits the model; mental health didn’t exist,” she recalls. “Kitchens were male dominated. You just had to bring your chin up and go for it. Therapy was always in the background—I’d unload there and then come to work ready. I had my village around me.” She learned what fit and what didn’t. “I didn’t fit the hetero cis-male models in front of me, so I wanted to create something for myself. I had to research, find chefs I wanted to be like, and learn from them.”

When leadership asked her to join the opening team at Elora Mill, she went. “When your boss sits you down and says, ‘This would be a great opportunity for you,’ you go,” she says. Four months later, the doors were open. From there, she moved to The Pearle Hotel’s opening as an events chef. “Totally different ballgame,” she says. “But they’d invested in training me with banquet and fine-dining chefs. Where most people learn things in five years, I was learning it in two. Once I lock in, I just go for it—I had tunnel vision on my passion.”

Then came a risk she’d promised herself she would take: New York. “I told Pearle Hotel I needed time to check out some things, stage in the States,” she says. Her partner came with her—leaving steady jobs behind—and together they spent about eight months in the city, living off their savings. “We took a risk. We learned. We grew,” she says.

They landed in Brooklyn, where Hani worked with Chef Marc St. Jacques of Bar Bête, helping open his new restaurant, Ruthie’s, and staging at Bar Gotham and Grill. “It was cutthroat,” she says. “We’d wake up at six to hit the market for the food we’d cook that night. I was living in SoHo, taking the train every day, learning how to cook again as a line cook. It was so humbling.”

She still lights up at the memory of watching Chef Victoria Blamey command a silent, white-jacketed brigade. “She walked in, and it was silent. I thought, I want to be like that—but I don’t want people to fear me.” Even in short stints, her palate stood out. “They’d say, ‘make sure Hani tries every dish before it goes out.’ That was really cool.”

Back in Ontario, she joined The Bruce Hotel in Stratford as Chef de Cuisine under Jonathan Gushue. “I’d never worked in a theatre town before. I wanted a house, to be in nature, with a backyard for my three dogs,” she smiles. The Bruce was fast-paced—“get them in, get them out”—and the team earned Five Diamond recognition. It was a proud moment, but the environment wasn’t without friction. “It was very old-school,” she recalls. “Super traditional, very backwards in a lot of ways.” Navigating that taught her how to manage within systems she didn’t believe in, and when it was time to walk away. “It showed me there are always other spaces out there—you don’t have to sign up for all of them.”

After about a year, she started thinking about what was next. “I was out to dinner with the GM, and he asked what I was doing next. I told him I was going to check out Toronto—maybe for a month. I knew it would be cutthroat. Michelin was coming in, and I didn’t want to be in a place where I’d have to fight to prove myself again.”

She tested the waters in Toronto as Michelin attention heated up—staging at Alder and spending time with the Alo group—then chose family. “My dad had his second heart attack. I needed to be closer,” she says. A dinner conversation with GM Alex Kastner led her back to where she’d started: Cambridge Mill. “The only position open was senior sous. I humbled myself. Titles are nothing. I’m still going to be a great leader. As long as the money’s there and the time’s there, it is what it is.” What drew her in was the team. “They’re great human beings, with so much potential. Cooks today catch things faster than we did. People say they’re soft—but no. They’re quicker, and they learn and develop faster.”

Her leadership philosophy grew out of being the outlier. “I came into kitchens at twenty-six, working with people who had been there since age seventeen,” she says. “I read, I self-taught. And I promised myself I’d never manage people like they were robots.” She meets cooks where they are. “I’m not loud when I walk into a room, but you can see I’m here. I move in silence, and I know when to support. I’ve never treated people the same, because people are not the same. Nature versus nurture, culture, mental health—there’s so much going on. Eye contact matters. Being actually there matters. People tell me years later, ‘You changed my life’. My rule is simple: I leave things better than I found them.”

Kindness is not softness in Hani’s book; it’s courage. “Leading with kindness goes a long way,” she says. “It’s not a weakness—it’s courageous.” That ethos shapes the food, too. She doesn’t market her cuisine as Somali, but her upbringing shows up in how she runs a kitchen. “Flavours are the same everywhere—salt, acid, balance,” she says. “What I bring from Somali life is sustainability. Food scarcity is real where I’m from. I brought food-waste sheets to Cambridge Mill. We started tracking, trimming down waste, cycling leftovers into features or staff meals. My feature game is amazing,” she grins. “We use what we have.”

Her sense of agency comes from a childhood in motion. “I was born in Somalia,” she says. “Because of the war, my grandparents adopted me when my parents left to study. They moved me to Binghamton, New York. I didn’t know my parents existed—I met them at eleven and moved to Toronto.” Her grandparents’ lessons were blunt and loving: education is power; your colour will not hold you back; keep knocking; don’t give up. “It’s a lot of layers,” she says gently. “But all of that made me who I am.”

Her parents, too, came to see things differently. “At first, they didn’t think this was a real career,” she says. “They wanted something stable—doctor, lawyer, social worker. But once they saw what I was building, how I was leading, they became my biggest supporters. Now my dad tells everyone, ‘That’s my daughter, the chef.’ He sees how far I’ve come. It took time, but they’re proud.”

The industry, of course, tests resolve. Hani shares one story she hopes younger women entering the hospitality industry will remember. She’d been promised a promotion—a verbal agreement she took in good faith. “I was already doing the job,” she says. “Running the kitchen, leading the team, proving myself every day.” When she finally asked for the title and pay to match, it spiralled into a tense, closed-door boardroom meeting. “It felt like psychological warfare,” she recalls. “I came in buttoned up in my whites, sat down with my notes—pros and cons, facts over feelings. Facts always win.”

But professionalism wasn’t enough to shift the tone. “The chef had an outburst and stormed out,” she says. “I stayed calm.” Afterward, she went to the general manager—a woman she’d trusted to advocate for her. “She apologized, said she’d look into the role, but by then I knew it wasn’t healthy anymore. I’d already done the job, and respect wasn’t reciprocated.”

Hani left on her own terms, trained her replacement, and walked away. The lesson stayed with her: “Get it in writing, try the position first, and always come correct—organized, professional. Don’t let anyone take your power.”

If she sounds intentional, it’s because she is. “My choices are me-centric,” she allows. “That’s not selfish—it’s knowing my energy and where I can grow. Every gig is an investment in myself.” She also names what sustained her: “I focused on similarities instead of differences. I needed them to get where I had to go, but they needed me, too. I created space for my voice and my experience. People respected my integrity and authenticity. It was challenging. A lot of people don’t know how it feels to be in a space like that. But I found my way.”

Know your value. Lead with kindness. Bring facts, not just feelings. And when the room doesn’t fit, you’re allowed to leave and find the one that does.

Today, Hani is back at Cambridge Mill, pouring that way into a new generation. She’s also just launched ‘It’s Hani: The Podcast’—conversations about hospitality and “cool people”—because she believes stories can change an industry. And she’s staying close to home—close to her parents in Waterloo, to her brothers, to the partner who moved to New York on savings and faith. “We took a risk. We learned. We grew,” she says.

Ask what she wants most for Black women coming up in kitchens and she doesn’t hesitate. “Know your value,” she says. “Lead with kindness. Bring facts, not just feelings. And when the room doesn’t fit, you’re allowed to leave and find the one that does.” Then she smiles, the way someone does when they’ve earned every step. “Always leave it better than you found it.”

3 Pieces of Advice:

1. Being kind doesn’t mean being quiet.

Kindness is not compliance—it’s a choice to lead with empathy and strength. It means holding people accountable without breaking them down. Speak up, set your standards, and stand firm. Compassion and confidence can coexist.

2. Bring receipts, not excuses.

If you’ve done the work, own it. Preparation and proof speak louder than ego. Facts win over feelings, always. Walk into every room ready—organized, steady, and impossible to overlook.

3. What you put in is what you get out.

Your effort becomes your legacy. Every kitchen, every shift, every person you mentor should reflect the care you invested. Raise the bar. Build others up. Leave every space stronger than you found it.

Listen to It’s Hani the Podcast on Spotify or YouTube.

Follow Chef Hani Firin @itshanithepodcast on Instagram.