In the quiet stillness of the early morning, long before the city wakes, the lights flick on in the back kitchen of Big Bowl Kitchen. Steam begins to rise, carrying the warm aroma of freshly cooked rice. Chef Jerry Xu instinctively scoops up the first spoonful of sauce to taste. It is a daily ritual of silence and focus. Even after recently receiving the World Top Gourmet Awards, his attention remains fixed on the simple bowl in front of him. Is the texture right? Is the flavour balanced? Is it truly good enough?
The World Top Gourmet Awards is a prestigious international honour, judged by industry veterans who value long-term professional capability over flashy, one-off creations. It is a mark of true peer recognition. But to Jerry, the accolades exist “outside the bowl.” What matters more is whether the food, when placed in front of a guest, makes them feel at ease and well cared for. “The award is for the world to see,” he says. “The flavour is for me to guarantee.”
This persistence took root early in his life, in a time very different from today. Jerry grew up in an era where abundance was rare. Meat and fish were true luxuries, not daily staples; a meal containing meat was an event to be cherished, never taken for granted. Yet, despite the scarcity, the kitchen was always the warmest place in the home. The sound of his grandmother chopping vegetables, the fragrance rising as the pan heated up, and the comfort of a hot meal taught him a simple but powerful truth: when ingredients are limited, the care you put into cooking matters even more. A bowl of rice reflects the heart of the person who made it.
At fifteen, he entered the professional kitchen, where that understanding was put to the test. It was a world of hard labour and discipline. From lighting temperamental coal fires to the endless repetition of washing and cutting ingredients, he started with the toughest, most basic work. There were no shortcuts. He had to build the fire, control the rhythm, and learn patience. Day after day, through the grind of physical labour, he developed a precise sense of flavour and heat control that only experience can teach.
After moving to Australia, Jerry began again in a Chinatown restaurant. Facing new ingredients and local tastes, he focused on refining processes and stabilising output—adjusting traditional Chinese flavours so they remained authentic while being comfortable and approachable for a broader audience. His restaurants never relied on gimmicks, yet earned a strong reputation for consistency. Within the industry, descriptions of his work were strikingly similar: steady, precise, and reliable.
When he joined Big Bowl Kitchen, Jerry found a stage that truly aligned with his philosophy. There was no pursuit of flashiness—only one goal: to make every bowl of rice feel satisfying and complete. To perfect the Wagyu Mapo Tofu Rice, he spent six months refining every detail. The numbness of the peppercorns, the fat ratio of the Wagyu, the tofu’s ability to absorb sauce without breaking, the elasticity of the rice—nothing could be even slightly off. “Flavour can’t rely on luck,” he says. “It has to be stable.”
At Big Bowl Kitchen, Jerry transformed decades of experience into a clear, repeatable system. He does not resist intelligent kitchen technology; on the contrary, he embraces it. If technology makes flavour more consistent, he sees it as a vital tool. In his kitchen, machines handle the precision and repeatability, while people provide the judgement and the soul.
At the end of the interview, we ask him what a good bowl of rice truly means. “Letting people feel grounded and cared for after eating,” he replies. “That’s enough.” To him, food has never been about spectacle, but sincerity. No shortcuts. No laziness. No gambling on chance. Rooted in the memories of a humble past, carrying flavour across distances, his goal remains unchanged: may every bowl warm the heart, and never settle.
