I'm writing this on Tuesday morning, 7th October 2025, before heading to work – a pattern that's becoming rather familiar. Last weekend was an absolute whirlwind, which explains the radio silence on the blog front. This week's been no quieter, which is why I'm cobbling this together at an hour when most sensible people are still negotiating with their alarm clocks.

These past two weeks (22nd September to 6th October, for those keeping track) have been a rather eclectic mix of culinary adventures, bureaucratic milestones, and a significant recalibration of priorities. Sometimes life's most important shifts happen not with grand announcements but with quiet decisions made over a kitchen counter – or in my case, a jeweller's bench.

The Culinary Chronicles: From Triumph to Tentacles

Let's start with the food, shall we? Because before I made some rather significant life decisions about cooking, I had quite the run of experimental dishes.

The Broad Bean Salad – though I rebelliously substituted green beans because the supermarket was fresh out – was a revelation. Simple, elegant, and genuinely delicious. There's something profoundly satisfying about a dish that looks like an edible work of art on the plate, all vibrant colours and textures that somehow taste as good as they look. Cooking really is art, isn't it? Except you get to eat your masterpiece afterwards, which makes it considerably more practical than most gallery exhibitions.

Then came the Gnarly Garlic Brussels Sprouts from the vegetarian section of my recipe collection. Absolutely gorgeous, incredibly healthy, and surprisingly straightforward. I'm continually amazed by how cooking seems far more intimidating than it actually is. Rather like most things in life, really – the anticipation of difficulty is often worse than the doing.

But then... then came the octopus and squid.

Confronting Eight-Legged Fears

I'll be honest: every time I'd spotted octopus or squid in the market, I'd quickly turned away, unable to maintain eye contact with those tentacled specimens staring back through the ice. This time, I decided to confront my culinary cowardice head-on. I purchased my very first squid, brought it home, and set about making Crispy Squid & Smashed Avo.

The preparation was... an experience. When I placed it on the cutting board to portion it, those suction cups were still functioning, clinging to the plate with an enthusiasm that felt mildly accusatory. I'd never eaten squid or octopus before, let alone prepared one, so this was very much a leap into the unknown.

The cooking itself was straightforward enough. The taste? Pleasant, though the texture was a bit like chewing a rather upscale piece of gum. Not quite my ideal, if I'm honest, but I was satisfied with the result. It's not every day you tackle something that's been intimidating you for years, even if the something in question is seafood.

Ginger, Beef, and Unexpected Compliments

Week five's opening act was the Ginger Shakin' Beef, which looked remarkably classy when plated – so much so that one of my colleagues actually said "So Classy" when I was enjoying my meal in the canteen at work. There's something about beef in a glossy sauce that just looks well, isn't there?

Good Lord, every new dish brings entirely different flavours. I'm genuinely grateful for this opportunity – the time, the resources, the circumstances that allow me to experiment with cooking and eating such diverse, delicious food. It's not lost on me how fortunate this is.

The weekend continued with Flaky Pastry Pesto Chicken, Honey Berry Filo Smash (which sounds like either a dessert or a wrestling move), and a proper Chicken Pot Pie. Each one a small victory, each one adding to my growing repertoire of dishes that won't poison dinner guests.

The Document That Changed Everything

But last week brought something rather more significant than culinary experiments: my British passport arrived.

I'd been waiting for the postal delivery with the sort of nervous anticipation usually reserved for exam results or medical tests. When the package finally arrived and I held that dark blue document in my hands for the first time, I felt... well, everything, really.

This passport represents far more than just a travel document. It's a symbol of years of purposeful effort, of persistence, of countless challenges overcome. For me, it's tangible proof of a philosophy I've tried to live by: trust in God, do the work you know is right to the best of your ability, and surrender the rest to forces greater than yourself.

Many people have struggled tremendously to reach Britain's borders. Some have lost their lives trying. I don't take this lightly. I'm determined to make the most of every opportunity that British citizenship provides, to honour the significance of this achievement not just for myself, but for all those who dream of such security and still wait.

The Shift: From Present Living to Future Building

Holding that passport has fundamentally altered my perspective on both present and future. I've become calmer. More grounded in the now rather than anxious about what's coming. I spend less time worrying about tomorrow and more time considering how to extract maximum value from today whilst ensuring I'm on a path that leads somewhere meaningful.

After years of working toward that secure shore, after decades of effort, I've finally reached it. I have psychological security. Financial security. Being Iranian and experiencing 28 years of life in Iran has given me a profound appreciation for every moment I spend on British soil.

This sense of security has paradoxically freed me to take bigger risks, to invest in longer-term ambitions. Which brings me to a rather significant decision.

The Great Culinary Pivot

These past five weeks of cooking adventures have been genuinely wonderful. My confidence has grown, I've learned to enjoy my own company and solitude more deeply, and I've discovered I'm actually rather capable in the kitchen when I'm not setting things on fire.

But.

I have limited time and bigger, more important goals. So I've made a decision: I'm dramatically reducing my cooking time. From now on, I'll be relying primarily on ready meals – the sort that require approximately three minutes in the microwave and zero opportunities for creative disasters.

Why? Because I need those hours for something else. Something I've been circling around for ten years without fully committing to.

Back to the Bench: A Jeweller's Homecoming

My goal is to dedicate significantly more time to designing and making jewellery. Over the next three years, I want to develop my skills to a truly professional level – the sort of standard where I can design and create pieces worthy of names like Van Cleef & Arpels.

When I started in the jewellery industry back in 2015, this was my driving ambition: to become a modern designer and jeweller capable of creating pieces at that rarefied level. Somehow, over the years, I've drifted. I've designed hundreds of pieces for clients, spent a decade working in the industry, but I've never actually made jewellery for myself.

This weekend, I changed that.

I designed my first pair of cufflinks – not for a client, not for a portfolio, but for me. After ten years in jewellery design, this is the first time I've created something purely because I wanted to wear it. It feels like both a homecoming and a new beginning.

I've 3D printed the prototype in my jewellery studio. They're sitting on my desk right now, these little architectural pieces that represent a significant shift in priority. The pleasure of designing and making jewellery has effectively replaced the pleasure of cooking elaborate meals. And I think that's exactly how it should be.

The Three-Year Plan

In 20 days (27th October 2025, to be precise), I turn 37. By the time I'm 40, I want to have achieved one of my life's most important goals: to be a modern jeweller. Not someone who dabbles, not someone who designs for others exclusively, but someone who has mastered their craft.

I'll be continuously designing and making various types of jewellery, working through different mechanisms, clasps, and connections practically in my own studio. I'll be learning not just the digital side of CAD design that I already know, but the hands-on making, the traditional metalsmithing, the setting, the finishing – all of it.

It's worth noting the trade-off. I've essentially swapped the joy of cooking and eating my own creations for the joy of designing and making jewellery. By my estimation, it's absolutely worth it.

The View from the Workshop

There's something profound about finally doing the thing you've been circling for years. The passport gave me security. Security gave me calm. Calm gave me clarity. And clarity revealed what I should have known all along: this is where my focus needs to be.

I'm not abandoning cooking entirely – I'm just being ruthlessly practical about time management. Three-minute microwave meals free up hours for the workshop. It's not romantic, but it's effective.

The cufflinks prototype sitting on my bench is rough, unfinished, slightly imperfect. But it's mine. Designed by me, for me, printed in my studio, and it represents the first step on a very specific three-year journey.

From Tehran to Birmingham, from CAD designer to retail, from burnt lamb to octopus wrestling, from provisional resident to British passport holder, and now – finally – back to the jeweller's bench where I perhaps should have been all along.

Sometimes the most important journeys aren't about going somewhere new. Sometimes they're about returning to where you were meant to be in the first place, but with the wisdom, resources, and security to do it properly this time.

Next week promises more Swiss watch education at work, certainly more ready meals, and the continued building of something I should have started years ago. But perhaps I wasn't ready years ago. Perhaps I needed the cooking adventures, the citizenship ceremony, the meeting with Crown Jewellers, the octopus confrontation, and the black passport to arrive before I could fully commit to this.

In 20 days I'll be 37. In three years I'll be 40. That's 1,095 days to become the jeweller I've always wanted to be. The passport says I'm British. The cufflinks prototype says I'm finally serious.

Time to get to work.