Jevgeni Kolikov has been a chef for nearly 20 years. He’s worked in Estonia and abroad, won awards, spent years in restaurant kitchens, and now works freelance – dividing his time between catering and private dinners. He doesn’t hype himself up. He’d rather talk about process: time, pressure, mistakes, lessons – and why food tastes better when you’ve actually lived through all of it.
How did you first get into cooking?
When I was younger, I liked the reaction I got when I said I wanted to become a chef. Women actually dig it when a man can cook. There wasn’t one big moment of decision though – it just happened organically. At some point I found a drawing I’d made of myself frying cutlets in the kitchen. I guess the decision had been made long before I realized it. There were no chefs in my family, but somehow it felt like a better occupation than most others – at least you’re fed, right?
What else were you drawn to as a kid?
I was really into graffiti and rap. When I was 14, I got caught spraying graffiti and ended up with a 16,000 Estonian kroon fine – back when Estonia still had its own currency. My mum’s paycheck at the time was around 500 Estonian kroons. All my relatives pitched in, and it took us years to pay off the fine. After that, the hobby disappeared pretty quickly. I gave up public graffiti – drawing moved to sketchbooks. Rapping faded too. The thing about rap is that you’re only good if you keep doing it. Once you stop, the rhythm goes. I guess that’s true for any field.
What differences have you noticed between restaurant work in Estonia and abroad?
When I first went abroad, I couldn’t speak English. But honestly, the biggest difference wasn’t the language – it was the culture. In Norway, for example, there are so many great chefs, and their cuisine is simple: authentic, honest, stripped of unnecessary decoration. That simplicity tastes good. The flavor is what matters.
Another big difference is tempo. At lunchtime, 50 people can just walk in. In Estonia, that’s rare. It teaches you speed and rhythm. And then there are the ingredients – especially raw fish. Techniques vary by country, but the ingredient itself makes a huge difference in taste.
Why did you choose freelance over restaurant work?
Simple – I like freedom. I like deciding when and where I work. It’s not really in my nature to follow orders about how and when to do things. Going independent is always a difficult decision. Sometimes it’s about money, sometimes timing. At one point it hit me: I either do this now or I never will.
What’s your take on culinary school versus real restaurant kitchens?
It depends heavily on the teacher – whether they’re evolving with the world or just teaching by the book. Once you enter a real kitchen, everything you learned can be turned upside down, especially if your training was too theoretical. Culinary school should be more connected to real life, more innovative. If you only teach technical skills, passion can fade. That said, school gives you something very important: time. Over three years, you figure out whether this job is really for you. You meet people, you do internships. That’s valuable.
How much of cooking is discipline and how much is intuition?
You need the courage to experiment. If you’re only replicating what someone else created, growth stops. There’s inspiration everywhere – but in the end, you have to find your own path. For me, intuition matters more than discipline. If you do the same thing for years without change, you get stuck. I often think about where I’ll be in five years. I want to leave a mark.
Have you ever seriously considered quitting?
There have been tough moments. Losing a competition. Selling equipment. Going home thinking, “That’s it, I’m done.” But today, quitting isn’t on the table. I’ve invested too much time, energy, and learning into this. I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be – and moving forward.
Is handling stress in the kitchen trainable – or just personality?
It’s absolutely trainable. I used to get much more stressed – yelling, even punching tables so pots and pans would fly. That’s part of the business, but at some point you realize the stress is in your head. If you yell, it’s not strength – it’s insecurity. You have to breathe it out and learn not to react. The moment you start blaming others – the colleague, the pan, the situation – you’ll always find something to blame. But it’s your responsibility. Once you understand that and start working on it consciously, the need to yell disappears.
Is there anything in the culinary world that bothers you?
I sometimes wonder when very young chefs take on huge roles without fully understanding the responsibility. Being a head chef isn’t just about skill – it’s about stamina and experience. There are talented people out there, of course – but not many. This role needs time: seeing the world, working, failing, learning. Trying is important – that’s how you find your limits. But honesty with yourself is just as important. Real strength is consistency – keeping the bar high for years, not just for a moment or a title.
How would you describe your signature style?
I love grilling and smoking meat. Smoking something for eight hours, then cutting into it and seeing that perfect pink center – it’s honestly a bit orgasmic. I just love it. I prefer local ingredients. Grilling and smoking flavors are clear and simple to me.
What’s your favorite part of cooking?
The process.
You take a fish – clean it, fillet it, use the bones for broth. Or take celeriac – there are countless ways to cook it. People see the final plate, but not the story behind it. That storytelling aspect is what fascinates me most. When I go to a restaurant, I don’t just consume the food – I observe. I notice details others might miss. Are the vegetable cubes cut evenly? Was extra effort made where it wasn’t mandatory? You can taste the difference. A ketchup-mayo mix takes three seconds. A sauce made from stock simmered for hours is a completely different experience. I love tasting the process in food.
How would you define love in cooking?
Love starts with your relationship to the food. Are you doing it with heart – or just for money? Money matters, of course. Why not make a living? But it’s never been the only reason for me. Food is how I express emotion.
Is there a specific dish you associate with love?
Maybe my final dish at the 2024 Chef of the Year competition? It wasn’t about inventing something radically new. It was about refining everything I’d learned and taking it to the next level. All the technology, skill, years of work – it all came together in that plate. A lot of work. A lot of energy. Maybe that’s the recipe for love.
How much do you cook at home?
All the time. If I have a night off or I’m heading out later, I cook for my family first. At home, it’s simple. You might be the best chef in the galaxy, but you’re still making macaroni and potato mash for your kids. Honestly, if I weren’t married with kids, I’d probably live on sandwiches. Bread and cheese. Maybe even skip the butter.
Is there a technique or flavor that isn’t trending but really draws you?
I love black garlic and homemade sun-dried tomatoes. And I have a strange obsession with juniper. I’ve made chipped beef and duck with juniper – it feels like my signature. Once, in Hiiumaa, I walked into huge juniper bushes. I asked the landlord if I could cut a few branches. He said yes. I ended up filling my Peugeot van to the brim with juniper. I dried it, and three years later I still have a massive stock. And it’s nowhere near finished.
Credits:Art Direction by Diandra RebasePhotography by Jane TreimaText editing by Paula-Stina Tasane