Costello’s Kitchen – A Star Earned in Spirit and Sweat

Costello’s Kitchen – A Star Earned in Spirit and Sweat

If you’d have told me years back, when I was a daft Keighley lad peeling spuds in army kitchens, that one day I’d be standing in Florence, Italy, wearing a Michelin star on me chest, I’d have laughed in your face and poured you another brew. But here I am.

Costello’s Kitchen isn’t just a restaurant. It’s a living, breathing extension of my home — of our home. The kitchen’s hum is the heartbeat, the clatter of pans and the sizzle on the grill like music that never stops. Every plate that leaves my pass carries a piece of me — Yorkshire grit, Italian soul, and the love of the woman who never stopped believing in me.

The lads in the back — Simon, Ian, Craig, Travis — they’re not just staff, they’re family. We served together, bled together, and now we cook together. Each one’s got scars, stories, and skill. They keep me sharp and keep the fire burning even when I’m knackered.

When that Michelin inspector sat down, quiet as a mouse, and left without a word, we thought nowt of it. A month later, there it was — the letter. One star. Recognition of everything we’d poured in — the long nights, the sweat, the daft arguments, the perfection in every sauce and every piece of pasta rolled by hand.

But here’s the truth: the star isn’t mine alone. It’s ours. My wife, Debra, she’s the true fire behind this kitchen. Every latticino poured, every lasagne baked, every bit of humour and love that keeps me from burning out — that’s her.

So aye, I’ll wear this jacket with pride, star stitched above the heart. But I’ll never forget where it came from: love, laughter, and a bloody lot of graft.

Costello’s Kitchen, Florence. Michelin-starred. Family-run. Heart-driven.