From running a big team to cooking freelance. Canadian chef Ron McKinlay about humility, building teams and growing up before social media
Communication is a big one
It says “culinary consultant” in your signature. What does that mean in practice?
Last year I stepped away from running a restaurant kitchen full-time. Since then, I’ve been working as a consultant — which is a broad term, but for me it’s very hands-on. Sometimes that means stepping into a kitchen and collaborating directly with the team. Other times it’s more structural: looking at systems, workflow, sourcing, margins, how the team communicates — what’s working and what’s quietly holding them back. I bring experience from established, high-level kitchens and apply it in places that want to tighten things up or raise the standard. Consulting isn’t just restaurants either. I might work with a beef producer on product development, or collaborate with a blacksmith on designing pans and knives specifically for chefs. At the core, it’s about transferring hard-earned knowledge — and helping people build something stronger, cleaner, and more intentional.
What was the journey between running a restaurant and starting consultancy gigs?
I don’t see this as an end point. It’s more of a transition. I ran restaurants for a long time. In Canada, I was running Canoe, which is one of the longest-running fine dining restaurants in the country. I wouldn’t say I’d “done everything,” but in that chapter, I achieved what I set out to achieve. It felt complete. It wasn't a burnout. I wasn’t tired of running a kitchen. It was more that I needed a new challenge. Social media opened unexpected doors. I stepped away without a fixed plan — which isn’t very chef-like — but once I did, opportunities started moving quickly. Dinners in eight or nine U.S. states. Being invited to Prague to cook with Ambiente. Collaborations that wouldn’t have been possible if I’d stayed anchored to one restaurant. So the shift wasn’t a grand strategy. It was more instinct. I knew I needed to move, and once I did, the path started forming. This phase is about stretching in different directions — creatively and professionally — and seeing where that leads next.
What do restaurants most often struggle with? And what is your usual process when you step in?
A lot of restaurants struggle with identity. Social media has amplified that. Everything starts to look the same. The same plating, the same language, the same trends. When that happens, it usually means there is no clear foundation underneath it. That often comes back to leadership. People get promoted into positions they are not fully ready for. They might be talented cooks, but leadership requires a different skill set. Without a strong base of knowledge and experience, it becomes imitation instead of intention. Systems are another major issue. Many restaurants are working very hard, but not efficiently. There is no structure around prep, ordering, costing, scheduling, or communication. When systems are missing, the team compensates by pushing harder, and that is not sustainable.
Communication is also a big one. Between the kitchen and front of house. Between leadership and staff. Even between the restaurant and its guests. This is a service industry. If you are not listening to your customers or your team, you are missing valuable information that could change the direction of the business. When I step in, I start by observing. I watch the flow of service, the team dynamic, the organization behind the scenes. Then I begin simplifying. Clarifying identity. Tightening systems. Making sure everyone understands what the restaurant is trying to be and how their role supports that. In most cases, the answer is not doing more. It is doing what you are already doing, but with clarity and structure.
Do you step in only in the kitchen or are you trying to connect the front with the back?
Every project is different. Sometimes I am brought in to write a menu. Other times it is the entire operation. I am not interested in looking at just the kitchen in isolation. The kitchen and front of house have to function as one system. If they are disconnected, the guest feels it immediately. Depending on what they need, we might look at mise en place lists, ordering systems, storage, how deliveries are received, how fridges are organised, how service flows, how tickets are called, how the front communicates with the pass. It can be something very specific, or it can be a full structural reset. It always depends on the location and what they are ready to address.
What do you consider to be the weak spot of contemporary gastronomy?
A lot of food is starting to look the same. That is both good and bad. Standards are higher globally, but individuality is getting diluted. Many young cooks are learning visually instead of physically. They are studying pictures and short videos instead of spending years developing touch, taste, and instinct. When I was learning, we did not have phones in our hands. We wrote things down. We drew the plates, our sections and our own mise en place lists. There was no hand holding. We repeated techniques until they were second nature. That hands-on repetition builds depth. Without it, the food can look right but feel and taste empty. Social media has done incredible things for me personally, so I am not criticising it outright. That would be incredibly contradicting of me. But it does flood the space with trends, and trends can replace substance if you are not careful. The soul of the food can get lost when the priority becomes how it photographs instead of how it eats. Another major issue is pricing. For years, restaurants have priced to please the guest instead of pricing to sustain the business. That has hurt the industry, especially in parts of North America. Many restaurants are not truly profitable. They survive, but they are not healthy.
If guests understood food cost, labour, rent, and overhead, they would better understand menu pricing. Some do. Some do not. That tension is ongoing, and it is one of the biggest structural challenges in the industry right now.
So it’s also about educating your own customers in a good way? Maybe not educating…
Educating is the right word. But in a way that they don’t feel they’re being told what to do. It’s a tricky subject. If you look at the price of petrol 20 years ago and now, there’s a big difference. If you look at the price of steaks in restaurants, not that much. Inflation hasn’t really gone up with food. It’s a big issue.
It’s lonely at the top
What is key to leading a team?
I learned this the hard way. When I first started, I worked in small, very hard working, aggressive kitchens. And that was the only way I knew. The kitchens I worked in, everyone got treated the same way. And you didn’t get treated well. It was very black and white. And that had to change. Canoe, where I took over later, has a big brigade in the kitchen. There were from 25 to 40 cooks working under me. The biggest one was communication and humility. If I didn’t know something, I didn’t pretend to know. I would find out. The other thing is realizing all the cooks aren’t the same, everyone’s different. That was one of the biggest things for me to learn. You don’t know people’s backgrounds. Especially Canada is a very multicultural place, a lot of the kids in the kitchen are first or second generation. Figuring out how to communicate with everyone individually and how to communicate with them as a whole took the majority of my 8 years in Canoe. And it's still a work in progress.
Does a head chef need a coach? A mentor?
Yes, I think they do. The chefs I worked for were technically very strong. I learned how to cook at a high level. What I did not learn was how to communicate or how to lead. Cooking and being a chef are two very different things. You can master technique and still struggle with managing people, setting culture, or having difficult conversations. Those are skills that need to be developed just as deliberately as knife work or sauce work. Having a mentor, or even just someone operating at a very high level that you can observe and speak to honestly, accelerates that growth. I probably could have learned certain lessons much faster if I had consistent guidance in that area. That is not a criticism of the people I worked for. It is just a reality of how kitchens were structured. At the very least, a head chef needs a circle. People you can call at the end of the night. People who understand the pressure, the responsibility, and the isolation that can come with leadership. It can be lonely at the top, and without perspective from someone who has been through it, it is easy to carry everything yourself. Technical skill gets you the role. Self awareness and guidance help you grow into it.
Do you think there is or should be a similar approach to professional cooking as to elite sport?
Yes, I do. If you look at how elite athletes train and recover, there is a lot chefs could adopt. The job is physically demanding and mentally relentless. Twelve to fourteen hour days are still common. If you are not looking after your body and your head, you will break down at some point. Endurance is a major part of it, and a lot of that is mental. You are managing pressure, expectations, finances, staff issues, and your own standards all at once. If there is no outlet, frustration builds. That is when injuries happen, tempers flare, and burnout creeps in. Longevity in this industry comes from treating yourself like an asset. That means training, eating properly, staying hydrated, and paying attention to recovery. It can be as simple as going to the gym, stretching, doing yoga, riding a bike, or going for long walks. It does not have to be a competitive sport. It just has to be consistent. You also need someone to talk to. Athletes have coaches, physios, sports psychologists. Chefs often try to carry everything alone. That is not sustainable. For me, creativity rarely happens in the middle of service. It happens when I step away. When I move, clear my head, and give myself space. If we approached cooking with the same discipline around performance and recovery as elite sport, more chefs would have longer, healthier careers.
What are the gaps that you think they should teach chefs in school and they don't?
I went to culinary school a long time ago, but I did not follow the traditional apprenticeship route. I learned mostly by getting into kitchens and working my way through them. So I can only speak from what I see now, not from the current classroom structure. What the industry needs today is stronger business understanding. Young chefs can learn technique, but many have no real exposure to costing, margins, labour management, pricing strategy, or how a restaurant actually makes money. If you do not understand the numbers, you cannot lead properly. Mental health is another major gap. Kitchens are intense environments. Long hours, pressure, ego, fatigue. I recently took a mental health course, and some of the signs and patterns discussed were things I have seen for years without fully recognising them. If chefs were taught how to manage stress, communicate better, and recognise burnout in themselves and their teams, it would change the culture significantly. The industry is also shifting quickly with technology. Social media and now AI are part of the landscape whether we like it or not. Young chefs should understand how to use those tools properly, not just for exposure, but for education, branding, and business development.Technique will always matter. But business awareness, mental resilience, and technological literacy are what will define the next generation of chefs.
Growing up British, eating Chinese, cooking French
It’s known that you found your style mostly in French techniques. How did that happen?
The chefs I worked under were classically French trained, so that language became natural to me. It made sense structurally. The butchery, the sauces, the discipline of it. It just clicked. I love eating other cuisines. Spanish, Chinese, Japanese. Those are the foods I crave when I go out. But when it comes to cooking, I gravitate toward French technique. There is something about the structure and respect for the classics that keeps me engaged. Some of those preparations take two or three days. That depth, that patience, is what still excites me. I do not even need to eat French food all the time. I just genuinely enjoy cooking it.
Did you grow up around French food?
Not at all. I grew up in a very British/Canadian household. My grandparents were all from the UK, so that culture shaped how we ate. Sundays meant a proper roast. Meat and vegetables done well. Simple food, but cooked with care. My mom is a very good cook. We did not grow up around French food, but we grew up around fresh food. She had a garden in the backyard and still does. There was always something seasonal on the table. I still crave her cooking. And she still sends me cookies. My parents are the best. That foundation of honest, well cooked food probably shaped me just as much as any classical training did.
What’s your favourite French classic to make?
I love making pithiviers. So much so I designed a kit last year with Mold Brothers specifically for building them properly. At the end of the day, it is essentially a refined meat pie, but when it is executed well it becomes something far more precise and elegant. It is technical but still deeply comforting. That discipline never gets old.
Routines and communication
Are there any routines or rituals that help you function in the kitchen?
A lot of espresso. Beyond that, organisation is everything for me. If the space is not structured and methodical, I do not think clearly. When that happens, it affects the whole team. Even at the very beginning, when breaking down an animal, you should already know
where every part is going before you make the first cut. That mindset ensures you maximize the product and respect it fully. In the kind of French kitchen I am most comfortable in, everyone has a defined role. When each person understands their responsibility and executes it properly, service runs smoothly. It becomes rhythmic. When it hums like that, it is a great feeling. That level of structure is what allows creativity to exist without chaos.
What, in your opinion, makes a strong kitchen team?
Communication is the foundation. If that is weak, everything else starts to crack. I have a lot of standards, but one simple rule is shake in and shake out. When you arrive, you shake everyone’s hand. When you leave, you do the same. It sounds small, but it sets tone and accountability. You acknowledge each other. You show up properly. Energy matters in a kitchen. If someone is off, the whole room feels it. A strong team is aware of that and protects the environment. It is not just about skill. It is about whether people actually work well together. When hiring, I never make the decision alone. I ask the team what they think. Do they respect this person? Do they communicate well? Will they fit the culture? Talent is important, but chemistry is just as important. A strong kitchen team moves as one unit. There is trust, clarity, and shared standards.
How do you personally continue your culinary education?
I am not someone who learns well sitting in a classroom. That has never been how I operate. Last year I did eight or nine collaborations across the United States. Every time I stepped into another restaurant to cook my food, I was also studying how they ran their operation. How they structured service. How they managed their teams. How they plated, prepped, organised. That is how I learn. By being in it. In this industry, you never really stop learning. And the second that you think you’re done learning, you should probably leave the industry.
And which forms of learning do you think bring the most value for chefs?
Hands on. Repetition. You have to get into the kitchen and do the work over and over again. Technique is built through muscle memory. Taste develops through repetition. Speed, instinct, and confidence only come from being in it consistently. You can read and watch as much as you want, but until you feel it, smell it, and correct it yourself, it does not fully register. Real value comes from immersion.
We're too young of a country to have a food identity
Which international experiences have influenced you the most professionally?
Working under Tom Kitchin was a defining period in my career. I spent almost 5 years on and off in Edinburgh with him. That was my introduction to the Michelin world. It was strict, demanding, and disciplined. No shortcuts. No excuses. When I first showed up there, I was not hired. I kept coming back for two or three months before they finally brought me on. Part of that was practical. I was broke and at least I got fed. But more than that, I knew there was something there I needed. I could feel it was the right environment to grow, so I stayed consistent. That experience set the standard for how I approached kitchens for the rest of my career.
Another major influence was my time in Melbourne working with Scott Pickett. I spent close to five or six years with him across different venues and eventually became head chef of one of his restaurants. Australia broadened my perspective. The produce, the culture, the pace. It gave me leadership experience in a different environment and pushed me to step up in a new way.
All this traveling, cooking and working around the world – was it something you set up for yourself, or did it happen naturally?
It was instinct more than strategy. For a long time growing up, I did not know what I wanted to do. When I started cooking, things began to click. It gave me direction. I left Canada because at the time it felt like I had reached a ceiling. I wanted to see more and learn more. If there was a place I believed I could grow, I went. Scotland. Australia. Wherever the opportunity to improve was strongest. I was not in a rush to come back. I enjoyed being away and pushing myself in different environments. But after fifteen or sixteen years, it felt like the right moment to return. I am originally from Vancouver, which is still across the country from Toronto, but being back in Canada means being closer to my family. Closer to my mom and dad. That matters. Toronto also has a serious culinary scene. It felt like the right city and the right time. The travel shaped me, but coming back was a conscious decision.
Did working abroad change your view of Canadian cuisine?
Working abroad gave me perspective. This might not be a popular opinion, but I do not think Canada has a clearly defined cuisine yet. We are a relatively young country, and our food culture is shaped heavily by immigration and multiculturalism. There were already rich food traditions here long before modern Canada existed. Indigenous communities have deep culinary histories that deserve recognition and respect. But when people talk about “Canadian cuisine” in a broader, contemporary sense, it is still evolving. Our food scene is incredibly diverse and constantly shifting. In cities like Toronto, you can eat food from almost anywhere in the world at a very high level. That diversity is one of our greatest strengths. Instead of one fixed identity, Canada feels more like a platform. A place where influences meet, overlap, and adapt. That can make it harder to define, but it also makes it exciting. I think over time, something more distinct will continue to form. Right now, it is still in motion.
Food was the one thing that consistently felt right
When did you know you would become a professional chef?
I was always around food. I was a bigger kid, always in the kitchen with my mom, always eating. I loved it. But cooking was not the original plan. I wanted to play rugby. When I blew out my shoulder playing in New Zealand, that path closed quickly. I had to figure something else out. Cooking was the one thing that made sense, so I leaned into it. In my early twenties I was working in restaurants in Vancouver, but they were chain spots. It was not demanding. I was young, not very focused, and it did not push me. At that time Michelin was not in Canada, but I kept reading about it. Something in me decided that if I wanted to really test myself, I had to go to the UK. I do not even know if I can fully explain it. I just knew that was where I needed to be. My grandfather was from Scotland, so I was eligible for an ancestral visa. I applied, packed up, and went. Looking back, it was instinct again. Food was the one thing that consistently felt right. Even when I did not know what I was doing with my life, being in a kitchen made sense.
Do you miss running a kitchen these days?
There are definitely parts of it that I miss. I miss the daily rhythm with a team. Seeing the same people, building something together, pushing through busy services. There is a real energy in a full dining room and a tight service. It gives you a rush. You are locked in, everyone is moving with purpose, and when it works, it is powerful. That is one of the reasons I enjoy collaborations and symposiums now. I still get that intensity. I get to step into a kitchen, do what I am good at, and work alongside other strong teams. It is exciting and it keeps that edge sharp. At the same time, what I am doing now involves a lot of time alone. Planning, thinking, travelling, building ideas. I am comfortable in that space as well. I also enjoy the space it gives me and that’s important for my mental health. It gives me room to reset and create. I do not miss every part of running a kitchen every single day. I miss the energy. I do not miss being locked into the repetition.
What are your visions and plans for the future?
I do not have a perfectly mapped out vision yet. What I would like to build is a hybrid studio space. A place where I can cook at a high level, but also develop projects beyond a traditional restaurant model. Running a kitchen day to day, lunch and dinner service, year after year, is something I have already done. It taught me a lot, but I do not feel pulled to repeat that exact structure. I am still refining the shape of what comes next, but it will be built around creativity, collaboration, and control over how and when I cook.
