A Heartfelt Thank You & A New Chapter for Curiosity Kitchen

To My Most Loyal Customers

Over the past year, I’ve had the joy of getting to know so many of you—your favorite bakes, your coffee orders, and, most importantly, the conversations we’ve shared. Seeing your familiar faces each week has made this journey so much more enjoyable.

But there are some of you who have truly become friends. I won’t mention names (I know you wouldn’t want the spotlight), but you always seemed to turn up on the days when I needed it most. Whether I was struggling or feeling low, you had a way of lifting my spirits without even trying. Maybe I’m too sentimental, but at times, it almost felt wrong to charge you because you became more than just customers—you became part of this.

Thank you for being adventurous, for always being up to try whatever new thing I put in front of you, and for simply understanding. Over the past couple of days, as I battled with my decision, you showed up like usual. You didn’t tell me to keep going or suggest another solution—you just understood. And that was exactly what I needed.

Reflecting on the First Year

Rewind 12 months, and I was just stepping into this journey, telling myself that failure wasn’t an option. But not in the way you might think. For me, failure wasn’t possible because simply trying was already a success. I knew the odds weren’t in my favor, but I also knew I had a rare opportunity—to throw myself in and see what happened.

Now, a year later, I’m closing up the shop and moving to the next chapter, and I wouldn’t change a thing. I’ve learned what worked, what didn’t, and, most importantly, what I truly want to focus on. Looking back, I can see that I spread myself too thin, diversifying my range far more than I should have.

What I’m really passionate about—what excites me most—has always been pizza, cookies, and brownies. The space I had limited what I could do, and while I’m skilled at pastries and cakes, they don’t drive me the way my core products do. The more I stretched myself across different disciplines, the more diluted everything became—including me.

Could I have kept going? Probably. But at a cost—one where I’d have to take on extra work just to keep the business afloat. And at that point, it stops being a business and becomes a hobby—one that leaves me too exhausted to love anymore.

Why I Made This Decision

If I’m really honest, I started considering closing the business as far back as November. The numbers weren’t adding up, but I let myself get consumed by what others might think if I walked away.

First, there were my parents. They had been with me from the very beginning—literally. They were the ones who listened when I was a kid, dreaming of owning a bakery. My dad stood beside me at the farmers’ market the year before, and both of my parents invested in this space—not just with money, but with their time, effort, and, hardest of all, their unwavering belief in me. I didn’t want to let them down. I worried they’d see me as a failure or think I had wasted their support. And then, on the other end of the spectrum, I worried they might feel guilty—that maybe they’d blame themselves for encouraging me to follow this path, only to watch it leave me feeling so drained.

I couldn’t leave my work at work. Every night, I’d take it home with me—asking for advice, sitting at my laptop trying to come up with marketing ideas, constantly searching for ways to turn things around.

Then there were my customers. The people who did buy from me were amazing, but there just weren’t enough of them. And yet, I was so easily swayed. All it took was one lovely customer telling me how much they loved what I did, and suddenly, I’d convince myself I couldn’t possibly close—I’d be letting people down. I almost felt like I owed it to this town, a place that has seen so many businesses shut their doors, to keep mine open.

But in January, reality hit. I went six weeks without paying myself, canceled a holiday I’d been looking forward to for months, and realized that if I kept going, I’d likely have to go another month without paying myself at all. I started dozing off at social gatherings. I couldn’t lie to myself anymore.

I had always wanted to keep a bright and positive attitude, to welcome people into the shop warmly. But I was so exhausted and stressed that I was struggling to keep up the act.

The Reactions & The Reality

When I finally made the decision, the reaction from my parents came as no surprise. They didn’t disown me, didn’t get upset, didn’t try to change my mind—they just told me it was my decision to make, and I should do what’s most logical. And at the end of it all, they’re still here, helping me close down, standing by me as they always have.

Of course, I can sense some disappointment, but I understand now that it’s not disappointment in me—it’s in the situation. It’s the frustration of knowing that sometimes, no matter how good a thing you have, the economic conditions can make it impossible. That’s a hard pill to swallow, but I know I’m not alone in feeling it.

There’s something bittersweet about packing up. I built this place with my own hands, poured everything into it, and now I’m dismantling it piece by piece. But there’s also a strange relief—like taking a deep breath after holding it in for too long.

What’s Next?

At 28, I feel incredibly lucky to have achieved the first dream I had as a child—owning and running a business. But over time, I’ve realized that dreams evolve. I’ve come to understand that contentment shouldn’t revolve solely around the work I do.

That’s why, for the next year or two, I’m giving myself permission to slow down. I want to take a breath, step back from constantly chasing targets and goals, and reconnect with what makes me truly happy. I plan to travel more and rediscover my love for creating food, but I’ll still be working and saving, with the goal of one day returning to the pizza life I’m passionate about.

This pause isn’t a retreat; it’s a strategic break. I’ve given myself a healthy two-year space to reflect, refine my vision, and focus on building something more sustainable and aligned with my long-term goals. I believe the time I take now will strengthen my ability to come back stronger, with a clearer focus.

I have no ego in this process—I’m happiest working alongside good people and creating great food. I have big plans, and I’m excited for the journey ahead. I hope you’ll be there when they take shape.

This Isn’t Goodbye

Curiosity Kitchen has always been an extension of who I am as a chef, and while the doors might be closing (for now), I remain. I’m not stopping cooking, and I’m still going to be making waves in Pembrokeshire.

I’ll keep you updated on where I move next, and if you ever want to reach out, I’m only a message away.

For now, thank you—truly. I can’t wait to share what’s next. for now I will leave you with a collage of some of my favourite dishes from the last 10 years so you can rest assured there will always be more to see from me!