The first flat I owned was at 57 Jeffreys Road in Stockwell, south London. I bought it about nine years ago with my brother, Michael, who is two years older than me. He put down some money as an investment, so he owned half and I owned half, though he went off to live in Tokyo, then New York. Although I couldn’t have done it without him, I wouldn’t have had him living there.

I really wanted to buy, as I’d been living with my aunt in Wandsworth, off Trinity Road, and didn’t want to be paying rent any more. Working as a chef de partie at [the London restaurants] L’Oranger [with Gordon Ramsay and Marcus Wareing], and later Pétrus, I’d started earning decent money, and could finally afford a £500-a-month fixed-rate mortgage, although it was the first time I’d had to pay my way – which was a shock.

I bought the flat off Gordon, who had bought it with the chef Stephen Terry. Once he got married, he rented it out. I got it for £90,000. Gordon was gutted when I got a better price when I sold it – for £225,000, to Ronan Sayburn, the sommelier for Gordon Ramsay Holdings. But that’s property for you. My sister, Anne, who is seven years younger, moved in when she finished university. She’s in human resources and works hard, too, so we didn’t see each other much, although we get on well. I also rented it to friends a couple of times over the years.

The flat was in a Victorian conversion, with high ceilings and big windows. There were no bedrooms next to the front room, as you often get in those flats. Instead, it had a long hall-way, with two bedrooms off it. It was so quiet back there, it was fantastic. It was one of four flats, on the first floor, with no outside space, though, working the stupid hours I did – from 8.30 in the morning to past midnight – I wasn’t going to sit in the garden, that’s for sure.

It wasn’t in brilliant condition, as it had been lived in by so many male chefs. You could go round London and find about 20 who had lived there, from J Sheekey, the Ivy – you name it. Chefs are lovely, but let’s just say the flat hadn’t had a woman’s touch. I got rid of all the furniture and, when I ripped up the carpet, I found a hidden bit where the main staircase to the house had been. I joked to Gordon that I’d got three bedrooms for the price of two, but the space wasn’t really big enough to stand up in, though it was great for storage.

I got the whole place painted, put down wooden floors and bought an awful lot of stuff from Ikea. I also put in a new kitchen. It was great, nice and open. The kitchen I had wanted cost £5,000, so I put in one from Ikea, for about £800, which had tall white cabinets and colourful mosaic-effect tiles. I remember having a fight over it with a plumber I’d called out. He’d come to plumb in the washing machine and sort out a sink, but he turned up with no tools or parts. He was totally incompetent. Then he turned up at 7am the next day, asking for £400. I thought, “No way am I paying that” – so I offered him £50 and said that if he didn’t accept it, I’d take him to the small-claims court. After working for Gordon and Marcus, I had a bit of aggression in me.

Both bedrooms were a good size, and the front room was big and light, with a dining table and sofa. I was in charge of the residents’ association for a while, though I was a procrastinator. But we did keep the place looking nice. I was working in central London, so the flat was great, as it took only 20 minutes to get there by Tube. However, I have a terrible habit of jumping in cabs, and once I got hold of the local taxi number, that was it. One driver used to make me tapes of music he played that I liked, which was very sweet.

It was a special place: I had my 30th birthday party there, and it was where I first met Michael’s wife. On New Year’s Day, I’d always have a party and get the family over, so I did use the kitchen. I try to limit seeing chefs in my social life – as with any job, you just end up talking about work. I’d go out to pubs nearby, such as the Railway and the Circle Bar. You could go into town easily, or you could stay local, and there were some great places in Clapham Old Town.

I stayed in the flat for about five years. I really liked it, but I wasn’t sad to leave Stockwell. It was pretty run-down, I wasn’t comfortable using the Tube station at night, and people used my road as a cut-across to a local hostel. One night, I was sitting out on the window ledge, and there was a guy running over all the car roofs in the street, breaking off the wing mirrors. When I moved out, I rented off a friend in Kennington, in an old almshouse, for a year – during that time, I got my Michelin star – then bought half of Michael’s other place, in Wilkes Street, Spitalfields. He had come back to London, then decided to move back to New York with his family, so I’m living with my sister again. I’m still surrounded by boxes in my new home. Never mind. Interview by Emma Wells

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