Max Rocha
Still Believes in
the Main Course
The chef behind Café Cecilia on his new cookbook,
why breakfast matters, and the trouble with
trendy sharing menus.
- By: Ross Scarano

When he was a child Max Rocha looked forward to Sunday mornings with his father, the designer John Rocha. Their routine took them to the petrol station, as Rocha puts it in his Dublin accent (he has lived in London for the last decade-plus; his sister, the designer Simone Rocha, also lives there now), for a car wash and they’d eat sausage rolls while the car got its bath. “We’d sit there and have a real moment together while the water’s flying. It was like me and dad were hanging out,” he recalls now.
Another Dad memory: visiting London as a boy and going to the city’s Chinatown for an exquisitely decadent breakfast of roast duck. Rocha’s dad was born in Hong Kong, and a trip to Chinatown was something he looked forward to when he was a younger man, after he’d emigrated.
As Max describes in Café Cecilia, the new cookbook cataloging the unfussy meals prepared at the celebrated East London restaurant he founded in 2021, breakfast is one of Rocha’s favorite pleasures. Especially for dining out. “There’s no better day for me than a day off where I can get up, go for a nice run, and then go for breakfast with a friend,” he says. “No one’s giving you pressure to order the fancy steak, to order the special. The day’s starting, and anything could happen. Yesterday could have been terrible but [now] you’re going for breakfast.”
Rocha’s cookbook is cleanly designed, modest, handsome, and written with the home cook in mind. If you want to make an excellent egg sandwich, Rocha takes care of you (and doesn’t discourage hot sauce). Feeling more ambitious? He offers dishes like pork and apricot terrine and a whole poached trout delicately armored with thin slices of pickled cucumber. Below, the chef himself describes his journey from the music industry to cooking, the genesis of the book, and the confounding ubiquity of small plates.

Rosie’s Egg & Cheese Rolls. Photography: Matthieu Lavanchy (page 54). Top Image: Max Rocha, Chef, Café Cecilia, London. Photography: Jacob Lillis (page 232)

Summer Pudding Terrine. Photography: Matthieu Lavanchy (page 208)
Ross Scarano
Max Rocha
How does one begin a cookbook? What material did you have to start with?
We keep our base recipes in a folder in the back kitchen that all the chefs have as a reference for our stocks, sauces, terrines. And I thought we have a basis here to write a cookbook. I didn’t realize how difficult it was going to be. It was a very lengthy process.
When did the process begin?
The process started two and a half years ago. It took a while to get it done. I’m dyslexic; I have ADHD; I was never the best in school, so my concentration levels and my spellings and things like that needed a lot of work. So I had to get help from my chefs and my editor to fine tune things. I cook very intuitively. We have the base recipes, but I cook as I go, so to bring it all down to actual home-cooked recipes, it was a lot of work.
Is it strange to codify them?
So strange.
What makes for a great cookbook?
I think great cookbooks are similar to a great movie. I think the foreword and the intros to the recipes need to be really honest to get people to believe in the recipes. Because when you go to see a movie, like say, Uncut Gems—the first few minutes are like, oh my God! It really gets you, and then you’re into it.
And after that, I think a cookbook should be approachable for a home cook. I have loads of cookbooks, and a lot of them are almost too chef-y for me; I can’t get the ingredients. If you’re selling a book to the public, people should be able to buy most of the ingredients in their local shop. When things are complicated, I get nervous—with cookbooks, with anything—and then I shy away. So I find the books that are more pared-back and simple connect best with me and the people I know.

Even the design of the cookbook is understated.
A lot of cookbooks have the picture of the chef on the cover, [or have] quite bright covers and a lot going on. If you’ll notice my name is so small, because I don’t want it to be about me. I want it to be about the restaurant.
If you had to describe Ireland’s approach to food to someone who had never been there, how would you do it?
Honest. Very honest. And seafood really comes to mind: Dublin Bay prawns and Carlingford oysters. I think of comfort food. But it does feel like it’s really changing now. There’s loads of really amazing natural wine, small-plate type restaurants. Every time I go back to Dublin, there’s a new amazing restaurant, and it’s so different from when I lived there. Now it feels like New York or London.
Are major cities becoming too similar to each other in terms of their culinary scenes?
Definitely. I think there’s a formula to a lot of these places, the sharing style, small-plate thing with natural wine. All these major cities have those restaurants, and I think [they can be] really special. But I think there are a lot of really similar ones, and then it becomes difficult to stand out. My favorite kind of restaurant is: starters, mains, dessert. And that’s how we write the menu at Café Cecilia. I think that’s timeless. When there’s loads of small plates and stuff, I get a bit overwhelmed.


Why has it become such a ubiquitous way for a restaurant to be, where you walk in and they’re telling you to order eight to 12 dishes?
I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s a GP [gross profit] thing, like maybe you can make more money by selling more plates. Don’t get me wrong: I don’t knock it in the slightest. Some of my friends have amazing restaurants like that. But I don’t understand it. Maybe it’s like a Spanish tapas thing originally, a small bite at the bar. But I can find it overwhelming when, as you said, the first thing is you sit down and they’re like, “OK, you should get eight plates to share.” And I’m like, “I just want to come in and have a steak.” But it does feel like nine out of ten new restaurants are that, and then natural wine is such a big thing now as well, which I don’t really know about; I don’t drink firstly. We just serve wine that our sommelier likes and that my dad likes.
I’m curious about what you did in the music industry and why you realized it wasn’t for you.
So I was an intern at Domino Records, and then I worked as regional press at a label called Bella Union. I remember going for Indian food with Wayne Coyne—it was epic. Then I did the thing that a lot of people do and I started managing bands. I found music quite competitive as an industry and managing bands I found really difficult, because you’re managing their expectations. I managed an Irish band that I loved and they got Best New Track on Pitchfork, and the world stopped for two minutes. It was like, this was our moment! 4AD were calling me—and then [it] all disappeared. And I was like, so now what do I do? I did that with a few bands, and I found it hard to love a band so much and it just wouldn’t connect. I went into a depression for all the pressure I put on myself. And that’s why I couldn’t stick around.
People thought I was crazy going into cooking. They’re like, well, if you’re stressed out [in music], going into the kitchen. . . I was like, “Yeah, I know.” But there’s such a difference between working in the kitchen and managing a band’s expectations. You get your prep list, you cook, it’s really stressful, you don’t think you’re going to get it done, but you get it done; you feel great, you finish, you go home. With a band, it’s constant, it’s constant, it’s constant. One campaign and then the next. But now I feel like my job is quite similar to when I was a manager of bands, because I am managing a whole team now. I’m not just a cook anymore. I’m promoting this book and I’m talking to journalists like you, like I used to pitch for. It’s funny.
And this book is connecting more than any of my bands ever connected. But I’m struggling at the moment with the attention, to be honest. I’m more of a behind-the-scenes guy, whereas my dad and my sister, they’re fashion designers, and I think they’re probably better at this kind of stuff.

Odette’s Cold Roast Ham. Photography: Matthieu Lavanchy (page 146)

Rabbit Ragù. Photography: Matthieu Lavanchy (page 134)
Have they given you any advice?
Yeah, totally. They’re amazing. My sister called me the other day and was like, “Hey, how you getting on?” She knows how stressed out I am. She’s like, “This is work. This is the job. So just treat it as you’re in New York to work.”
And as you told me, the mission of the cookbook is to promote the restaurant, and that ties back to you taking care of your team.
Totally. It’s beautiful. If you would’ve told me four years ago that I’d be in New York, having a book. . . Someone sent me a picture of it in a shop—it’s beyond my wildest dreams. The first year [running the restaurant] was really intense, and I stopped drinking to cope with it. So now I’m in New York, sober. So I’m trying to be excited without needing to have a drink. That’s why I went on a big long run this morning. I will go for a nice breakfast at B&H Dairy, and then meet some friends, have lunch, go to a recovery meeting, and then get ready for the book tour tomorrow.

Café Cecilia team. Photography: Jacob Lillis (page 240) Back row, left to right: Dom Goring, Maggie Walker, Max Rocha, Dilan Cruz, Jessica Ordoñez, Sarah Saleh, Sophie Pignatelli, Clare Geraghty. Front row, left to right: Bianca Bruni, Lily Hadfield, Kate Towers, Darren Healy, Lucy Webster, Jack Scollard
On October 6, Rocha will prepare a dinner at Gia in Montreal. This interview has been edited for clarity and length.
- By: Ross Scarano
- Images/Photos Courtesy Of: Phaidon
- Date: October 4, 2024

