Five Minutes With Melissa Leong on Her Gutsy New Memoir

Melissa Leong’s career defies neat categorisation. Most Australians came to know her as a judge on Masterchef and Dessert Masters, where her warmth, wit and incisive feedback have made her a standout presence. But long before stepping in front of the camera, Leong was shaping conversations around food and culture, and championing diverse voices as a food writer and critic. She also ran a successful PR consulting company before taking a sabbatical to live on an abattoir in rural Tasmania.

Her journey, however, hasn’t been without turbulence, and Leong leaves nothing off the table in her new memoir, Guts. She writes about stepping away from Masterchef, and how the show brought with it the kind of scrutiny that comes with being a woman of colour in the spotlight. She’s candid about her battles with anxiety and depression, her divorce, and the childhood trauma that came with her strict Singaporean upbringing in South Sydney. In the book’s darkest chapter, she also breaks her silence as a survivor of sexual assault.

Altogether, Guts is an unflinching look at Leong’s life so far – the triumphs, struggles and reflections that have shaped her perspectives on identity, purpose and resilience. Leong spoke to Broadsheet about doing things unconventionally, the value of starting over, and why she continues to carve out space for herself on her own terms.

Congratulations on your memoir. I was intrigued by the grey-coloured pages scattered throughout and I was excited to find that they were recipes. Why did you decide to include those?

I can’t really do things in neat little packages that people expect. So, when it came to writing a memoir, I wanted to do one that was very much on my terms and had a little bit of everything. It’s very deliberate that every chapter opens with an essay in food. Each one is a metaphor for that particular chapter. And then each chapter finishes with something comforting in the form of a recipe. That was my way of finding a format that worked for me. There are different things people can get out of the book. You don’t have to read it in a linear fashion. You can read it for the recipes or for the food essays. You could just read it for the trauma. It’s up to you.

It’s refreshing how no-bullshit you are in the work, while still being astute and empathetic. Did you always plan to write it this way? Did you ever plan to write a memoir at all?

It’s funny, that question keeps coming up: “Why are you writing a memoir at 43?” The short answer is: because they make you. Obviously, you don’t have to do something you don’t want to do, but when you reach a certain level of public approval or whatever you want to call it, publishers will come knocking. It’s like this public-figure bingo card you have. There are things people expect you to check off and one of them is to put out a book.

As writers, there’s this part of us where we think we’re capable of writing a longform book. I think if someone gives you that opportunity, why would you say no? Why would I deny myself the opportunity to explore my capacity to write 80,000 words? Why not see what happens if I can stretch my legs and write about my life? If I can write about it in any way I choose, how am I going to write it in a way that is for an audience, but also that’s as well-written as I can muster at this point in my life. I just wanted to see if I could do it.

Your career has been shaped by so many experiences – family matters, music, health obstacles, and the variety of jobs you’ve had. What advice would you give yourself at 15, 25 and 35?

I would say, at any of those ages, nothing you do is a waste of time. You’re not in a race to get to a certain destination by a certain time, and you’re not competing against people to get there. You’re living your life and you’re taking steps towards hopefully a life that you want to live. But you’re never wasting your time learning or doing something, even if you don’t stick with it.
I’ve had a very piecemeal career. I’ve done everything from being a makeup artist to working in PR and advertising to producing. You name it, I’ve probably done it at some point. That’s the life of a freelancer. You say yes to opportunities to learn and grow, but not sticking with any one of those things for a predetermined period of time doesn’t make you a failure. I’ve used every piece of experience I’ve accrued in my life so far. Maybe in different ways than I thought, but everything has come in useful.

You grew up in Sydney and now you live in Melbourne. But as you’ve described, you’re “often found elsewhere”. How has place affected your tastes?

I think context is everything. A sense of place is probably one of the most important ingredients in our lived experience. It’s funny when people say, “What’s your favourite meal?” I’m like, “Where am I? Who am I with?” All these things are really important. If I said Hainanese chicken rice in Mexico City with a bunch of strangers, it wouldn’t make sense. My favourite dish, for argument’s sake, has a lot to do with who I’m with, how I’m feeling and what phase of my life I’m in. Having travelled as much as I have, certain places emanate a certain feeling or energy. If you’re open to it, it can affect the way you walk in the world forever after. Being self-aware when you travel is an opportunity to give your life something that lasts.

I’d like to finish on a quote I really enjoyed from the chapter called “Will Eat Anything Once”: “I’ve pushed that big red demolition button quite a good handful of times in my life so far.” I’m curious as to whether or not you think that button will get pushed again anytime soon.

It’s always there, and it’s nice to know the option is always there. It’s just whether or not you choose to push it. The why is really important as well. I’m not a self-destructive person. I’m not someone that goes, “Fuck it, let’s just start again and do it over because I’m not happy with it.” It’s more that you explore a route through life and you get to a point where you no longer feel like that place is your home.

For me, pushing the big red button means calibrating my life so that I feel like I can fit into it again. And yes, that is a somewhat selfish premise, because we also need to think about the people that are affected as well. I’m not saying I haven’t hurt people by pulling up stumps and leaving. But ultimately if you’re not happy and whole within yourself, then you’re doing a disservice to the people around you.

There’s a certain amount of strapping on your oxygen mask first and then taking care of other people that I really subscribe to in life. Obviously I’m saying this is as a child-free, divorced woman in her forties. I’ve made choices to be here and I’m good with my choices. There have been hard lessons in those experiences, too. Ultimately, I hope that everybody who reads this finds a sense of peace in who they are. And if not that, then the courage to change their life to be able to have that.

Guts: A memoir of food, failure and taking impossible chances *by Melissa Leong is out now through Murdoch Books. *