Chef Thao Na’s culinary journey defies convention. In a world where kitchens are often shaped by intensity and bravado, she chose a gentler strength: femininity expressed through patience, intuition, and emotional depth. Her cuisine becomes a form of storytelling, where French discipline frames Vietnamese memory, and each dish reflects the quiet courage of carving her own path.
You are often described as a storyteller through food. Looking back, how have you changed since choosing this path?
The most profound change has been internal. In the beginning, I cooked with the urgency to prove myself, to meet expectations, and to push my limits. Today, I cook with calmness and honesty. I allow myself to embrace imperfection and acknowledge vulnerability instead of hiding it. Cooking has shifted from a place where I chased recognition to a space where I reconnect with childhood memories, my cultural roots, and the quiet parts of myself. And through the years, my passion has remained unwavering, which I consider the greatest blessing.
How do French discipline and Vietnamese instinct coexist in your cuisine?
French cuisine gave me a backbone: precision, structure, method. Vietnamese flavours live in me more freely; they require no explanation, only intuition. On the plate, they do not blend into one identity, nor do they clash. They coexist. French technique brings order and balance, while Vietnamese memory breathes emotion and warmth. Together, they create a dialogue that feels contemporary yet anchored in nostalgia.
As a female chef, what is the real challenge beyond technique and endurance?
The challenge is preserving identity in an environment that demands toughness. I learned to assert my voice through consistency and depth rather than confrontation. Softness, for me, is not weakness; it is another form of strength: quiet, resilient, and steady in a demanding kitchen.
Maison des Rêves carries a poetic name. For you, did this “house of dreams” begin as a deeply personal vision or as a desire to create a different dining experience?
It began as a personal dream, a place where I could pour my memories, emotions, and quiet reflections. As the idea grew, it naturally extended toward guests, not as a concept of luxury or spectacle, but as an intimate experience. I wanted diners to feel, not only taste; to slow down; to connect.
When shaping Maison des Rêves, what mattered most: the food, the emotion, or the space?
For me, they are inseparable. A dish is complete only when the space around it allows guests to feel at ease, and the emotion behind it resonates. Maison des Rêves became an inner world turned outward, where food, design, and rhythm speak the same language. I hope guests leave not only satisfied, but quietly moved.
How do you preserve your identity in fine dining without chasing constant reinvention?
I move slowly. Preserving identity lies not in constant reinvention but in staying faithful to sincerity and emotional depth. I do not expect guests to return for novelty, but for familiarity gently nurtured - like coming home to a place that deepens with each visit.