If you follow (or even occasionally glance at) the culinary scene in the UAE, you have probably come across the name Carmen Rueda Hernandez, recently awarded Pastry Chef of 2026.

When I first read the headlines claiming she was “pushing the boundaries of the pastry scene”, I assumed it was simply a well-crafted line. But after speaking with her, I changed my mind entirely. She truly is reshaping the way we think about dessert. In her world, it isn’t just about chocolate or caramel. It is about pairing ingredients you wouldn’t instinctively bring together. It is about texture, light, aroma — even the choice of spoon. Above all, it is about storytelling.

What makes her story even more intriguing is that pastry was never the plan. In fact, neither was cooking. Before stepping into the kitchen, she had been preparing to study economics.

So how did she ultimately find her way into the culinary world? What shaped her while working across different countries? And what does someone who reinvents dessert reach for when she wants something sweet herself?

— This year you were named Pastry Chef 2026. It feels like you have always been connected to sweets in some way. Did you have a sweet tooth as a child?

— Only for chocolate. I wasn’t particularly drawn to desserts in general, but if it involved chocolate, I was interested. At some point someone showed me — very casually, at home — how to make simple bonbons, and I was completely absorbed by the process.

I spent hours experimenting. At my grandparents’ house, I remember melting chocolate and brushing it over rose leaves, then placing them in the fridge to set. When I peeled the leaf away, the chocolate had captured every vein and curve. It felt less like making something sweet and more like discovering what the ingredient could do.

I didn’t think much of it at the time. Years later, in a professional kitchen, I found myself doing something strikingly similar — and only then did I realise that this curiosity about texture and form had always been part of me. Chocolate, even then, wasn’t indulgence. It was material.

— Who first introduced you to cooking?

— It wasn’t one particular person. I was simply always there. The kitchen was where everything happened. I would stand beside my mother or grandmother, watching closely, asking questions, occasionally attempting my own little creations.

I never had a grand childhood realisation that I wanted to become a chef. I just wanted to be part of that atmosphere.

— At the point of choosing university, you were torn between economics and culinary arts. What made you change direction in the end?

— For a long time, culinary simply didn’t feel like a “serious” profession to me. I was preparing for economics, passed the entrance exams, secured my place at university, even paid the fees. On paper, everything was settled. But just before university started, I paused. The thought of spending my days in an office, behind a computer, felt quietly wrong. Sensible, yes — but not honest.

It was actually my uncles who first planted the idea of going into the culinary field instead. He kept saying, “You’re always cooking — why don’t you consider it properly?”

So I changed direction at the very last moment. I never attended a single class. From the outside, it looked impulsive. Inside, it felt completely clear. Sometimes the decision is already made — you just have to be brave enough to follow it.

— Was pastry always your focus during your studies?

— Not at all. During culinary school in Spain, my training was primarily centred around savoury cooking. Pastry felt too rigid for me at the time — very precise, very rule-driven — and I had so many questions that no one could really answer in a way that satisfied my curiosity.

But while working in restaurants during my studies in Madrid, I started noticing something: whenever a pastry-related question came up, the head chefs I admired would immediately turn to the pastry chef. I remember thinking then — if I want to become a truly complete chef one day, I need to understand every part of the kitchen.

So I moved to Barcelona with the intention of spending just three months learning the basics of pastry. After two weeks working with chocolate, something shifted. I fell in love with it completely. Those three months turned into three years. Chocolate stopped being just an ingredient — it became a language I wanted to speak fluently.

— It is often said that the culinary world is male-dominated. Did you ever experience it that way?

— To be honest, I never felt it as something that defined my path. Perhaps because I never saw myself through that lens in the first place. The job is the job. It doesn’t require different skills depending on who you are.

I have always felt confident in the kitchen and clear about what I can do. If someone tried to label it as “a woman in a kitchen,” it just didn’t resonate with me.

— You have worked across Spain, France, the UK, Singapore, South Africa, Poland and Saudi Arabia. How do those experiences compare to the UAE?

— At its heart, hospitality is universal. Whether it is a Michelin-starred restaurant or a street food stall, the intention is the same — to offer something meaningful to the guest.

My moves were always driven by specific restaurants and creative opportunities rather than geography. Singapore, for instance, has remarkable culinary range — you can have exceptional ramen on the street and refined fine dining within the same block, both executed with equal pride and discipline.

The UAE, meanwhile, has evolved at an impressive pace. It is now one of the most diverse culinary environments in the world, and that diversity fuels a strong sense of ambition. The energy here is forward-thinking and very focused.

— I know you worked in an experimental kitchen in the UK. How does that differ from a regular kitchen?

— Only a handful of restaurants in the world run a proper experimental kitchen alongside their main one, and The Fat Duck was one of them. There were essentially two spaces: the regular restaurant kitchen, where daily service took place, and, just across the road, a completely separate building devoted entirely to research and development.

That second space felt far more like a laboratory than a traditional kitchen. It wasn’t about service — it was about creating. That is where new menus were built from scratch, tested, questioned and refined.

We collaborated with neurologists, perfumers, magicians, typographers, designers, even actresses — people from entirely different disciplines. The aim was to construct dishes not only around flavour, but around perception and narrative. Each outside perspective added another dimension to the final experience.

It was there that I first encountered the concept of volatile compounds — something I hadn’t even known existed before. Learning how aroma molecules behave, how scent moves through space, how memory is triggered through smell — it completely changed the way I approach food. Neurology plays a far greater role in taste than most people imagine. For me, that time was genuinely transformative.

— And how does neurology influence what we taste?

— When we eat, all our senses are involved — even if we aren't consciously aware of it. We smell the food before tasting it, we hear the sounds around us, we feel the weight of the cutlery, we absorb the lighting and atmosphere. All of that shapes perception.

If you alter just one element — colour, texture, sound — the experience shifts. Take something simple like pea soup. If one version is a vibrant green and another slightly dull, people will describe the brighter one as fresher, even if the recipe is identical. I tested this myself. Even knowing what was happening, I was still influenced.

At BRIX, we use that knowledge intentionally. The lighting changes with each course, the music evolves, small sensory details are adjusted.

— What has been the most technically challenging dessert you have ever created?

— Without doubt, Counting Sheep at The Fat Duck. It was the final course of a tasting menu inspired by childhood, particularly the feeling of going to bed as a child. I wanted to recreate that sense of comfort — like holding a teddy bear: soft and light.

So the dessert wasn’t only about flavour. It involved music, lighting, texture and scent. We even worked with a French perfumer to recreate subtle notes associated with baby skin — that clean, comforting softness. Using those aromatic compounds, we built the base of the dessert.

Technically, it required extremely light mousses that felt almost weightless, yet still held their structure. Inside, there were layers of pistachio, bergamot, yeast and coconut — delicate but complex.

We even designed a custom plate shaped like a floating pillow, and covered the spoon in rabbit-like fur to enhance the tactile experience. Because the dessert was so light, we had to discreetly add weight inside to stabilise it. It was a lot of work for one dish — but very special.

— And what is your personal favourite dessert?

— A Basque cheesecake. Baked the traditional Spanish way — slightly loose in the centre, almost trembling. Simple, but done properly.

— You are both the founder and head chef at BRIX Journey and BRIX Café. How did it all begin?

— When I came to Dubai, I was invited to create BRIX Journey first — a concept entirely centred around dessert. For the first two years, that was our only focus. It is a set menu where every course is a dessert — but not in the way people usually imagine.

We don’t do sugar-heavy classics or buttercream-led plates. The foundation is technique, aroma, balance, volatile compounds — everything we have been speaking about. The flavours are powerful, but the desserts aren’t heavy. We use far less sugar than people expect. It is about intensity, but without excess.

Once BRIX Journey was established, we had the opportunity to open BRIX Café next door — something more everyday. A space where you can come for coffee, breakfast, lunch. And because my original training is in savoury cooking, I develop all the savoury dishes there as well. It allows me to use both sides of my background, which I really enjoy.

— What has been the biggest challenge running a concept in the UAE?

— Dubai is incredibly diverse. People come from everywhere, and everyone carries their own palate, their own idea of comfort food, their own version of what “home” tastes like.

The challenge is creating dishes that feel accessible to many different backgrounds without losing your identity. As a Spanish chef, my flavour memory is naturally different from someone from Lebanon or Singapore. So you are constantly balancing — acidity, spice, creaminess, texture — making sure the food feels welcoming, but still true to you.

— And how do you find that balance?

— By not trying to follow a fixed rulebook. Who created them? Who said black truffle cannot be used in a dessert? Who decided pumpkin belongs only in savoury? I didn’t read those rules.

— How do you approach creating a new menu?

— It always depends on the concept, but at BRIX Journey we never begin with an ingredient — we begin with a story. Storytelling is essential for us. The menu needs a narrative structure; otherwise it is just a sequence of dishes.

For example, one of our menus was inspired by the Silk Road. We structured the menu geographically. But the goal was never to recreate traditional desserts from those countries. That would be too literal. The real challenge was to evoke each destination — to make you feel like you are in Persia, or China, or Central Asia — without serving something obvious or expected. It is about capturing the essence, the emotion, the atmosphere. Not imitation, but interpretation.

— Have you noticed any specific taste differences in the UAE?

— One thing I have observed is that people here seem particularly sensitive to the smell of egg — more so than in other countries where I have worked. I am not entirely sure why. At first, I wondered whether it might be linked to post-COVID sensitivity, especially as I arrived after that period. But it appears to be something quite consistent.

— When did you first truly feel proud of yourself as a chef?

— Probably when we reopened The Fat Duck and earned three Michelin stars in one go. That was a significant moment — not only because of the stars themselves, but because I was deeply involved in creating the entire menu. It felt like a collective achievement.

At the same time, I don’t dwell on those moments too much. Awards are important — especially for the team. They publicly acknowledge the work and the effort behind it. But they aren't something I carry around as a personal statement. There is always another goal ahead, another idea to develop, another level to reach.

— Do you ever make desserts for yourself at home?

— No, not really. Just chocolate. I always keep good-quality chocolate in the fridge — usually between 70 and 85 per cent. For me, that is more than enough.