Before plating dinners for Aerosmith or getting calls from Jeff Bezos’ team, Chef J Perry was a skater kid bouncing between high schools, searching for direction. His culinary journey didn’t start in a classroom—it started with a broken dream, a surfboard, and a San Diego kitchen.
Now a self-taught, globally seasoned chef, J is known for soulful Italian cooking and quiet confidence. We talked Boston roots, celebrity kitchens, and the road less traveled.
You didn’t attend culinary school, yet you've cooked for big names. How did your journey begin?
I grew up between Boston and San Diego. When my parents split at 13—right in my baseball prime—I lost my footing. I bounced through eight high schools. Surfing gave me peace, but food gave me purpose. At 16, I took a job in a kitchen and fell in love with the rhythm. No culinary school. Just passion, mistakes, mentors, and nonstop hustle.
What drew you to Italian cuisine?
I fell into Italian cooking through relationships. I dated an Italian girl, and her chef friends from Rome, Milan, and Venice took me in. They taught me the craft and told me to live it—so I moved to Italy, learned the language, worked the kitchens, and immersed myself in the culture.
And your mentor—Roberto, owner of a former restaurant in San Diego. He he had a huge impact on you...
Chef Roberto walked into the fine dining Italian spot where I’d just taken over as executive chef. I’d earned great reviews, but his opinion mattered most. He and a group of top chefs tasted everything in silence. After dinner, Roberto stood up and said, “Today, he is an Italian chef.” I nearly broke. It meant everything.
At what point did you realize you didn’t want to work in restaurants anymore?
I thrived on the intensity, but the grind wore me down. After years cooking up and down the coast—eventually making a top 75 destination chefs list—a no-nonsense German woman handed me her card and asked, “Ever thought about being a private chef?” I hadn’t. “Better pay, your schedule, amazing clients,” she said. I called. It changed everything.
Let’s talk about those clients. Royal families, celebrities, billionaires...
It started with a family in Texas who owned an airline and practically a city—five homes on one estate. That opened doors. Then came royalty from Bahrain and Saudi Arabia. Huge events. Lavish dinners. I once had a 13-year-old royal test my knife sharpness by shaving his arm—he said it had to be sharp enough so it makes a slice. I took the knife back real quick.
Wild! And then there's your sister—Linda Perry. Most people know her from 4 Non Blondes or writing for Pink and Christina Aguilera.
Linda’s always been my biggest supporter. When she hosted events at her studio, she had me cater. One night it was Courtney Love, another, Guns N’ Roses at the sushi station. She brought the industry to me.
And one of your biggest nights was the Art of Elysium gala honoring Linda...
Yes—500 people, all vegan. She said, “Make it healing. Every dish needs meaning.” I served mushroom “scallops,” fennel, watercress—ingredients with anti-inflammatory properties. My menu video played on projection screens as we plated. It felt like theater. Steven Tyler, Elijah Wood, Joaquin Phoenix—they all came to meet me. Surreal.
Johnny Depp was there too. My sister started bragging about her Captain Jack impression—right as he walked up behind her. I came in from stage left. That was the photo I really wanted.
And then your sister auctioned you off!
[Laughs] She grabbed the mic and said, “We’re auctioning off my brother.” A bidding war broke out. Rob Cavanaugh won—$45,000 for a dinner for 60 with Aerosmith.
How did the Jeff Bezos opportunity come about?
Private Chefs Inc. called me. Four NDAs later, I was flown to Texas and dropped at a massive, secret compound. Didn’t know who it was at first. Then the helicopters showed up. My wife figured it out: "You’re cooking for Bezos." Eventually I met him. He loved my smoked chili made with bighorn sheep they hunted. That chili—15 hours in the smoker—sealed the deal. That relationship lasted almost three years before digging my heels in Arizona.
Let’s talk about versatility. You can go from vegan for 500 to bighorn chili.
Say yes, then figure it out. No limits—sushi, Southwest, vegan, Italian. I’ve always been hungry to learn, and I still am.
Now you’re in Arizona, building something bigger.
Arizona feels like home. When demand for private chefs surged during the pandemic, I saw a chance to build something bigger—a top-tier private chef collective for the Valley. It’s about more than food—it’s trust, personality, and experience. I’m also consulting, curating events, and creating partnerships that blend food, story, and lifestyle.
Today, I offer full-service private dining—from dinners for two to large-scale events. Every menu is custom, every detail intentional. No two experiences are the same.
You also have a clothing line—Dirty Rags.
I’ve always loved fashion—blame my years as a Nordstrom GM. Chefs start the day with clean towels, end with dirty rags. It’s a metaphor for life. My brand, Dirty Rags, is healing comfort wear with words like “freedom” and “resilience” on the back—clothing that tells a story.
And a book in the works?
It's about 10 colleges redefining food culture. After years consulting in campus dining, I saw how far it's come. These programs do what restaurants can't—blending food, sustainability, and story.
What advice do you give aspiring chefs?
Listen. Respect the process. Show up with integrity and humility. The best chefs aren’t loud—they observe.
What does success mean to you now?
I never thought I’d be a great dad, husband, or chef—but I am. That’s success: using your gifts, earning trust, staying grateful.
It’s Wednesday night. What’s your family asking you to cook?
Pasta. Simple, soulful, handmade. My wife’s friends love when I go Latin. But me? Linguine aglio e olio with chili flakes and good olive oil—that’s home.
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