I hardly worked in anybody else's kitchen before I worked in my own. I had six months in the kitchens of a hotel in Paddington when I was a teenager, where I was actually training to be a hotel manager, to please my dad. In truth I was a bit of snob then and didn't feel totally at home. It was a class thing; I found it hard to relate to the people I was working with but looking back I realise they were perfectly nice chaps.

The fact is I never intended to be a chef. After Oxford University I had this weird idea of running a nightclub. I started cooking in 1975 when the nightclub in Padstow didn't work out and we turned it into a restaurant. I didn't feel like a novice. I did have a very determined idea of making money. I was quite savvy about that. And that was my most basic lesson. You do have to understand the economics. It's pointless putting in all that work and losing money. If you're not making a profit you're stuffed.

I always could cook. Mostly it was down to osmosis. I spent so much time in the kitchen with my mum as a kid. She was always talking to me about what she was doing. And my parents were real lovers of good food. They adored France and Italy so we used to go out and eat really well. Eating out widely is vital for a cook. I'm not the sort of chef who cooks as a skill. I'm emotionally involved as a chef. I live vicariously. I'm always anticipating the pleasure my customers will get. One useful thing was that I realised early on that I needed some people with me who had cooked for a long time. I had this chef who had cooked everywhere and he introduced systems. They're not part of my makeup but systems are vital in a kitchen. You do need them.

Happily the kitchen environment has got a lot better. Early on when he started training I said to my son Jack, who has now taken over as my head chef at the Seafood restaurant, why do you want to do this? It's so hard. And he said it's changed. There's nobody shouting any more, and there are a lot more women in the kitchen, so it's not as macho as it was in the 1980s. It's still hard work but it's a much better place to be. I must admit I'm getting a bit bewildered by the current restaurant boom. I think it's lively and healthy and I just love the way everyone is so enthused about food now. I remember when I started going to Australia in the early 90s they were far ahead of us but it's not true any more. All that said, I do find the endless enthusiasm for hamburgers now a bit odd.

One thing I don't like is those three-star kitchens where they force the cooks to do exactly the same thing again and again. There has to be an element of chance in cookery. An element of chance is a good thing for the customer. I like food that's a bit more rugged, the sort of Italian food Theo Randall cooks. Likewise, Michelin is important for chefs. It's nice for chefs to get recognition. I just don't like Michelin-starred restaurants that are too fussy. I don't like fussy waiters and particularly don't like fussy sommeliers, who want to serve me flights of wines from Canada or Estonia when what I really want is a good bottle of burgundy.

One thing I know for certain is that you don't still want to be cooking in your 60s. There are exceptions. Shaun Hill is still cooking every day at the Walnut Tree Inn near Abergavenny, but he's rare. You don't want to be cooking for ever and it's probably better that you don't. It's better to hand experience on. I stopped cooking in the restaurant kitchen in my early 50s because I was getting tired but I do like handing on that knowledge and a philosophy of food. You need to have strong views about food, about what you like and what you don't like.

It's been a very good life for me. I've adored the camaraderie with other cooks; it's always us and them. It's about the friendships with people you're working with. Chefs are just plucky people. I still find that the conversations I have with chefs are some of the most sane you'll ever have. There's an honesty and clarity to what they say. Nothing surprises chefs. One thing I do notice is that, as you get older, everything gets simpler. I find I'm continually refining what I cook as I get older. The great thing about cooking is that every day you're hungry. You turn up in the morning, see the ingredients and suddenly you're hopeful once again.

Rick Stein's Under a Mackerel Sky is out now (Ebury, RRP £12)