My dad picked up where she left off. Always working, always cooking. Big flavours. Garlic. Chilli. Spaghetti alla vongole, Puglian-style — no white wine, no fuss, just tomatoes, clams and the taste of the sea. Broccoli and anchovy rigatoni. Pots bubbling away like they’d been going for decades. Food wasn’t just nourishment — it was identity, instinct, a kind of alchemy. Later, travels to Japan added something new: the clarity, the minimalism, the quiet power of a broth simmered down to its essence. A whisper instead of a shout — but it still hits.

BAD BROTH is all of that. Family. Fire. Flavour. And a deep belief that broth isn’t just food — it’s a ritual. The first batch we made in our Sheffield kitchen was a revelation. Drinkable, adaptable, full of depth. Beef, chicken, vegetarian, vegan and Asian-inspired — five broths, a hundred uses. For sipping, slurping, nourishing, fuelling. It’s slow food for fast lives. It’s tradition, tweaked. And it’s only just begun. One day we hope to bring BAD BROTH to every city — in cups, in bowls, in hands — but for now, we’re here, ladle at the ready, making broth the way it should be: bold, honest and built to last.

Come along for the journey.