Raymond Cortez, a Pinoy chef based in Edmonton, Canada, shares his unique blend of diskarte and the guts to say “yes” before he can figure out the “how”.
There was a moment, a year ago, when Raymond Cortez, 37, almost gave up on the one thing he loved. He was in his basement in Edmonton, Canada, surrounded by endless mountain of sugar and flour. For three years, he had been running a custom cake business entirely on his own. He was the baker, the delivery driver, the accountant, and the dishwasher. His kitchen was so small he could barely turn around, and his phone was buzzing constantly with messages he didn’t have the time to answer.
“I was burnt out,” admits Raymond. “I was just doing it for the money, to pay our bills. I was no longer driven. The fire I felt every time there was an order was gone.” It’s a feeling many of us know. The moment a passion starts to feel like a cage. His wife Jodelyn saw the light fading from his eyes and gave him a nudge. Find your joy again. Go back to where you came from, she told him.
Raymond followed his wife´s advice and took a part-time gig at the Edmonton Convention Centre, mostly just to help out with basic pastries. But a Wedding Fair in January 2026 changed everything. “I told myself it was my chance. I missed making life-sized cakes because in my basement, they wouldn’t fit through the door.”
In seven days, Raymond built four massive, life-sized wedding cakes. His coworkers stood back in awe, remarking that he had never seen anything like it.
Looking through “the other room”
Growing up, Raymond would watch a local artist near his father’s shoe shop paint and draw school projects for elementary students. He’d spend hours watching the artist, mesmerized by the rhythmic stroke of a brush and the surgical precision of a pencil. He gradually took an interest in art.
But life unexpectedly threw him a curve ball, Raymond became a young father at 18. With a son to support, he left Bicol and set off for Manila to look for work. With the help of his older brother and uncle, he landed a job as a crew member at Goldilocks Bakeshop.
He was tasked to wash dishes and man the register. Like every new hire, he had to undergo training that covered memorizing all the products, and familiarizing the activities in the shop. And from the new hirees, the company picked ten to proceed to cake decoration training. “I was ranked 11th,” Raymond recalls, “but the hiring person was from my hometown. I told him, ‘Manoy, baka pwede mo akong isali’, maybe you can let me into the decorating training? I really want to learn.”
Raymond made the cut, but he was still a long way from being a baker. “I still didn’t know how to make cakes,” he recalls. He was then assigned to the “Rush Cakes” section, where customers wait for the greetings and names to be written on the cake. But while he was working the fluid calligraphy of sugar, his eyes were always wandering to “the other room.”
I would peep through the window glass to see the decorators working on the baking and the icing. I couldn’t enter their area. I was always amazed everytime they came out with their aprons full of colors. I told myself, someday, I would be one of them.
Raymond Cortez
At 21, Raymond applied for a baker position in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. In his application, he embelished a little. “I told them I knew how to make a cake. But in reality, I only knew how to do the lettering. I just really wanted to work abroad. I thought, ‘Bahala na’, come what may, even if they send me home.”
He spent one frantic week before his flight training with friends, trying to cram years of icing experience into seven days. “That was the only time I held a spatula and did some icing,” he admits.
Of course, his seven-day “training” wasn’t enough. When he arrived in Riyadh, his Egyptian chef saw right through him. “It was obvious. They saw how I held my spatula and knew right away I wasn’t a baker. I took so long with the icing that it turned into ‘cookies and cream’ consistency.” Raymond braced himself for the worst. “I was ready to be fired. I was ready to be shouted at. I told myself, at least I got to ride a plane and land in another country.”
But when he picked up the piping bag, the staff saw his flawless calligraphy on the cake. The same hands that struggled with a spatula moved with the grace of a professional calligrapher. They watched him transform a plain surface with intricate, perfect lettering.
Instead of a plane ticket home, they gave him a spot in the donut section. The “demotion” turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to him. He learned to bake, to glaze, and eventually, to carve. “That was where they finally taught me how to actually bake!” he says. “I learned to decorate. I finally had the confidence.” Within a month, he was promoted to assistant baker. He was no longer faking it.
Raymond worked hard to master the technical side of baking, learning the chemistry of dough and the art of glazing. His reputation as a someone who could carve Mickey Mouse or any Disney characters out of fondant with uncanny realism spread through the expatriate community.
From basement to convention center
Soon, he was headhunted by a high-end firm where his salary doubled. “I also watched chef Buddy Valastro on YouTube to improve myself more,” he says. Eventually, Raymond was headhunted again. This time to create “Royal Cakes” for the Saudi Royal Family. His salary doubled, then doubled again. However, despite all this, Raymond’s heart was set on a life far away. A place that would be a permanent home for his family.
In 2017, through the help of his older brother, who had already been living in Edmonton, Raymond secured a sponsorship at a local bakery. The transition was a culture shock. In Saudi Arabia, he was an artist creating masterpieces. In Canada, he was a breadmaker, churning out baguettes, sourdough, and simple display cakes.
To satisfy his creative hunger, Raymond started a custom cake business from his basement. For three years, he was a one-man show. But the pressure took a toll on Raymond´s mental health. He didn´t have a choice but to give it up.
Once Raymond started working at Edmonton Convention Centre this January, he slowly got his fire back. Because of his impressive stint at the Wedding Fair, he was offered the position of Demi-Chef de Partie.
A full calendar ahead
Life in Edmonton is finally hitting the sweet spot for Raymond. He is now living with his wife, and his teenage son Prince Chrysmond, who joined them from the Philippines two years ago. “I am adjusting to our father-son dynamics,” he says with a smile. Raymond also enjoys vlogging on social media, sharing his impressive creations with his almost 500k followers.
As he looks toward the rest of 2026, Raymond’s calendar is full. He is currently designing a “giant cake” for a major Tourism Department event in June. But his most significant future plans involve going “back to basics,” enrolling in a one-year culinary course to finally earn his formal certificate. “I want to be really prepared,” he explains. “I know what to do, how to do it, but I don’t know the terms. When they ask if I know how to do something, I say ‘I’m not sure.’ But when I do it, it’s correct. Little by little, I am learning the names for my skills.”
He’s also using his platform to “Pinoyify” the local food scene, slowly introducing ube (purple yam) and Filipino ingredients to his creations.
“Palpak” Philosophy
Despite his masterful skills in the kitchen, he is the first to admit that things still go wrong. “Until now, I still have palpak (failures).” He’s had cakes fall over. He’s had names misspelled. He’s had miscalculations. “Not everything is perfect,” he says. He recalls the time when three-layer cakes collapsed in the back of his car two hours before a party. Instead of panicking, he relies on his diskarte.
You don’t measure the skills of a baker in the finished product. It is how you execute in the middle of the process by correcting mistakes and dealing with miscalculations, troubleshooting and solving the problem.
Raymond Cortez
Looking back, Raymond had never dreamt of becoming a chef. He never imagined it. But now his passion is becoming a reality. “My workmates are very supportive. But I am still proving my worth. I tell myself, ´Kung sa tingin nila hindi man ako magaling, dadaanin ko na lang sa sipag.´ I don´t normally walk here, I “run”. I move fast. I can´t control how people see me, but I can control my actions. I love what I am doing, and I am able to showcase my talent as a Filipino.”
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