Jerry Mai, the owner-chef behind Melbourne's Pho Nom and Annam restaurants, has had a broad and far-reaching food education, but it all started with her mum.

Before you ask, she wasn't always called Jerry. Born in Saigon, Mai's given name is actually Hang, which means "lady in the moon" in Vietnamese. But a few years after landing in Australia, she changed her name in honour of her favourite golden age movie star, Jerry Lewis. It was easy enough to convince her friends of the name change, but her parents weren't such an easy sell. They still occasionally call her Hang. That's when she knows she's in trouble.

Still, Mai understands the need to hold on to tradition. She spent her early childhood in a Thai refugee camp after her parents fled communist Vietnam and its re-education camps in the early 1980s. Her Cambodian-born father worked as a translator and photographer, helping other families get photos and letters back to Vietnam as well as running a cafe with her Vietnamese-Chinese mother.

They eventually moved to Brisbane on a refugee visa, initially moving into community housing. Mai recalls living in a small apartment and sharing a communal kitchen with other refugee families before moving into their own place. It was then that both parents took jobs at the Golden Circle factory – her father working nights, her mother days. Between her parents' overlapping work schedules ("they were sleeping and rotating"), Mai, at six years old, would often find herself at home alone.

And, like most young kids with working parents, she quickly learned to feed herself. She started with instant noodles, and whenever she had time with her mother, she'd learn to make stir-fries, Vietnamese braises, soups. "That's still my repertoire at home," says Mai. "These things that my mum taught me to do, I still practise."

She says it made her a stronger person. Learning to take care of herself at such an early age certainly provided the building blocks toward her future life as a chef and businesswoman. "I am the next generation, those who came through from these refugee camps, as young kids. We're building a foundation in this country. We're opening businesses, we're employing people. We're giving back to this community that once gave to us."

I needed my creativity to go somewhere. I felt like a part of me was dying.

It was a move to Melbourne that saw her eventually start cooking professionally. After a stint cooking pizza and pasta in St Kilda, she began her apprenticeship with the Zampelis Group, which once ran more than 70 hospitality venues in Victoria. That was when she realised she wanted to cook seriously, and cook Asian.

In the early 2000s Mai set to work across some of Melbourne's better mod-Asian restaurants – Longrain, Seamstress, Gingerboy – before making the big move to London. "I felt like I was getting stagnant," she says, "and I needed motivation and a new way of looking at cooking."

And so, the young chef landed at David Thompson's Nahm, the first Thai restaurant in Europe to earn a Michelin star. Mai learned a huge amount about Thai cooking and ingredients from the godfather of Thai cuisine. But it wasn't without its challenges, of course. Sometimes, Thompson would stop the whole service if one element didn't taste right, focusing the entire kitchen's attention on whoever was at fault.

She learned how to work around the mercurial chef, who she says is still her greatest influence. "He's the guy I go to when a curry paste is not working. I'll call and say 'What have I f---ed up? Can you talk me through it?' Or 'Remember that dish we did? Do you mind if I do that?'. I think he's a madman. Absolutely nuts, without a shadow of a doubt. But he's my greatest mentor."

From Nahm, she moved to Japanese fine diner Zuma, in London's Knightsbridge. "It's very difficult to get that kind of job in Australia," she says. "There are very few venues that will hire a person who is not Japanese or has 20 years' experience. I worked in the hot kitchen and I did a little of the raw food. That whole other side was so amazing."

She was so fascinated by the sushi section, she'd come in on her days off to learn how to butcher fish properly. "The staff thought I was crazy."

Returning to Australia, she wanted to start a simple family business. She came up with the concept of Pho Nom, selling Vietnamese dishes such as pho, banh mi and ricepaper rolls to in-a-hurry city workers, and went into business with her brother, David. They now have two Melbourne stores.

In 2017, she opened Annam – a full service Vietnamese restaurant recalling the flavours and dishes she grew up with – just because she missed cooking. "I was getting to a stage where I didn't have to do service [at Pho Nom] any more. I needed my creativity to go somewhere. I felt like a part of me was dying."

Heritage is paramount for Mai. When she and her wife decided to have their first baby, they were set on a Vietnamese-Chinese donor. They wanted an association with Mai's culture and upbringing. The couple were willing to travel interstate – even Vietnam – to find that person. In the end, they lucked upon the only Chinese-Vietnamese donor in Victoria. "Sperm donation in Asian culture is rare because they believe in keeping their lineage and their surname in their family, says Mai. "To give it away... they seldom do it."

The chef has also inherited her parent's drive and work ethic, and finds herself torn between working hard to provide for her young family, while also being present. "I'm hoping in a few more years I'll have a little bit more time. I don't want my son to miss out on both parents, like I did with my parents. My parents came as refugees, as immigrants, and they just worked so I never really got to spend time with them. When I had Harry last year, my whole perspective on life changed."

In a few years, the couple will make a temporary move to Saigon so their son can learn the Vietnamese language and have an appreciation of his culture. "It's really important. I want him to understand what his grandparents had to go through, to see where his lineage comes from. I'll be damned if I raise a spoiled child who doesn't understand heritage."

Quickfire corner

Music to cook to: Chicago and Grease. I like musicals. I walked down the aisle to You're the One That I Want.

After-midnight snack: At the moment, Dragon Hot Pot (in Melbourne's Russell Street). Too many times. You go in there, you pick your own noodles, bits and pieces, you'll have a hotpot, they'll cook it and give it to you in a bowl.

Kitchen weapon at work: Either my knife or my wok ladle.

Non-cooking ninja skill: I love fishing. When I didn't have Annam, I would finish work, hop in the car, drive down to Sorrento and go calamari fishing. Every summer I'm out on a charter snapper fishing or something like that. I want to go schooner fishing at the moment. But I'm just so busy I can't.