In a converted warehouse in London’s East End, Sherlock Holmes leans over a plate of sourdough starter with the same intensity he once brought to crime scenes. “Look at the bubble structure,” he instructs, pointing with a long finger. “The irregularity tells a story—temperature fluctuations, inconsistent feeding schedule, perhaps a hurried baker trying to rush fermentation.”

This is not the Holmes of Baker Street anymore. This is Holmes the culinary consultant, food critic, and—though he resists the term—television personality on the popular show “Criminal Kitchens,” where he investigates everything from recipe frauds to mysterious restaurant failures.

“People assume this is a departure from my previous work,” Holmes says, returning to his seat. “It’s not. It’s exactly the same work. Observation. Deduction. Finding patterns where others see chaos. The only difference is that the stakes are lower, and the evidence is frequently edible.”

The transition began during a case involving a poisoning at a high-end restaurant. While investigating, Holmes became fascinated with the kitchen’s operations—the chemistry of cooking, the precision required, the way a skilled chef reads ingredients like he reads crime scenes.

“I’d always viewed food as mere fuel. Watson used to despair of my eating habits. But when I actually paid attention, I discovered an entirely new field of study. Every dish is a mystery. Every flavor combination a puzzle to decode.”

His approach to food writing is, unsurprisingly, analytical to the point of being occasionally brutal. A recent review of a Michelin-starred restaurant included a paragraph deducing that the sous chef had recently returned from holiday based solely on the inconsistency in the sauce work.

“I don’t see the point in being diplomatic,” Holmes shrugs. “If the technique is flawed, the technique is flawed. Though Watson has convinced me to tone down some of my observations. Apparently, publicly speculating about a chef’s personal struggles based on their plating was ‘going too far.’”

His television show has become an unexpected hit. Each episode features Holmes investigating a culinary mystery—a family recipe gone wrong, a restaurant’s sudden decline, disputed claims of authenticity. His methods remain unchanged: observation, interviews, and dramatic revelations delivered with theatrical flair.

“The producers wanted me to be warmer, more relatable,” Holmes admits. “I told them people don’t watch me for warmth. They watch me to feel clever when I explain something obvious that they missed. Why pretend otherwise?”

Between filming and writing, Holmes has developed his own cooking skills to a remarkable degree. Not out of passion for cooking itself, but out of a need to understand it completely. His kitchen is equipped like a laboratory, with precise temperature controls and measurement tools accurate to the gram.

“Cooking is chemistry. Once you understand the principles, the rest is merely application. Though,” he adds with a rare smile, “I’ve learned that understanding something intellectually and executing it well are not always the same thing. My first soufflé was… instructive.”

Watson occasionally appears on the show as a counterpoint to Holmes’s intensity, taste-testing dishes and translating Holmes’s observations into language normal viewers can understand. Their dynamic remains unchanged—Watson’s exasperation now directed at food crimes rather than literal crimes.

Looking forward, Holmes is developing a series of monographs on regional cuisines, applying his analytical methods to understanding the evolution of cooking traditions. He’s also consulting for food science companies, applying deductive reasoning to product development.

“Do I miss the old work? Sometimes,” Holmes admits. “But I was becoming stale, predictable. This field is vast and constantly evolving. New techniques, new ingredients, new mysteries. I could study it for several lifetimes and never exhaust the possibilities.”

As he returns to examining his sourdough, Holmes offers one final observation: “The greatest mystery isn’t who committed the crime. It’s why we do anything at all. And if I’m going to spend my time solving puzzles, I might as well solve ones that end with something delicious.”