A woman in the kitchen
Food excites me, it always has. More than that, it excites me to share my love of food. It’s how I express love, it’s how I heal, it’s how I flirt; it is everything.
When people ask me “how I got into cooking,” I always have the same answer; the women in my life. My grandmothers, my mother, my aunts, my friend’s mothers, my girlfriends, my idols: the kitchen taught me how to be a strong woman. A self sufficient woman. An individual who could grow and learn and become.
My mother was the hardest working woman I knew, and with her time off we would cook on weekends. Pancakes, gyoza, chicken paprikash, and my god what the woman can do with leftovers. Before waste free became trendy, she was (and is), its queen.
I was molded in the kitchen, by the kindest, most forward thinking, warm, and open people out there. It’s always been the place I go when I need a pick me up, when I want to show someone I care, when I want to learn, when I want to produce something with my hands.
Creating something by hand, something that I feel, especially in regards to food, has almost been forgotten about. Not for the instagram photo, or for the sole benefit of health, but for what it does to your soul. It builds it up, makes you feel better.
And that’s what I am here to do. I am here to help you get that feeling back. That strength that those women taught me. The kitchen has historically been a place of both rearing a household and of commerce. It is a place of of comfort, experimentation, growth and grace.