About Us

The Smell of Simmering Soup

I can still close my eyes and smell it: the rich, earthy scent of my grandmother’s simmering soup, a constant presence in the kitchen of my childhood home. It wasn’t about fancy ingredients or complex techniques, just good, honest food made with care. That memory, that warmth, is what guides me in my own tiny studio apartment kitchen today.

Cooking, for me, is a lot like knitting a wool sweater for my family. You start with simple, honest materials – some yarn, a few needles, or a handful of vegetables and spices. You work slowly, stitch by stitch, sometimes unraveling a mistake, sometimes just letting the rhythm guide you. There’s no rushing a good sweater, just as there’s no rushing a dough that needs to rise or a stock that needs to deepen its flavor. It’s all about patience and trusting the process.

I find joy in those quiet mornings at my small wooden desk, planning out meals, just as I find it in the quiet click of knitting needles. It’s about finding the heart of a dish, letting the flavors marry, and making sure that every single bite feels like a warm hug, just like pulling on a hand-knitted sweater on a cold day. It’s never about perfection; it’s always about connection.

Here, you won’t find flashy recipes intended for Instagram. Instead, expect simple stories told in steam and salt. We’ll explore comforting, unfussy food, the kind that nourishes the body and soul, made with the same deliberate care I put into every stitch of a new sweater. It’s real food for real life, made with a whole lot of heart.