About Me

Hi there! I’m Miranda, a 37-year-old chef and self-declared flavor chaser living just outside Asheville, North Carolina. My kitchen is my sanctuary, my playground, and sometimes, my therapist’s office. I didn’t grow up with dreams of becoming a chef—I just wanted to make my grandma’s meatloaf taste a little less like cardboard. But funny how a small thing like that can snowball into a full-blown love affair with food.

I come from a long line of stubborn eaters and even more stubborn cooks. My mom had a habit of tossing everything into one pot and calling it dinner. My dad? He thought seasoning was a government conspiracy. But then there was my Aunt Marie. She was the one who taught me how to coax flavor out of garlic, how to taste a sauce, and know what it needed without measuring a thing. I spent countless summer evenings in her tiny kitchen, perched on a bar stool, watching her hands move like they were telling a story in a language I desperately wanted to learn.

By my twenties, I was hosting “accidental dinner parties” in my apartment, just trying out new recipes and luring friends in with the smell of sizzling butter and toasting spices. I’ve worked in a few restaurant kitchens—some fast, some fancy—but I realized pretty quickly that I didn’t want to spend my life yelling “Behind!” while dodging hot pans. I wanted to cook real food for real people, in homes like mine, where the dog’s begging at your feet and there’s always a dish drying on the rack.

Now, I teach casual cooking classes from my home, run a small supper club with a rotating menu, and spend a lot of time writing down recipes that are meant to be cooked, not just admired. I believe cooking should be joyful, not stressful. You don’t need truffle oil or a blowtorch to make a meal feel special. You just need a little curiosity and a willingness to mess up a few times.

One of my proudest moments? Burning an entire pan of peach cobbler while trying to impress someone on a third date. The cobbler was a disaster, the date was charmed, and now he’s my husband of eight years. Turns out a little smoke can still lead to something sweet.

So if you’re here because you want to feel more confident in the kitchen, you’re in the right place. I’m not here to judge your boxed pasta or your store-bought pie crust. I’m here to help you fall in love with cooking the way I did—one happy accident at a time.