Hi, I’m Lisa—just Lisa. I’m 42, born and raised in Asheville, North Carolina, and to be honest, I never set out to be a “chef.” I’m just a home cook with a deep love for food, family, and the way a good meal can bring people together like nothing else.

I grew up in a creaky house on a wooded hill, where Sunday dinners were a sacred ritual and my grandmother’s cornbread was practically currency. My first real lesson in cooking came from standing on a wooden stool next to her, stirring a pot of chicken and dumplings that smelled like comfort and safety all rolled into one. I burned the first batch of biscuits I ever made, cried about it for a good ten minutes, and then laughed about it for ten years after that. That’s the thing about cooking—it teaches you grace, patience, and the art of starting over.

I didn’t go to culinary school, and I don’t own a fancy set of knives. I’ve learned mostly through trial and error, late-night Googling, and a stack of butter-stained index cards I’ve collected over the years. I’m the kind of person who adds a pinch of cinnamon to chili “just to see what happens,” and who believes that leftovers are a blank canvas, not a burden.

What I love most about home cooking is how deeply personal it is. It’s not about plating or perfection—it’s about feeding people you love, feeding yourself with intention, and finding joy in the sizzle of garlic hitting the pan. My kitchen isn’t fancy, but it’s always open. There’s usually a pie cooling on the counter, a dog underfoot, and music playing too loud while something bubbles away on the stove.

These days, I share my recipes and stories not because I think I have all the answers, but because I know how hard it can be to put dinner on the table night after night and still want it to feel special. If you’re like me—someone who cooks with feeling more than measurement, someone who messes up, gets creative, and keeps going—I think we’ll get along just fine.

So pull up a chair. Let’s talk food.