Cooking as a Way Back to Herself

I grew up chasing flour dust and sunlight in my great-grandmother’s cabin in the middle of an Arizona forest. Every summer, my cousin and I would gather with the large side of the family and make pizza together. We created absolute disasters in the kitchen, dishes no one should have had to eat, but none of that mattered. It wasn’t about the result. It was about the joy of being together. The warmth of those summers stayed with me, long before I ever realized cooking would be my life.

 

Before the kitchen found me, ballet consumed sixteen years of my life. It taught me discipline, endurance, and the kind of dedication that becomes part of your bones. But it also carried a darker side. The pressure around body image, the dieting culture, and the harm it did to my relationship with food. I struggled with all of it. Cooking came into my life at a moment when I desperately needed to heal. I didn’t step into the kitchen seeking a career. I stepped in trying to reclaim my body and my joy.

 

My path has never been traditional. I started as a savory cook, took a few classes at my community college to learn basic techniques, and then suddenly found myself assisting a pastry chef. I left school and learned the way many cooks do: in the fire. I was young and green, making endless mistakes and trying to figure it all out as I went. Five years into my career, I moved to Florence, Italy, to study pastry properly. That’s where everything clicked. I learned the true value of ingredients, of cooking seasonally, of letting simplicity shine.

 

My very first kitchen job was at a small deli and bagel shop, where you did everything: dishes, prep, ordering, cash register, bussing, serving. We opened before sunrise and closed after dark. It was brutal, but that job taught me hustle and perseverance. 

 

Within a year and a half in the pastry world, I had already been given the title of Pastry Chef. Looking back, I was nowhere near ready. I didn’t have mentors guiding me. I didn’t even have time to process the responsibility. I learned through instinct, trial and error, and many nights spent wondering if I was in over my head. That’s why I spent so many years doubling up: pastries in the morning, savory service, catering, and food truck shifts at night. I built my foundation dish by dish, burn by burn, mistake by mistake.

 

What keeps me inspired is the fact that you never stop learning in this industry. There’s always another way to execute a technique, always a new ingredient, always a different perspective. Conversations with other chefs, the stories behind their dishes, the cultures that shape food, those things fuel me. Moving to LA took that inspiration to a new level. It’s a cultural universe. Immigrant cooks putting out breathtaking food, people persevering through adversity, and entire communities built around flavor and history. It’s impossible not to feel inspired here.

 

Over the years, there have been so many moments that shaped me, but one I carry with me happened while working for Chef Nancy Silverton. We had a rough pastry day. Everything felt off. She looked at us and said, “The most important thing is that you’re trying to be better each day. Learn from today’s mistakes, and we do better tomorrow.” I think about that line constantly. It’s simple, but it’s everything.

 

My entire philosophy is rooted in that idea. We learn by doing. By failing. By trying again. I’m not a timid chef, and I don’t want a timid team. Ask questions. Try things. Speak up when you have ideas. Collaboration is how you build a kitchen where people grow. Open communication creates trust, and trust builds teams that can handle anything.

 

Kitchens have carried me through some tough chapters. Life doesn’t pause for service. Illness, grief, heartbreak, they all find their way into the walk-in with you. I’ve worked with teams who lifted me when I didn’t even realize how much I needed it. My Mozza family, especially, brought light into a time that felt painfully dark. That kind of support is something I’ll never forget.

 

The achievement I’m proudest of is being offered my current position. Building and running a wholesale pastry program from the ground up for a respected bread bakery is not something I take lightly. Pastry Chef roles are disappearing fast in this industry. To be trusted with this responsibility to create pastries for places all over Los Angeles, using local whole grains and seasonal produce, feels like a dream I’ve worked for my entire life.

 

There’s so much I love about this industry. The camaraderie, the symphony of a team in sync, the quiet moments after service when you know you all survived something together. But I’ve also lived the darker side. The expectation that you sacrifice your life for your job. The glorification of burnout. The belief that you must give up family, health, relationships, and any sense of balance to succeed.

 

I lived that life for years, and it nearly broke me. Today, I choose differently. Balance is not a luxury; it’s a necessity. A healthy chef creates better food. A rested mind makes better decisions. I want kitchens where communication and organization make space for people to have whole lives outside the past.

 

My hope for the future is more women in leadership, more gentle kitchens, and more cultural unity. This industry can be a beautiful, healing place when we choose to build it that way. Food brings people together in ways few things can. From disaster relief cooks feeding communities to chefs collaborating across cultures, there is profound hope in what we do. And I want to be part of the generation that keeps that light alive.