Farm to Table Supper Club

Writing for Vogue magazine in 1956, journalist Harriet Van Horne, wrote that cooking was like love and should be “entered into with abandon or not at all.” That is my philosophy as a writer, grower,  and chef.

Like many home cooks, I learned to cook in my grandmother's kitchen. She taught me how to make the Southern staples: fried chicken, collards, stringy roast, oatmeal raisin cookies, grits. 

When I went to England to study Creative Writing, I was welcomed into other kitchens by surrogate grandmothers and other food elders and lovers. There, I learned to cook lamb and butter chicken, gingerbread, and, of course, fish and chips. 

After I graduated, I ate  my way through Europe and some of East Africa. In the markets I learned how to spot and select fresh ingredients. In cafes and roadside stands, I ate food I delighted in simple street food, and in huts and modest homes, I worked alongside home cooks that could rival some professional chefs I know.

For my 30th birthday, my mother sent me to the Culinary Institute of America for a two-week cooking intensive. I bought a chef's jacket and have been kicking around in various professional and home kitchens since. 

I've been lucky enough to attend various professional culinary workshops, courses, and long weekends from the Culinary Institute of America to Leiths School of Food and Wine and, most recently, Mimo – ranked among the top 10 cooking schools in the world – in San Sebastian, Spain.

Now (and forever more!) I live on a 13-acre homestead in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains, in a dreamy modern farmhouse my husband and I built by hand, smack dab between Lake Watauga and the up-and-coming railroad town of Johnson City, TN. 

The only thing I love more than truffle butter and the burnt ends of a pork butt are words. Long before I became a chef, I was (and am) a writer, and food is my love language.

My forthcoming memoir Uprooted: A Memoir of Belonging and Becoming (Regal House Press, July 2026) explores the intersections of adoption, land stewardship, and healing through the lens of regenerative farming in Appalachia. As an environmental writer and advocate, I'm deeply invested in how we tell stories about place, belonging, and our relationship to the land—stories that shape not only how we eat, but how we live. You can pre-order a copy of the memoir here. 

Appalachian cuisine is more than just food. It's a testament to a way of life, a connection to the land, and a celebration of resourcefulness. Through my writing, research, and work with Slow Food USA Tri-Cities, I explore how traditional foodways and regenerative agriculture can address contemporary challenges of food justice, sustainability, and community resilience.

Whether you're curious about environmental writing and food justice advocacy, interested in narrative approaches to land and identity, or looking for an intimate Appalachian culinary experience that honors these values , I invite you to come sit at my table, listen to some stories, and eat with me!

Seasonality and sustainability

I probably grew several ingredients listed in my recipes and if I didn't grow them, they were sustainably harvested or bought from local growers and ranchers and are almost always in season for a truly farm to table Appalachian-fusion culinary experience.

Accessibility

While the recipes featured on this site or at the supper club might have some technical aspects, they are well within your reach as a home cook because I believe that food should be an equalizer, not elitist. 

Surprise

I've led an unconventional life and so it's no wonder that I like my food to have just a dash of eccentricity too. Sometimes that means I'll include an exotic spice or wild-foraged ingredient. Sometimes it's exploring the legacy of ingredients with complicated pasts like mine. However incorporated, my recipes have a dash of surprise because I want the food - and its story - to stick to your ribs.