Hi there! My name’s Ellie Monroe, and I’m a 42-year-old home cook living just outside of Asheville, North Carolina. I’ve never worn a tall chef’s hat or worked the line in a high-pressure restaurant kitchen, but my heart belongs to the hum of a cozy kitchen, the scent of garlic sizzling in butter, and the joy of feeding people I love.
Cooking wasn’t something I was born into, exactly. I grew up eating boxed mac and cheese and the occasional pot roast on Sundays, but my real culinary spark lit up when I moved into my first apartment in my twenties. I remember standing in my tiny galley kitchen, flipping through a dog-eared copy of Julia Child’s cookbook that I picked up at a yard sale. I botched the boeuf bourguignon the first time—it turned out more like beef soup—but that failed attempt opened the door to something beautiful. I realized that cooking wasn’t about perfection. It was about learning, laughing at your flops, and trying again with a little more patience and a lot more butter.
Over the years, I’ve developed a love for Southern comfort food with a twist. Think bourbon peach BBQ chicken, or collard green lasagna. I adore experimenting, and I rarely make the same dish the same way twice. My kitchen is a space where family gathers, friends wander in for impromptu meals, and my dog Rosie always manages to sneak a bite when I’m not looking.
What I love most is connecting with other home cooks. We might not have culinary degrees, but we share a passion for flavors, stories, and the kind of meals that make people close their eyes with the first bite. I started a small blog a few years back, mostly as a way to keep track of my recipes, but it quickly became a gathering place for fellow kitchen adventurers. I still get giddy reading the comments where someone tried my skillet cornbread and added their own twist.
If there’s one thing I believe, it’s this: cooking at home is an act of love. Whether it’s a Tuesday night stir-fry or a full Thanksgiving spread, it’s about bringing people together. And if you ever burn the biscuits or forget the salt, don’t sweat it. Just pour a glass of sweet tea, turn up the music, and try again. That’s how the magic happens.
