My Story.

I didn't grow up in a kitchen scented with the fresh smell of butter, sugar or warm fruit. I grew up in a home, of an immigrant family, where achievement was the currency of love, and perfection was the language spoken from parent to child. Creativity, curiosity and even rest, felt like luxuries no one could afford.

For years, I shut down the parts of myself that didn't fit inside that blueprint. My tiny rebellions + recipes scribbled in notebooks I didn't dare name. I pushed down my authentic self which resulted in painful relationships, emptiness in my "career", and a shallow sense of purpose. Generational trauma creatively hiding as success was slowly winning.

The dream never died, and as a single mother, I said a prayer, lived off my small savings, and entered culinary school. I fell in love with pastry and baking arts.

The way the dough feels under my hands, is
like stitching together something broken. Cold butter meeting warm hands, dough tearing and coming back together. Like jaded dreams , made hopeful and innocent again, by God's love.

Pastry and pie taught me that I could be messy. I could start over. Every time I roll out dough, I am rolling out years of pressure that was never mine to carry. Every time a pie emerges from the oven, golden and alive, I exhale, knowing that pie is my freedom, my rebellion.

The place where my parents, my ancestors, and myself meet with no shame, no guilt, no judgment, just gathered in love and self-acceptance.


Pastry + pie allows me to rewrite my story, not with a stethescope, but with flour dusted hands, and a soul that finally feels mine.

Thank you for joining me in my journey. I am honored you are here.