My Food Journey Unfolded

From New Mexico to Illinois and Lots in Between

With this newsletter so often focused on Turkish cuisine, its ingredients and stories, I’ve realized I haven’t done enough to share where my food influences began. Before I ever stepped foot in İstanbul, before I knew anything about yufka or pul biber, there was a curious little girl drawn to food for reasons she didn’t yet understand. That’s a story I haven’t told you.

This newsletter is a little more personal than usual. But I hope, in reading it, you’ll think back to your own early food memories, the people, places and meals that shaped the way you eat and cook today.

Before 2010, before Turkey became a major influence in my culinary world, I had already been collecting flavors and impressions from all over. I moved around a lot growing up: New Mexico, Texas, New Jersey, Colorado and eventually landed in Boston for university. Each of those places left their mark on me, forming the base layer of what would become a lifelong passion for food and hospitality. After grad school in Boston, I moved to Istanbul in 2015, more than ready to be influenced. But the groundwork had already been laid.

As a child, my relationship with food was layered and, at times, complicated. I was curious, always reading cookbooks, trying new recipes and asking to help in the kitchen. But I also spent most of my childhood overweight and that complicated my connection to food in painful ways and transparently, it still does. Maybe I will be brave enough to write about that at a later date. Still, cooking gave me a safe way to stay close to food. Learning about ingredients, playing with flavors and sharing food with others didn’t just bring me joy, it gave me purpose and a deep sense of belonging.

Adobe Summers in New Mexico

New Mexico holds a sacred place in my family’s story. Though my sister and I were born there, we moved away while still young. But every summer, we returned, making our way back to a small town nestled in the Capitan Mountains, where our grandparents had carved out a quiet life of beauty and art.

Both retired educators, they built their adobe home by hand and became part of a small artist community. Those summers were filled with watercolor painting, ceramics, time outdoors and always, memorable meals.

There were pecan waffles and golden corn fritters, fresh tamales wrapped in husks, chilled banana pudding, gingersnap cookies and plums so ripe they stained your fingers. Iced tea was served constantly, always with too much Sweet’n Low and nearly everything came smothered in red or green (or both) chile.

My Papa Lee, who always had a cough drop in his pocket, kept a ceramic dish filled with them next to a stash of Werther’s Originals on the table. I treated them like candy, plucking one after another as we lingered after meals as my Mama Lee slowly consumed and digested her meals. Those summers gave me more than recipes, they gave me a sense of place and ritual.

Tomatoes, Pickles and Dairy Queen

My mom’s side of the family is rooted in the Midwest, specifically Illinois. We’d spend holidays and summer breaks there with my grandma and grandpa. My grandma is an incredible cook and baker (and a loyal reader of this newsletter—hi, Grandma! 👋). She taught me how to bake cookies, assemble a perfect BLT, braid Scandinavian twists and make a juicy pork tenderloin. In the summer, her fridge always held a chilled bowl of homemade pickled cucumbers.

My grandpa, with his intense sweet tooth, made sure there were plenty of trips to Dairy Queen and late-night raids of the icing tub with graham crackers. Their backyard garden was a marvel, but the heirloom tomatoes were the crown jewel, bursting with so much flavor that all they needed was a simple slice and a pinch of salt. Each bite tasted like sunshine.

Everything in Between

Though we moved often, the roots my family had in New Mexico and Illinois kept us grounded. Still, each new place we called home brought its own food memories, textures and tastes.

In Texas, there was fried ice cream at summer parties, over-the-top gingerbread houses during the holidays, an obsession with egg drop soup (hold the green onions) and queso that was present at every gathering. New Jersey came with garlic knots and spontaneous weekend trips into New York City for street-cart hot dogs and sticky Thai-style rice. One of my best friends in Colorado introduced me to mushroom risotto, goat cheese and paper-thin crepes, foods that felt grown-up, exciting and completely new to me.

Then came Boston, which cracked open a different part of my food brain entirely. It was there that I first fell in love with hospitality as an industry and as a calling. I found myself captivated by restaurant culture, not just the food, but the operations, the stories, the service, the precision. From slurping New England oysters to devouring Chinatown dim sum and North End cannolis, I was tasting the city one bite at a time. I learned the classic French foundation, the five mother sauces and how to work a professional kitchen station with care and control. It was exhilarating.

A European Education in Eating

Throughout my life, my parents made a point to expand our worldview. We were fortunate to travel abroad as a family. Those early trips to Europe made a deep impression on me. While others admired castles (which I also enjoyed), I was more curious about what was going on behind the doors of restaurant kitchens. I didn’t just want to know what people were eating, I wanted to understand how they were eating, why they were eating and how I could taste more of it.

In high school, I spent a summer living in Spain through a language immersion program. That experience changed everything. I fell hard for croquetas, late evening tapas and cheap wine. I realized hospitality wasn't just a profession, it was a way of life.

And then, Paris. During college, I studied abroad and worked in a boutique hotel in the heart of the city near the Odéon-Théâtre de l'Europe. Even on a student budget, the meals I managed to have there, small, intentional and sometimes improvised, left a mark. The way Parisians talked about and consumed food felt deeply personal and aspirational to me. It blew my mind.

All of these experiences, coasts, countries, classmates and crepes laid the foundation. By the time I arrived in Turkey for the first time in 2010, I was already primed to fall in love. I just didn’t know how deep it would go.

Which Leads Me to Turkey

That hunger for behind-the-scenes knowledge led me straight to my first trip to Turkey in 2010, a family vacation to İstanbul. My dad and I took a full-day Turkish cooking class and I was completely hooked. Not in a fleeting, “that was fun” way, but in the kind of way that rearranges your priorities.

From there, everything changed.

So yes, Turkish food has become a central part of my life and work, but it didn’t emerge out of nowhere. It’s built on a foundation of grandparents’ gardens and green chile summers, late-night ice cream runs and quiet afternoons decorating cakes with my grandma. It’s layered with moves, memories and new communities. And it’s still unfolding.

Thanks for letting me share the earlier chapters with you. What kinds of people and places have defined your most meaningful food influences and how have they shaped the way you eat, cook or share?