How It All Started

I’m 34, living in San Diego with my husband Marco and our two kids—Lily (8) and Ben (5). Our kitchen is small, the counters are laminate from the ’90s, and there’s a permanent stain on the linoleum from when Ben spilled an entire bottle of beet juice trying to “help” make smoothies. It’s not Instagram-perfect, but it’s where our family life actually happens.

Most afternoons, you’ll find Lily doing math homework at the counter while I’m browning ground beef for tacos. Ben builds elaborate Lego cities on the kitchen floor (technically not allowed, but I’ve given up that battle). Marco and I steal fifteen minutes of conversation over hot tea while marinara sauce bubbles on the stove. This is the room where problems get solved, celebrations begin, and life unfolds in its messy, beautiful way.

But my relationship with cooking wasn’t always this comfortable.

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The Burnt Rice Incident

I grew up in Sacramento in a household where dinner was… fraught. My mom was actually a talented cook—her lasagna won our church potluck three years running—but the pressure around meals was intense. Everything had to be perfectly timed, properly plated, executed without error.

I was twelve when the burnt rice incident happened. Mom was hosting her book club, and I’d volunteered to help with dinner. She’d asked me to watch the rice while she finished the salad. Simple task, right? Except I got distracted reading at the kitchen table and didn’t notice the burning smell until smoke started rising from the pot.

I remember standing frozen in front of that stove, tears streaming down my face, convinced I’d ruined everything. The rice was salvageable—we just scooped out the top layer—but I felt like I’d failed some crucial test. My mom didn’t yell, but her tight-lipped disappointment felt worse.

I didn’t cook voluntarily for years after that.

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The Tuesday That Changed Everything

Fast forward to age 25. I’d just moved into my first solo apartment in Encinitas, a tiny studio where the kitchen was basically a hot plate and a mini-fridge. But it was mine. No one judging my technique or timing my cooking.

One rainy Tuesday in February—I remember it specifically because it was the week before my birthday and I was feeling particularly homesick—I was craving my mom’s chicken soup. The one she made when someone was sick or sad, with thick egg noodles and lots of dill.

I called her for the recipe. She laughed. “Emma, I don’t have a recipe written down. I just make it.”

“But what’s in it?” I pressed.

“Chicken. Vegetables. Whatever’s in the fridge. Some dill. You just… taste it and add what it needs.”

This answer would have terrified twelve-year-old me. But twenty-five-year-old me thought: why not try?

I went to the grocery store, bought a whole chicken (my first time), vegetables that looked right, a bunch of dill. Back in my studio kitchen, I googled “how to cut up a chicken,” made a complete mess of it, threw everything in a pot with water, and just… experimented. The carrots were cut unevenly. I added way too much pepper. The noodles got mushy because I didn’t know when to add them.

But when I sat down with that bowl, curled up on my futon with rain tapping on the window, it tasted like home. Not exactly like my mom’s—better in some ways, worse in others—but mine.

That’s when something clicked: cooking wasn’t about executing someone else’s perfection. It was about showing up, trying things, making something that felt right.

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Building Cooking Inspirations

I started Cooking Inspirations six years ago, right after Marco and I got married. We were living in a cramped apartment in North Park, and I’d been collecting recipes in a messy Google Doc—just trying to organize dishes I wanted to remember how to make.

My friend Jessica came over for dinner one night in October 2018. I made this lemon chicken pasta thing I’d been perfecting, and she went back for thirds. “You need to share this recipe,” she said. “Seriously, Emma. This is better than half the food blogs I follow.”

“It’s just pasta,” I said.

“Yeah, but it’s pasta I could actually make. Most recipes assume I have obscure ingredients and unlimited time. This is real.”

That comment stuck with me. The next week, I spent a weekend properly testing and writing up my ten favorite recipes, took photos on my phone, and launched a basic WordPress blog. I called it Cooking Inspirations because that’s what I wanted it to be—recipes that inspire people to actually cook, not just scroll and admire.

The first person to comment wasn’t someone I knew. It was a dad named Robert from Ohio who’d made my weeknight beef stroganoff and said his seven-year-old daughter, who normally refused anything with mushrooms, had eaten two servings. That comment made me cry. Someone I’d never met had fed their family because of something I shared.

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The Moment It Became Real

Two years into the blog, I got an email from a woman named Patricia in Vermont. She’d made my apple crisp for Thanksgiving and sent me a photo—her whole extended family around a table, the crisp in the center, everyone smiling.

Her email said: “This tasted exactly like my grandmother’s recipe that we lost when her house flooded in 2003. I’ve been trying to recreate it for fifteen years. However you made this, you gave me back a piece of my grandmother. Thank you.”

I read that email three times, then called Marco over to read it. “People are making memories with your food,” he said. “That’s not just a blog anymore.”

He was right. Cooking Inspirations had become something bigger than my recipe collection—it was a community of people feeding their families, creating moments, taking care of each other through food.

What You’ll Find Here

Every recipe on this site has been made in my actual kitchen, usually multiple times with different adjustments until I’m confident it’s truly foolproof. I test them on busy weeknights when Lily has soccer and Ben has a meltdown and Marco’s working late. If a recipe survives that chaos and still tastes good, it makes the blog.

Weeknight Dinners – Meals ready in 30-45 minutes when you’re exhausted and the kids are hangry

Comfort Food Classics – Soups, casseroles, pasta bakes that feel like a hug on a plate

Family-Friendly Favorites – Dishes that please both my picky five-year-old and my adventurous eight-year-old

Sweet Treats – Because homemade dessert turns regular Tuesday into something special

Kitchen Tips & Tricks – The things I’ve learned that make cooking easier (like why I always buy pre-minced garlic now and don’t feel guilty about it)

No fancy equipment required. No ingredients you need to order online. Just honest food that brings people together.

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A Memory That Shaped Everything

When I was sixteen, I came home from school devastated—my best friend since kindergarten had moved to a new lunch table, effectively ending our friendship. I was in my room crying when my mom knocked, holding a plate: grilled cheese cut into triangles with tomato soup.

She didn’t try to fix it or minimize my feelings. She just sat on the edge of my bed while I ate, asked gentle questions, and listened. The food was nothing special—plain white bread, simple cheese, soup warmed from a can. But it was exactly what I needed in that moment.

Years later, when Lily came home crying because a girl at school had been mean to her, I found myself making grilled cheese triangles without even thinking about it. Sat with her while she ate. Let her talk when she was ready.

That’s what I want these recipes to be—the thing that shows up when someone needs it. The dinner that saves a chaotic Tuesday. The dessert that makes a regular Saturday special. The soup that comforts a sick kid.

Food is how we take care of each other.

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Why I Do This

I believe everyone can cook meals they’re proud of. Not restaurant-quality Instagram food (though if that’s your thing, cool). I mean food that makes your family happy, uses what you have, and doesn’t require three hours you don’t have.

You don’t need culinary training or Le Creuset cookware or a marble-countered kitchen. You need recipes that work, ingredients you can find at a regular grocery store, and someone saying “you’ve got this.”

This community has taught me as much as I’ve taught you. You’ve shared your clever substitutions (shout-out to whoever suggested Greek yogurt instead of sour cream in my beef stroganoff), your kitchen disasters that became happy accidents, your photos of kids actually eating vegetables. You make these recipes yours, and that’s the entire point.

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Let’s Cook Together

Whether you’re a confident cook looking for fresh ideas or someone who’s still figuring out how to boil pasta without it sticking together, there’s a place for you here. No judgment, no pretension—just good food and the belief that we’re all learning as we go.

Thank you for being part of this. For trying my recipes, sharing your feedback, and building this warm, welcoming community with me.

Now let’s get cooking—there’s inspiration waiting in every recipe.

Emma

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You can reach me directly at: emma@cookinginspirations.com
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