Somewhere along the way, I found myself in food.

How many people can say that?

I found myself in the farmers markets I wandered through with my mom on Saturday mornings growing up. In the first time I tasted an Asian pear. In the cookbooks stacked on bookstore shelves that I would endlessly flip through for inspiration. In restaurant dining rooms glowing beneath string lights, where the food felt like a performance not only for my eyes, but for something deeper within me.

Food has always carried a certain nostalgia for me — as if it has continually brought me home to myself.

I grew up in Los Angeles, surrounded by some of the greatest food in the world. By sixteen, I was driving across the city to explore restaurants and bakeries I discovered through Eater LA, social media, or hours spent scrolling through Google Maps. At nineteen, shortly after graduating from pastry school, I experienced Michelin dining for the first time: a nine-course tasting menu in Beverly Hills gifted to me by my mom. I still have the menu from that dinner. I still think about it often.

I attended Baking & Pastry Arts school at The New School of Cooking in Culver City. Back then, I already knew food was what I wanted to pursue. Baking had always been a part of my life. In my hometown, people knew me for it. I spent years cooking instinctively, checking cookbooks out from my school library, rushing home to recreate recipes that lit something up inside me.

After pastry school, though, my path shifted. I pivoted toward acting and theatre, searching for something different after realizing I didn’t enjoy working in a small gelato shop where I had found myself after graduating. Still, even during those years, food never really left me. I continued baking and cooking quietly in the background, always returning to it no matter where life took me.

Two years ago, I finally walked away from theatre after experiencing a deep creative burnout. Truthfully, I think I had been burnt out long before I admitted it to myself. It was difficult letting go of something I had invested so much time, energy, and money into, but leaving ultimately led me back to the thing that had always been there waiting for me: cooking.

Now, nearly ten years after my first pastry program, I find myself coming full circle. I am currently furthering my education by pursuing a degree in Culinary Arts and Restaurant Management at the Institute of Culinary Education in Pasadena, California.

Over the years, I’ve also worked throughout the hospitality industry in many different roles — barista, server, pastry cook, and now line cook — each one shaping my understanding of food, service, creativity, and the realities of working in kitchens.

As I returned more seriously to food, I began developing recipes, experimenting more deeply with flavors and seasonality, building my photography, and creating online spaces to share my work. This is not my first website. In many ways, each version reflected a different stage of my life. As I grew, the work evolved with me. Slowly, it began to feel less like creating a brand and more like creating something honest.

These days, much of that life is shared with my dog, Remi — my constant kitchen companion and unofficial little chef. She’s there for the late nights testing recipes, the mornings spent editing photographs with coffee nearby, and the quiet moments in between. In many ways, she’s become part of the rhythm of The Wylder Kitchen itself.

The Wylder Kitchen is where all of those experiences finally meet: the young girl wandering farmers markets, the theatre artist searching for meaning, the pastry student, the line cook, the baker, the storyteller.

It is a space for the recipes, cakes, memories, and inspirations that continue to shape me. A place rooted in seasonality, curiosity, creativity, and the belief that food has the power to bring us back to ourselves. Here, you’ll find journal entries, recipes, glimpses into my culinary world, and custom cakes made to be shared around tables and celebrated alongside the people we love most.

More than anything, I hope this space inspires you to slow down, cook something beautiful, gather around a table, or reconnect with the parts of yourself that may have been waiting quietly to be rediscovered.

I’m glad you’ve made it here.

Welcome.

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