About Littlest Love.

Growing up, I mostly stayed out of the kitchen unless I was trying to sneak candy or chips before dinner. My family loved to snack, we largely ate food from the microwave and toaster oven, and — as a true family of the ‘80s and ‘90s — we put ranch dressing on everything. I don’t remember much of what we put on the table, aside from the occasional BBQ with neighbors and friends. What I do remember about meals is laughing uncontrollably together at the dinner table.

There is one thing that we all remember fondly about our family’s food traditions. Oma cookies. Oma cookies hold a special magic in every crunchy bite. My siblings and I would quite literally race up the steps to our Oma's house, scrambling to be the first kid to call dibs on the cookie jar. Even my dad would race us, unabashedly winning and taking the first cookie in one bite, always holding the cookie jar out so that we could call seconds, thirds and fourths. All the while, my Oma smiling and laughing, waiting patiently to be greeted second to her baked goods.

In college, I would come home for holidays and summer. Every Wednesday afternoon, I would go to her place, because Wednesday was the day she baked cookies for the week. She would have the butter and eggs already sitting out, and she would talk me through the recipe, though I knew it by heart. While the dough would chill, she would ask me about school and life, and she would tell me stories of her childhood.

Just the site of an Oma cookie brings back the feelings of her warmth, her glorious stubbornness and her passion for perfection. I am lucky to have had those gifts passed down, and feel a great deal of pride and sense of ownership every time I’m compared to her.

Since my Oma passed away in 2007, I’ve lost and found myself countless times. Her death challenged me in ways I never knew until much later. After a particularly unexpected and prophetic tarot card reading, I was shaken. When she passed away, I was living within the confines of a life that was safe. Something my Oma never did was play it safe. She was brave and resilient and she rarely accepted her circumstances without a fight. I knew deep down I was ready for a bigger life.

Since then, I have spent every waking moment trying to be brave and resilient. With a degree in electrical engineering, I moved to Houston, then New Orleans and now Nashville. Along the way I found a love for brand consulting, started an online bakery (from which the name of the blog stems), finished my MBA, and most recently, co-founded a catering company. There have been moments of clarity and passion amidst the hardest, most challenging work I’ve ever known. I’ve broken down, built myself up, traveled the world, had a baby, started and closed businesses, and learned to love myself — a constant work in progress. And on the other side of it, I’ve rediscovered my love for writing and collaborating and making thoughtful food for those I love.

At the heart of it, I know it all goes back to family. My incredible Oma and the way she did everything with precision and care. The way my family would sit around the dinner table, laughing hysterically. Littlest Love is an ode to everyone who’s inspired me. A project full of my favorite things — food, creativity, and community — and I’m so grateful to share that with all of you!