Hi, I’m Marissa! Thanks so much for stopping by!

Delicious Kinship is a place where chefs of ALL levels are welcome.

After 15 years in the kitchen, armed the Tips and Tricks I’ve learned along the way, I’m here to write recipes the way I wish they were written. I’m here to be the friend that tests the recipe time and time again, and explains all the details you might want to know to give you the BEST results.

When I look back on the early days of my culinary journey, cooking was stressful and full of uncertainty. Recipes, while simple enough to read, seemed to be written for people who were already familiar with cooking and baking. They assumed that I knew “don’t over mix” really meant “mix it until it’s mostly smooth, but small lumps are fine”. Or that “cook until the juices run clear” really meant “poke near the thigh and watch to see that the juice that runs out is no longer pink”.

I wished I had someone in the kitchen with me to tell me I was doing things wrong or right. I wished the recipes would explain not just how to do things, but why.

So whether you’re an expert chef looking for a some inspiration, or a novice cook at the start of your journey, I’m glad to be a part of your adventure.

Let’s cook delicious things together!

The story of my beginning…

For simplicity’s sake I wish I had a moment, ‘The Moment‘, to tell you about the time I fell in love with Food. However, there isn’t a specific incident that I can point to like, “AHA!” Instead it boils down to this:

I love food because it brings people together and great food will always brighten someone’s day.

Growing up, dinner time was family time — no distractions, just dinner with the people at the table with you. My immediate family, grandfather and grandmother (Gung Gung and Pou Pou) would have dinner together every night.

My grandparents lived across the street from us, so each day weekday after school we would head to their house. I loved watching my Pou Pou in the kitchen. In the hours before dinner she was calm, focused, and as if by magic, she would transform unexciting ingredients into drool-worthy dishes.

In contrast, Sundays were complete chaos. Every Sunday my extended family (28 of us) would gather at my grandparent’s home. The 17 grandkids ran amuck entertaining ourselves playing our own version of Legends of the Hidden Temple while the dads watched TV and the moms dominated the kitchen. With Pou Pou at the helm, veggies were chopped, meats roasted, and there was always something sizzling in the wok. Oh, and if it was a birthday we knew we were in for a real treat, for birthdays meant Pou Pou’s fried chicken.

Then as if someone hit the mute button, the start of dinner brought on a happy silence. Mouths were busy chewing and the clinking of cups and cutlery were a welcomed reprieve. These quiet moments gave way to the occasional “Mmmm” escaping when somebody had a particularly delicious bite. I can’t remember if this was always the case but I unconsciously wiggle, happy-dancing in my seat as if by reflex, when I eat something truly delightful.

Eventually Sunday dinners grew to include various school friends, family friends, and even distant relatives. These decadent, vivacious dinners became the social glue to all of my most important childhood relationships. Despite the weekly and growing crowd, my Pou Pou remained incredibly humble and never bragged about her cooking. However, a huge grin would spread across her face whenever she witnessed someone genuinely enjoying the food she made.

My grandmother passed when I was 12, but before we knew she was sick I had the pleasure of getting acquainted with the kitchen under her guidance. She taught me so many tips and tricks that I still use today, like peeling fresh ginger with a spoon or marinating chicken with a cap-full of whiskey to add some oomph.

I cooked and baked through high school — mostly as a way to de-stress, partly as a way to feel connected to others and to my Pou Pou. I quickly learned how incredibly rewarding it feels to give others a moment of edible bliss. In college I organized Sunday suppers amongst my closest friends, sometimes cooking up my own storm or finding a restaurant for us to all try together.

And so I fell in love with Food. Food, with a capital F. Not just the stuff that’s on a plate, but the broader role it plays in connecting us with one another. I love that it’s the heart of every celebration. I love that a specific dish can remind us of a specific person or a specific moment. I love that it bridges generations, like me and my Pou Pou cooking together after school. And I love that now it’s what connects me and you!

Thank you so much for being here — I CAN’T WAIT to see what we’ll eat together!