Welcome to Sylvia’s Kitchen!

Hi there, I’m Sylvia Thompson, and if you had told the 10-year-old me stirring boxed mac and cheese on a step stool that I’d one day be writing this from my sun-drenched kitchen in Asheville, North Carolina, I would’ve probably just giggled and added too much butter again.

I’m 37 now, and my journey with food has been anything but linear. I was born in the Midwest, in a town where potlucks were sacred and every neighbor had a “famous” casserole. My mother was a school teacher and my dad a postal worker, but our tiny kitchen was the real classroom where I learned about love, patience, and the magic of turning simple ingredients into something extraordinary. I still remember the first time I helped my grandma make her peach cobbler from scratch. I had flour in my eyebrows and sticky fingers, and I was absolutely hooked.

I didn’t go to culinary school. Instead, I took the long road, learning by doing, failing, trying again, and asking a million questions. I worked in coffee shops, catered weddings out of tiny home kitchens, and spent five wonderful years running a food truck called “The Cozy Fork” that served up hearty Southern comfort food with a twist. Those years were wild, exhausting, and taught me more than I could ever fit into a cookbook.

These days, I’m all about helping folks fall in love with cooking, no matter their starting point. Whether you’re a first-time apron-wearer or someone who hosts epic Sunday dinners, I want to share what I know and, more importantly, what I’ve learned through trial and plenty of errors. Cooking doesn’t have to be intimidating. It’s messy, it’s fun, and it’s one of the most generous things we can do for ourselves and each other.

I’m endlessly inspired by fresh, seasonal produce, and I have a soft spot for forgotten pantry staples, like how a can of chickpeas or a tired carrot can become something special with a little care. I believe in taste over technique and that recipes are more like friendly suggestions than rigid rules.

So welcome to my kitchen, where the coffee’s strong, the aprons are optional, and there’s always room at the table. Let’s cook, let’s laugh, and if we burn the biscuits, hey, we’ll just call it rustic and try again.