FOR MY FAMILY
I was born and raised in a little house surrounded by old hemlock trees and blackberry brambles in Blue Ridge, Georgia. Set against the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains, our town is edged with rolling fields and dense green forests. The woods have an ancient feel about them, and I've spent hours berry picking, daydreaming, and driving aimlessly on back roads passing old cabins and barns.
Growing up in our small town, I didn't have access to fancy food of any sort—just simple home cooking. I remember helping my mom in the kitchen as a kid, making sweet potato casserole at Thanksgiving and cookies at Christmas, but it wasn't until my late teens that I really became interested in teaching myself to bake.
That's when I picked up my first cookbook. I tried baking orange-chocolate cupcakes, and they were so bad! I misread the instructions and added a tablespoon of orange extract instead of a teaspoon. But I kept baking and eventually made nearly every recipe in that book. I taught myself how to cream butter and sugar, make piecrust, and whip egg whites. The processes of measuring flour, whisking eggs, rolling out dough—all the components of baking—began to feel natural to me. But they were also magical. Baking felt like alchemy: combining simple ingredients to create something incredible, something that had the power to evoke feelings of home in, and bring joy to, others.
As I found my footing in the kitchen, I started seeking out new flavors, inspired by the things growing around me. How could I incorporate the taste of spring honeysuckle into a cake? Blackberries from the woods beside my house? Wild muscadines with their vines tangled in the pine trees? I began creating recipes to reflect the bounty surrounding my home.
With my sister and mom in tow, I brought my desserts to a little stand at the Blue Ridge farmers' market. My sister and I would spend each Friday baking in our tiny kitchen, singing along to the Avett Brothers and whipping up treats like sweet potato bread, chocolate chip cookies, and blackberry cakes. Our mom would wake up with us at dawn, load up my car, and get us to the market at six A.M. to set up the stand. It was a family affair.
There's a great sense of community that comes with small-town farmers' markets. Ours is eccentric, made up of local farmers who've been at it all their lives, newcomers with small organic farms, older ladies who paint gourds in their spare time, and a guy who makes tin-can robots. You get to know the people around you, hear about their lives and how their crops are doing, pet their dogs. We'd have regulars who'd come each week—early, before the crowds—to make sure they got their favorite spiced molasses cookies.
Encouraged by the response I was getting at the market, I started taking pictures of my desserts and posting them online. I experimented with recipes and asked for feedback. I captured my favorite places in Blue Ridge and shared them on my blog, Honey & Jam. And people were interested. And so what started as a failed attempt at orange-chocolate cupcakes ended with a new direction for my life. I had found my calling.
Cooking and baking align you to the rhythm of the seasons, and I wanted to organize this book to reflect the natural progression of how I bake through the year. Peaches taste best in deep summer, strawberries at the start of spring, and apples in the autumn. When you find yourself craving the best of each flavor, you use what's freshest at the time. This connects you to your surroundings and the folks who grow your food. It's the best way to support your local farmers.
I am so proud to share Blue Ridge with you through these recipes. I hope this book inspires you to explore the world around you and test out your new discoveries in the kitchen.
