A Letter from My Kitchen (Second Class Reflections)

I’m not a professional chef.I don’t weigh ingredients.I don’t follow recipes to the decimal.I don’t care about gram accuracy or the science of emulsions.I cook the way my grandmother Ana did—by taste, by smell, by memory.And on the day of my second cooking class…I showed up that way.More grounded.More confident.More myself.Yes, it wasn’t perfect.But I remembered something more important:I’m not here to perform perfection.I’m here to give heart.To serve love the way I know how—warm, imperfect, shared.This second class wasn’t just about food.It was about connection.No phones. No distractions.We learned about hallacas and why San Cristóbal’s version uses raw filling.We paused to be present.We gave thanks.We danced.We laughed.We created something that can’t be measured in ingredients.And to everyone who came—Thank you for trusting me.Thank you for showing up with open hearts and empty stomachs.Thank you for reminding me that I don’t need to be a chef to lead a table.I just need to be Oly.This class opened a new path in me.And though I don’t know exactly where it’s headed,I know this much:I want more of it.More heart.More shared meals.More moments that taste like home.Gracias,—Oly.