Kyla Rose grew up in a small town (that still has no traffic lights) in the most loveliest state of MAINE, where the forests are friendly, the roadkill abundant, and people have very strong feelings about what does and does not belong in clam chowdah.
As a youngster she loved going to the beach, avoiding every possible sport, memorizing the lyrics to Les Miserables, and reading lots and lots of books. It wasn’t until she got serious with a very hungry young man that cooking became a big part of her life.
The quick realization that a constantly famished manperson needed regular feeding had her scurrying off. First to the library to take out every possible cookbook – and then armed with the knowledge only a good book can provide – unto the kitchen. There she happily realized it was her favorite place to be.
Soon they found themselves as volunteers in Central and South America, spending the majority of that time in Guatemala. This only made her more food-obsessed. Untamed markets rampant with the smell of ripest mangoes, butcher tables bedecked with the heads of sheep and cattle, tiny Mayan abuelas haggling over freshly shucked corn – she loved it all. Rural living also demanded if you wanted bread, you had to make it yourself. At one point did she smuggle a clunking hand-crank pasta machine down there? Yes, yes she did.
After those magical years in the dusty mountains they returned to New England. Got a psychotic french bulldog named JuJu, new jobs, moved approximately five times, broke up (sad face), made up (happy face), and currently find themselves on the Big Island of Hawaii.
She can be found wondering around Costco talking to herself about cheese, harassing the local gecko population, rewatching murder, she wrote, buying too many plants, and still, forever in the kitchen.