My name’s Julia Garten, I’m 30 years old, and I live just outside of Asheville, North Carolina—right where the Blue Ridge Mountains cradle the land like an old friend. I grew up in the Midwest, in a small town in Indiana, where my earliest memories of food involve standing on a milk crate next to my grandma while she stirred an impossibly large pot of chicken and noodles. She never measured a thing, but her hands always knew what to do. That’s where it started for me—the magic of food and the quiet rhythm of a kitchen.

I didn’t go to culinary school straight out of high school. In fact, I worked in construction for a couple of years, played drums in a touring blues band, and cooked part-time at a greasy spoon just to keep myself fed. But it was the kitchen that kept calling me back. Eventually, I saved up enough to enroll in a culinary program in Chicago, where I learned the foundations—knife work, stocks, sauces, classical technique—but more importantly, I learned discipline, humility, and how to survive a Friday night on the line with tickets flying in like confetti.

After graduating, I worked my way through kitchens coast to coast—from a seasonal bistro in Portland to a Michelin-starred spot in New York. I’ve broken béarnaise, scorched roux, oversalted reductions, and once nearly set a prep station on fire flambéing pears for service. But every mistake was a lesson, and every success made it worth the sweat. These days, I run a teaching kitchen and supper club out of my renovated barn, where I welcome both seasoned chefs looking to sharpen their edge and total beginners who just want to learn how to make a roast chicken that doesn’t taste like drywall.

My cooking philosophy is simple: respect the ingredient, trust your senses, and never lose your curiosity. Whether you’re torching meringue or learning how to hold a chef’s knife without slicing your thumb off, every step matters. I believe good food should be both an art and a conversation—it tells you where it’s been and where it wants to go. And if you’re willing to listen, the kitchen will teach you more than just how to cook—it’ll teach you patience, timing, and how to recover gracefully when things fall apart.

So whether you’re a fellow pro looking to exchange ideas or someone who’s just picked up a whisk for the first time, welcome. There’s always a place at my table, and there’s always something new to learn.