My name is Iyma Hernandes, I’m 37 years old, and I live just outside Austin, Texas, where the skies are big, the heat is real, and the kitchens never stop humming. I’ve been cooking since I could reach the stove—though back then, it was mostly under my grandmother’s watchful eye, stirring pots of slow-simmered chili or flipping tortillas that puffed just right when you talked to them gently. Those early days taught me that food isn’t just about feeding people—it’s about connecting with them, even if you say nothing at all.
I don’t cook to impress, I cook to feel alive. I’ve never boxed myself into one style or tradition—if it tastes good and makes you close your eyes for a second, I’m in. My kitchen sees a little of everything: Tex-Mex staples, Mediterranean flavors, Korean glazes, Cajun heat. I believe spices should be felt, not just sprinkled, and that mistakes in the kitchen usually end in something delicious—maybe not what you expected, but sometimes better than what you planned.
For a long time, I thought being a “real” chef meant chasing perfection. But at 36, the same age as most of the people I cook for these days, I’ve realized that real cooking is messier than the shows make it out to be. It’s burning the first batch of cookies because you were dancing to old Prince songs. It’s making dinner with one hand while holding a sleepy dog in the other. It’s finding joy in small things—like the way fresh garlic smells when it hits a hot pan, or how a splash of lemon can wake up an entire dish.
People often ask me what my “signature dish” is. Truth is, I don’t have one. I have stories. Like the night I tried to impress a date with homemade gnocchi and ended up with sticky dough in my hair. Or the first time my dad asked for seconds on my vegan lentil stew—this from a man who once called tofu “sad cheese.” Moments like that are what keep me cooking.
These days, I spend a lot of time helping other people—folks my age or close to it—fall back in love with their kitchens. Life gets busy, complicated, loud. But food? Food brings you back to yourself. I want people to know it’s never too late to try new flavors, mess up recipes, and create something unforgettable. Whether it’s your first time roasting a chicken or your fiftieth attempt at sourdough, I’m right there with you.
So welcome to my world. Grab a fork—or your hands, no judgment here—and let’s keep cooking.