Measure with Your Heart

Introduction

I didn’t grow up in the kitchen. Food was not my community’s love language. But my “off the land,” free-spirited childhood in the Georgia woods shaped the homey person and cook I’ve become, and the person my new community has gotten to know over the last few years.

I come from working-class people, factory workers, and avid Pizza Hut–goers. My Mama, dad, brother, and me had our mobile home parked behind my grandpa’s (Papa’s) log cabin, and when he and my dad went into mechanics together, part of the property slowly turned into a junkyard—and a playground for me. If my fingernails didn’t have dirt under them at the end of the day, I had to have been sick in bed.

When I wasn’t messing around near those cars, I was frolicking all over my grandparents’ property in southeast Georgia, in a little town nicknamed “Nash Vegas” (because everyone there acts like me—can you even imagine??). It was a little farm built by my dad and Papa. They had chickens, goats, dogs, pigs. Papa and my Granny Mary loved to garden. But despite being surrounded by beautiful greens, homegrown fruits, and farm animals, the people in my life didn’t cook much. All the adults were working long hours, so convenience and thrift for our meals were everything. My Mama swore by her Crock-Pot for dinners. Most of my days consisted of someone throwing peanut butter and jelly on bread and sending me on my merry way until the evening. I was raised on processed, packaged, chemical products we bought from the grocery store. But at times, Granny did surprise me with her biscuits. And when she did, taking a flaky, buttery bite filled my whole body with warmth. I could feel her love in all her baking.

I remember watching Granny cook on sunny mornings when she wasn’t at work, the house smelling of wood, and mechanic’s grease on every surface (even the kitchen counter). When I could finally pull myself up onto my Granny’s high barstools, I would go into a trance, completely enamored with the wrinkles on her hands rolling around as she worked the biscuit dough. Her motions, how she played with the dough, felt very old and fragile. There was something almost nostalgic about it. Like even at my young age I knew she had watched her mother do it the same way. I was mesmerized by her elegance and the dance she did with the ingredients. How it all went from just flour, butter, and buttermilk to something as complex and full of different textures as a biscuit. When she’d find me staring intently, we would laugh as if I got caught doing something sneaky. The memory makes me feel so much love today, and it’s no wonder biscuits were one of the first recipes I made myself.

I was a wild child in that I always had my own way of doing things regardless of what I was told I was “supposed” to do; the outdoors helped satisfy that desire to learn hands on. I hated the curriculum and structure at school, but I loved band and dancing (surprise, surprise). I enjoyed the arts and things that weren’t taught so much as experienced. I loved that aspect about myself and I feel proud that I’ve always stayed true to that trait.

Years later, I got out of my first, abusive marriage and I needed to support me and my daughter, Lily, but I didn’t want a career that would take away from my free-spiritedness and love for myself. I wanted my baby to grow up watching her mom do what she enjoyed, no matter the circumstances. I owned a good professional camera and decided to take it seriously; I was mentored by local photographers in all sorts of genres: portraits, weddings, nature—you name it. For many years, photography was my main source of income and inspiration. Eventually I would become a mentor to others and launch my own wedding and elopement photography business. It made me realize that it’s possible to support yourself, have structure, and find purpose and beauty in what you do. I’m so grateful Lily got to see that, too.

After I left my first marriage, I was single for a long time. I had pretty much given up on dating. I dabbled a bit in my early 30s, but let me tell you, it was some nonsense out there. But on Thanksgiving in 2019, I was over at my Aunt Teisha’s, doing our holiday tequila thing, and her son suggested I try Tinder. I had a couple more tequilas (and an edible) and later that evening I thought, “Screw it, I’ll try it.” James was one of the first profiles I saw that night. We texted for one week straight. I didn’t want Lily to know I was dating yet, so we kept it quiet. I was so into him, though, and I had to make sure he wasn’t a complete weirdo before I got in too deep. So I FaceTimed him and told him we were just going to stare into each other’s eyes and he’s not allowed to say anything to me. I swear we both fell in love on that video call. James came over to my house for our first date a few days later, and he never left. A week later we were engaged. Three weeks later we were married, in early 2020. Lily got new siblings when we had two beautiful children together, Buck and Indie Lou.

Before I became a mother, I had been known to make a slow-cooker meal or two (I love a Brunswick stew), but I wasn’t all that interested in getting into the kitchen. I was still eating all the food I had grown up on, like boxed macaroni and cheese, store-bought bread, and jarred mayonnaise. But as a mother I began cooking for necessity. My kids’ well-being and health means everything to me, and I started to get curious about what I was feeding them. Let me tell you, I was not happy with the information I was finding: ingredients twenty letters long I couldn’t even begin to pronounce. Bread made with two dozen chemicals when really it should just be wheat, salt, and yeast. And if it felt scary putting that stuff into my adult body, I got even more freaked out about those preservatives going into their tiny, growing bodies.

I decided we should all be eating better and cleaner—which doesn’t always have to mean the food is “healthy.” (I love my desserts and carbs, and if I had my way, we’d eat fried chicken five times a week.) But our food should be made from scratch, so I know exactly what’s in it. And with that decision, I went from cooking just once in a while to being the main source of my family’s nutrition. I was now making my own sandwich bread, the macaroni and cheese from scratch, and my own mayonnaise, as well as all the classics I grew up on, like chicken pot pie, and some new dishes of my own invention.

As I spent more time in the kitchen, I started to feel more joy. I wanted to grow as a cook and flex my creativity. So I dabbled with homemade projects like freshly baked biscuits, and I sent photos to my friends showing off my little creations. Eventually, my dear friend Preston suggested I stop sending them to him and instead share what I was doing with more people on a platform everyone had just started using, called TikTok. So just for fun, James and I hopped on that train. Since it started with my need to feed my kids better, I chose the name “LilyLouTay,” combining my girls into my handle. (Sorry, Buck! “LilyLouBuck” just didn’t sound quite right, but the Tay is all you, baby.) With my background in photography and videography, using a camera was second nature for me.

I started uploading videos documenting the process of cooking recipes I’d made before and some new ones that were pure experimentation (which, frankly, most of my recipes are). The response to the videos was overwhelmingly positive. Within a year, I had over a million followers. I moved over to Instagram, started my website, a newsletter, and my online family just kept growing and growing. I’m not sure if it’s the Southern hospitality, my wild personality, or the chaotic cooking, but people were rushing to see what I was sharing. The response was, and still is, mind-blowing to me. But it also made me realize how many people I was affecting and teaching, all while doing what I love and being inspired every day. I think seeing my mistakes in the kitchen was such a relief to people. It gave them permission to get in there, too. I am truly so blessed to get to do what I do, and to help people find their creativity.

I think my cooking style stems from growing up in a place where holidays were more about coming together for the drinks than for the cuisine. It was about the experience rather than the food, about gathering and having a fun time around food, despite eating whatever was thrown in a pot to fill our bellies (and soak up the booze). There was no pressure to make perfect meals, and that contributed to my free-spiritedness in the kitchen. The videos where you see me trying things out, using my intuition, and getting my hands dirty are the ones my viewers love the most. And I get it. When I see a recipe with “¾ teaspoon of this” and “1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon of that,” I just kind of shut down. That’s intimidating! It’s certainly not welcoming. Give me “a pinch of this” and “add that till you’re happy” any day. I know what I like, you know what you like, and all we can do is feel our way to deliciousness in the kitchen.