From Grandma’s Kitchen to Running Half Moon Lake Lodge — A Cooking Journey I Never Planned
- 5 days ago
- 4 min read
My inspiration for cooking didn’t come from a culinary school or a famous chef. It came from my grandma’s kitchen — a place where there was never much, but there was always enough.
She cooked simple meals, often from a can or a package, nothing fancy and nothing complicated. But somehow her food tasted better than anything I’ve ever been able to make. What she created wasn’t just dinner — it was a feeling. She gathered the family around the table, and no matter what life looked like outside, inside that kitchen we were safe, full, and together. She never knew how much she inspired me. And to this day, I still feel like I’ve never quite been able to get her recipes — or that love — exactly right.
Still, somewhere deep down, I remember thinking to myself, “Someday, when I open a restaurant…”
It felt like a dream you say out loud but never truly expect to happen.
After all, I didn’t have any real cooking skills… unless you count feeding four kids and my husband every day as experience. They were kind critics and ate whatever I put in front of them. Over the years, we also helped raise more than twenty foster kids, and they were often much pickier. Many were used to junk food and little structure, so my healthy, budget-friendly meals didn’t always get the warm welcome I hoped for.
But without realizing it, those years were teaching me everything.
I learned how to cook big portions cheaply.
I learned how to stretch ingredients.
I learned how to make meals filling, practical, and last.
Then there were the construction crews.
My husband ran a construction team, and many job sites were too far from town for the guys to grab lunch. Even if they could, it would’ve been fast food — not the kind of meal that fuels a full day of physical labor. So I started cooking for them too. Those lunches became more than just food. They became a time to sit together, talk through the day, laugh a little, and recharge. Sometimes I’d bring cold drinks on hot summer days or little surprise treats just to lift spirits.
Looking back now, I realize I was already running a kitchen that fed crowds.
I just didn’t know it yet.
Buying Half Moon Lake Lodge
When I bought Half Moon Lake Lodge, I never thought I would be the one doing the cooking.
In my mind, I was the manager. I hired professionals for everything — a chef, staff, coordinators — and believed my role was simply to oversee it all. I had worked with my chef for months by phone preparing for the opening. The menu was planned. Food was ordered. Everything seemed ready.
Opening day came, and the turnout was incredible. There was a line out the door. People were excited to see the lodge reopen. The energy was high, and the team was moving fast.
Then I stepped into the kitchen.
My chef calmly told me she would only serve fifty dinners that night. After that, everyone else would need to go home.
Fifty plates… with a packed house waiting.
I didn’t even know how to respond. Was this normal? Was this a joke? It wasn’t. She was serious. Somehow, I convinced her to keep serving, and I worked beside her, learning the machines and how everything functioned.
But the real test was still coming.
A large corporate dinner was scheduled just days later. The main feature?
Five prime rib roasts.
I had never successfully cooked one at home, let alone five for paying guests. My chef reassured me she had everything handled. We even talked about how she would carve the roasts in front of guests and be the face of the kitchen that night.
Then the next morning, my phone rang.
She had changed her mind. She was leaving. She wasn’t coming back.
Her final instruction? “Put the roasts in the oven at 350. It’ll be fine.”
And suddenly, it was just me.
So I did exactly that. I put them in at 350. I made mashed potatoes like Grandma used to make. I made the salad. I kept moving. The roast turned out… fine. Maybe nothing award-winning, but nobody at that event ever knew the lodge had just lost its chef and the entire meal was cooked by the “manager” who thought no one would ever pay for her food.
That night changed something in me.
When Everyone Left
The next morning reality hit even harder.
Food orders had to be placed. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner all needed prepping. Waitresses needed direction. Staff needed managing. Guests needed feeding.
And within two weeks of opening, one by one, every manager I had hired left.
It was just three of us:
My daughter.
My bookkeeper — who I still call that even though she became so much more.
...And me.
The three of us practically rebuilt Half Moon Lake Lodge ourselves.
There was no manual. No step-by-step guide. We learned everything by doing it. If something broke, we solved it. If someone didn’t show up, we covered it. If we didn’t know how, we figured it out on the spot. Meal by meal. Shift by shift. Problem by problem.
And just when we finally felt like we were finding our footing…COVID hit.
Like so many businesses, we faced uncertainty, fear, and challenges we never imagined. But by then, we already knew how to survive hard things. We adapted. Adjusted. Held on. And somehow, we made it through that too.
What I Know Now
For years, I believed I wasn’t a real cook.
I thought real cooks had training. Fancy techniques. Perfect recipes.
But now I understand something my grandma knew all along:
Great food isn’t about perfection.
It’s about feeding people. It’s about showing up.
It’s about care.
My grandma fed a family with almost nothing.
I fed construction crews from job sites.
I fed foster kids learning new routines.
And eventually… I fed an entire lodge full of guests.
I may never cook exactly like Grandma did.
But I finally understand the real recipe she left me:
Open your table.
Feed whoever comes.
Do the best you can with what you have.
And sometimes, that’s more than enough.
(307) 367-6373
Comments