Why I built this
“We're so lucky to have her, and every day is a gift. But I realised: what happens when these recipes live only in her head?”
I didn't set out to build a recipe app. I just wanted more Sundays like the one we had last month. My daughter. My mum. Me. Three generations in one kitchen.
While my daughter made Nanna's bread and butter pudding (seven slices, not eight, Nanna was watching), I stood beside Mum and learned the curry I'd watched her make dozens of times but never cooked myself. She corrected my rice timing. Told me to go easier on the spices than I wanted to. “More is less.” And every time I reached for her recipes, the worn sheets she's kept in a drawer for decades, held together with a bull clip, she said the same thing: “Be careful with those.”
I get it. Those sheets are precious. Just like the Women's Weekly cookbook I learned from thirty years ago, still full of Mum's handwriting in the margins. Every crease and dog-eared page a memory. Not of the recipes. Of the moments around them.
Standing there, I realised how much I still have to learn from her. So many recipes I've never made. So many stories I've never thought to ask about.
So I built this. Not as some grand preservation project. So my daughter never has to hear “be careful” when she's trying to cook. So she can just cook. And pass it on when she's ready.
Because the recipes aren't the point. The point is the time. The stories. The moment Mum looks at my daughter and says, “You're becoming such a wonderful cook. I'm so proud of you,” and her whole face lights up.
“Not as a preservation project. As a way to cook with your family, even when you're apart, even across generations.”
That's what I'm trying to hold on to.
The Founder - Marie. P
Mum, daughter, granddaughter, aunt, and keeper of recipes for the next generation
I build small, careful tools that tidy up the everyday mess of digital life, so the people using them can focus on what actually matters.
