My name is Clarice, I’m 31 years old, and I live in Santa Fe, New Mexico with my husband, our spirited six-year-old daughter, my incredible mother, and the heart of our home my grandma , Carmen. If you ask anyone who knows me, they’ll tell you that my kitchen smells like cinnamon, piloncillo, and love, almost all the time.
My journey into the world of cooking, especially the sweet, comforting universe of Mexican desserts, began long before I could even reach the stove. Growing up in a multigenerational household was like living in a delicious storybook. My mother worked hard to support us, and while she was out building her career, my grandmother filled our home with the warmth of her culture, her stories, and her sweets.
Grandma Carmen was born and raised in a small town in Michoacán, Mexico. Her hands knew every trick of the trade, and her heart knew the importance of sharing food with those you love. She taught me how to coax caramel from sugar, how to fold tamales with patience, and how to roll dough for pan dulce until it felt just right. I didn’t just learn recipes; I absorbed a way of life.
There were plenty of kitchen disasters along the way—burned flan, overly sweet cajeta, tamales that wouldn’t hold their shape—but Carmen never scolded. She’d just chuckle, pull up a stool, and walk me through it again, always with her hands and her heart wide open. And my mother, even with her packed schedule, would join us whenever she could. I remember the way she closed her eyes after the first bite of my tres leches cake, the same one I bake now for every family celebration.
Today, I share my love for Mexican desserts with women like me—women who balance family, work, and everything in between, yet still crave those moments of sweetness that bring everyone to the table. I believe dessert is more than a final course. It’s tradition, joy, connection. Whether it’s a silky flan, crispy buñuelos, or a spicy chocolate mole cake, there’s a story behind every spoonful.
I’m not a fancy chef with a wall full of diplomas. I’m a home cook with flour on my apron, a few burns on my hands, and a head full of memories. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.