By Chef Alexis Hernandez
Originally published July 2025. Updated March 2026.
The side I knew first
Most of my life was spent on the restaurant side of the stove.
The hot side. The fast side. The side with tickets printing, burners going, and that constant pressure humming underneath everything. The Other Side of the Stove started when I realized the meals that stayed with me most were happening somewhere else — in a home kitchen, at a real table, with people who were not there to judge the plate before they took the first bite.
The side where food had to leave the pass looking like it deserved its moment.
I knew that side well.
I loved parts of it. I still do.
But somewhere along the way, I realized the meals that stayed with me most were not always the ones built under the brightest lights or the hardest push. They were the ones that happened on the other side of the stove — in a home kitchen, at a real table, with people who were not there to judge the plate before they took the first bite.
That is the side I care about now.
The thing Jeb said that stayed with me
When I was getting ready to close my restaurant, I was behind the bar making one of my burnt caramel Old Fashioneds for my best friend Jeb.
It was not a dramatic moment. Just one of those conversations that happens when a chapter is ending and nobody has fully said it out loud yet.
He took a sip and said, “So now you’re going to be cooking from the other side of the stove.”
I remember looking at him and saying, “What do you mean?”
He shrugged, smiled, and said, “You’ve cooked professionally for years — for guests, for critics, for family, for cameras. Now it’s just you on the other side of the stove.”
That stayed with me.
Not because it sounded clever. Because it was true.
That one sentence gave shape to something I had already been feeling but had not named yet. It gave me the language for the season I was stepping into.
What looks different from this side
Things do look different from this side of the stove.
Now it is about pulling dinner together after a long day. It is about feeding the people you love. It is about the meal that happens after the dog has been walked, after the day has run long, after a drink has been poured, after you have decided that whatever goes on the table still ought to taste like you meant it.
Sometimes that table is set for ten.
Sometimes it is just one plate and a quiet kitchen.
Either way, the standard is the same. The food does not need to be fancy. But it should be good. Honest. Worth sitting down for.
Sometimes that means a roast that has been in the oven all day.
Sometimes it means bread, olives, and something cold in a glass.
What matters to me now is less about performance and more about feeling. Not perfect. Right.
What I believe about food now
I have cooked in beautiful kitchens. I have worked under pressure. I have plated with tweezers and made food that earned its little moment in the room.
But the meals people remember most are usually not the most polished ones.
They are the practical ones. The humble ones. The ones built from what was in the fridge, what was simmering on the stove, and who happened to be there when it was ready.
French onion soup.
A roast chicken.
Fried eggs with hot sauce.
Those are the meals that stay with people. Not because they were showy, but because they were shared.
That is what I care about here.
Why The Other Side of the Stove exists
That is what The Other Side of the Stove is for.
This is where I get to share the food I actually believe in — the recipes that work, the little bits of food science that make cooking easier, the practical things that help dinner come together, and the stories that explain why any of it matters in the first place.
This is not just a place for recipes.
It is a place for kitchen notes. For the thoughts behind the food. For the way a dish can carry memory, culture, grief, comfort, humor, or just the relief of making it through the day with something good to eat.
Because food does more than answer hunger.
At its best, it starts conversations.
The book that came from it
That is also what shaped my cookbook, Conversation Starters: From the Other Side of the Stove.
The book pulls together recipes from my restaurant life, my travels, and my home kitchen. Some are elegant. Some are easy. All of them are meant to be shared.
But the real point was never just to hand over recipes.
It was to make room for what happens around them. The stories. The questions. The memories people tell once the food hits the table and somebody goes back for another bite.
That is the kind of cooking life I believe in now.
What you’ll find here
If you have seen my videos on Instagram or Facebook, then you already know part of the rhythm — quick tips, food science, real talk, the kind of things that make cooking feel more possible.
This space lets me go deeper.
You’ll find recipes that work.
The stories behind them.
Tips for entertaining that make sense in real life.
Food science that helps instead of showing off.
And kitchen notes that are sometimes practical, sometimes personal, and usually both.
Because I still believe there is something meaningful about feeding people.
About hearing somebody take a bite and say, “This is really good.”
That still matters to me. Maybe more than ever.
What I hope this becomes
If this feels like your kind of kitchen, stay a while.
This space means a lot to me because it feels like the clearest version of what I have been trying to say for years. That food is not only about technique or trends or getting the plate exactly right.
It is about what happens when cooking becomes part of how you care for people, remember where you came from, and make a life that tastes like something.
That is what I am building here.
From the other side of the stove.
— Chef Alexis Hernandez
