THE STORY OF ORVILDA
The Story of Orvilda
From her kitchen, with love - a family legacy of simple food, strong women, and recipes finally being written down.
A warm kitchen, a woman named Edna Orvilda, and the kind of homemade food that keeps families coming back to the table.
From Her Kitchen to Mine
My grandma, Edna Orvilda, was one of the strongest women I have ever known. She grew up in North Dakota, one of fourteen children born to Norwegian parents who weathered the Great Depression with grit, faith, and simple food that stretched farther than it should have.
Later, when life brought us together under one roof, Grandma became my anchor - steady, kind, and always moving in the kitchen. The stories of her childhood on that North Dakota farm shaped the way I see food, family, and what it means to be held by a home-cooked meal.
I was blessed to grow up living with my grandma, my mom, and my brother. Our little Midwestern kitchen was never fancy, but it was always full of something simmering, rising, or cooling on the counter.
“Oofda, Kimmy!”
"The kitchen was part of my story before I even knew what a recipe was."
The Things That Stay With You
One of my clearest memories is standing beside Grandma at the counter while she peeled potatoes. No cutting board. No tools. Just her hands, a small paring knife, and years of practice. The thin peel would fall in one long spiral, dropping into the sink in soft curls while she kept talking as if it were nothing at all.
I never could do that. I use a potato peeler.
But I still think of those potatoes every time I make dinner, how something so ordinary could feel like a small kind of magic when it was Grandma doing it.
Midwest Roots, California Kitchen
I was born in Indiana, raised on casseroles, all kinds of potatoes, roasts, hot dishes, and the kind of church-potluck recipes that travel from table to table. Those Midwest roots are stitched into everything I cook.
In the 70s, life took our family to California. Suddenly there were avocados, tacos, fresh citrus, and farmers’ markets. I carried the Midwest comfort food I loved into this new sunshine kitchen and slowly started blending the two worlds together.
My mother Carol holding me in our Indiana kitchen.
My mom, Carol and the kitchen that held us together.
“You’ll Know When It’s Right”
When Grandma was in her eighties, and I had moved away, I would call her to ask how to make the dishes I missed most. I wanted exact measurements, precise times, tidy instructions I could write down.
"Her recipes lived in her hands."
She would laugh softly and tell me, “Oh, Kimmy, you’ll know when it’s right.”
A pinch of this, a little more of that, stir until it looks like so-and-so. Her recipes lived in her hands, not on recipe cards.
Grandma would roll and cut homemade noodles, then drape them over wooden dowels and cabinet doors to dry, turning the whole kitchen into a little pasta workshop.
On special days there was warm lefse spread with butter and sugar, rolled up and handed over like the simplest kind of celebration.
Always Make Extra
Grandma always made more than enough. Extra rolls. A bigger pot of soup. Another pan of bars just in case. She would say it with a shrug, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“It’s better to have extra because people always show up at supper time.”
I learned to cook young, and later I raised two daughters on a tight budget, stretching ingredients the way Grandma did - turning one roast into several meals, making soup from bones, repurposing leftovers into something that tasted brand new.
Over time, I added my own recipes too - still simple, still comforting, but shaped by the life my girls and I were building together.
Why I’m Finally Writing It Down
In recent years, my mom and my aunt passed away within a few weeks of each other. Grief sent me back to Indiana, back to the house where so many Sunday dinners and holiday meals had been cooked.
We opened drawers and cabinets and found generations of handwritten recipe notes, stained cards, grocery lists, and little scraps of paper tucked between cookbooks. Each one was a breadcrumb back to a meal, a person, a moment around the table.
And finally, I realized, someday is now.
This website is my way of gathering those scraps, stories, and memories into one place, so they don't get lost in the back of a drawer.
Food Is Love in Our Family
In our family, food has always been how we show up for each other. We gather around casseroles and cakes, soups and salads, everyday suppers and holiday spreads. There is always room for one more chair, one more plate, one more story.
The recipes on this website are for Grandma Orvilda, for my mom and my aunt, for my girls, and for my granddaughters- and for anyone who finds comfort in a kitchen where nothing has to be perfect to be meaningful.
What began in Grandma’s kitchen is still being carried forward.
A kitchen full of memories.
A table where there was always enough.
And a grandma named Orvilda, who taught me that good food does not have to be fancy to be unforgettable.
Come Cook With Me
These recipes are part memory, part family history, and part everyday kitchen comfort. Some are just as I remember them, and some are updated for the way I cook today - but every one is shared with love.
From Her Kitchen,
With Love.
Old-fashioned comfort, made better for today with farm-fresh, non-GMO ingredients.
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© 2026 Orvilda. From her kitchen, with love