About
My name is Vicky Blue. It is not the name I was born with, but it is a name that represents my evolution into someone people can relate to. My mother named me Orquidea Vicmary. I was born in New York, and then quickly transplanted to the Dominican Republic where I spent my itty-bitty years. Transition took over our lives once again and we moved back to New York City just before I turned eight.
A few weeks after I started the third grade, I came home and started work on my first branding project. I picked up a black cap my uncle left behind and some pink glitter-glue. I drew “Vicky” across the front, sides and back. I’d had enough of my teachers butchering my name in front of my classmates, so from then on I wore that hat to school almost every day and insisted that everyone start calling me Vicky. It was a selfless choice to help make everyone’s lives a little easier (especially mine), but more importantly to preserve the beauty and complexity of my exotic, beautiful name.
Growing up between New York and the Dominican Republic gave me the strong sense of culture and self that I carry today. I remember the daily struggles my single mother endured raising two girls in the city, and how she still managed to create happy memories for me to relish as an adult. When I turned ten we took a “bus-tour” that started in New York and ended up at Disney World in Florida. The best part of the trip was when the bus broke down somewhere between Virginia and North Carolina. My mom took the microphone at the front of the bus and delivered Dominican versions of dad/knock-knock jokes to keep the crowd entertained. We laughed for hours as my mom told stories, and who once again made the best of a tough situation.
Today I am married. My husband Christopher is my spiritual leader, my best friend, and my calm. Our home is our happy bubble where we are just as excited to binge on super-hero shows as we are to put up dry wall or install a new bathroom sink. Chris never takes me for granted; he fills the silence with “I love you” and he helps me pull my dreams down from the clouds and into reality. He reminds me to put things back where they belong, to pray before I totally freak out, and to always let God.
Food is just one of my creative outlets. When I was in business school, I often cooked the night before a big exam. I’d invite all the smart students over to eat a good home-cooked meal and in return they’d help me cram formulas and concepts into the left side of my brain. One year after I graduated from business school, and promptly after inexplicably sobbing my way through Julie & Julia (movie), I quit my six-figure job and registered for Le Cordon Bleu Chicago. It was one of the boldest and scariest decisions I’ve ever made, yet one of the happiest times of my life.
I was also close to being very broke. I wasn’t working, my savings were dwindling, and I was barely making a check doing cooking classes. I started a blog but struggled with a long list of names for my identity. It was my best friend Carolina who came up with the identity, saying, “You’re like my best friend in the kitchen. You always know what to do. You’re like my Kitchen BFF.” This was followed by short silence, simultaneous “OMG’s” and an excited “that’s perfect!”
That was almost a decade ago. Today I’m re-launching Kitchen BFF with hopes of using this blog as my personal (yet public!) diary to share experiences that bring me to my creative place: love of family, home, and food.