Yallright - Southern Porch Kitchen

03/09/2026

Two years ago today, September 4th, 2024, I lost my Momma.

And I still don’t really know how to write those words.

I was here in England on holiday, visiting my husband and my son, when she died. I didn’t get to be there. I didn’t get to hold her hand. I didn’t get to tell her goodbye.

Her memorial didn’t happen until after I had moved here, and by then I couldn’t afford to fly back to the States. So I missed that too.

I think not getting to say goodbye has wreaked a little havoc on my brain ever since. There’s a part of me that still hasn’t quite figured out what to do with the fact that she’s gone.

Because I want my Momma back.

She was something special.

I don’t remember her having a cross word for anybody unless you really, really pushed her past the point. She had the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever known. And above everything else, she believed in family.

She believed you always had a home.

It didn’t matter how old you were. It didn’t matter how far away you had gone. It didn’t matter what had happened or what circumstances you found yourself in.

You could always come home.

There are a million little things I miss, and somehow, even after two years, I keep remembering new ones.

I remember her hands. Momma had the softest hands. I loved holding them. Of all the things a person thinks they’re going to remember when somebody is gone, I don’t think I ever expected something as simple as the way her hands felt to become so precious to me.

I remember her love of old musicals. Singin’ in the Rain. Easter Parade. She loved Evita. And her favorite movie was Somewhere in Time. When Dad took her to Mackinac Island and she got to visit the Grand Hotel, the excitement in her eyes was something you couldn’t match.

I remember watching her when I was growing up and having absolutely no appreciation for how much she did.

Momma went back to work when I was ten. She worked full time, came home, went upstairs, changed out of her work clothes, came right back downstairs and started dinner.

Like clockwork.

There was no sitting down for an hour first. No debate about what everybody wanted. Momma made dinner. You ate what she made or you didn’t eat it. 😂 She loved you with her whole heart, but she was NOT a short-order cook.

And now I understand how tired she must have been.

Funny how growing older lets you see your parents as people in a way

03/09/2026

03/09/2026

Wow, y'all...the Thursday market is growing!! Check out the vendor line up and come see us tomorrow...ummm...later on today. 🤣😉🧡🌼

02/09/2026

Can't wait to be back to the Ivybridge Artisan Market on Saturday! 930am until 1pm in the The Watermark, Ivybridge, 2nd floor!!

02/09/2026

Can't afford to pay anyone...YET...but built this crazy dream off nothing but a wing and a prayer....and some curse words...more curse words than money, but I'm still going!

For our small business friends out there, we see you. You’re all badasses 🫶🏼

02/09/2026

Well, y’all… today’s Clay Factory pop-up is officially CANCELLED. 😭

I’m sick, and as much as I hate doing it, I need to stay home today and get myself sorted.

BUT — I’ll be back at the Clay Factory next Wednesday!

And more importantly… I HAVE BAKED GOODS TO MOVE NOW. 😂

So please come find me TOMORROW at Ivybridge Market in Glanville’s Mill car park from 9am–3pm! I’ll be there with plenty of goodies that were supposed to be finding homes today.

See y’all tomorrow. ❤️

Jen
Y’allright?

01/09/2026

Thirty days.

That's about how long I have before I need to submit my next visa application.

And I don't really know what the point of this post is, other than I think I need to say out loud that I'm scared.

I've done nothing wrong. I've followed the rules. I've built a life here. I came here for a reason, and over the last couple of years I've worked really hard to become part of this community — not just to live here, but to belong here.

I have a husband here. A home here. Friends here. A business here. People I care about here. Places where people know my name. A little corner of Devon that has become my life.

But when your ability to stay in that life ultimately comes down to an application and someone else's decision, it's hard not to feel vulnerable.

And if I'm being completely truthful, the current state of both of the countries I belong to doesn't exactly leave me with an overwhelming sense of security about much of anything.

So the next 30 days are going to be a lot.

And then there will be the waiting.

I keep telling myself I'm fine. That there's no reason to worry. That I've done what I'm supposed to do.

But apparently my brain and my heart haven't received that memo.

I'm anxious. I'm emotional. I'm scared. Some days I'm probably going to be a little more tense than usual. And I'm carrying around feelings about all of this that I'm not entirely sure what to do with yet.

Maybe that's why I'm writing this.

Not because I need anyone to fix it. Not because I'm looking for answers. And certainly not because I want anyone to tell me everything will definitely be okay, because none of us can know that.

Maybe I just don't want to carry all of it quietly.

I've spent a lot of my life trying to figure out where I belong.

And somewhere along the way, this little place in Devon became home.

I really, really hope I get to keep calling it that. ❤️

31/08/2026

A little something I’ve been thinking about putting out there…

At one point, I was offered an opportunity to act as a bit of a resource and sounding board for American and UK bakers trying to navigate the differences between baking—and running a baking business—on opposite sides of the pond.

That opportunity never quite came to fruition, so I’ve decided I’m just going to offer it myself.

Because here’s the thing: moving from America to England and starting a food business has been a WHOLE different kettle of fish.

Different regulations. Different terminology. Different ingredients. Different measurements. Different equipment. Different expectations. And recipes that absolutely do not always behave the same way when you simply swap cups for grams and hope for the best.

I’ve spent well over a year navigating all of it, largely on my own.

I’ve converted American recipes from cups and volume measurements into workable gram-based recipes. I’ve figured out ingredient substitutions and where to source American ingredients in the UK. I’ve learned which British ingredients actually ARE equivalent to their American counterparts—and which ones absolutely are not. And I’ve navigated the process of setting up and operating a food business here in England as someone who wasn't born here.

So I’m putting this out there:

🇺🇸 If you’re an American baker trying to understand how things work in the UK…

🇬🇧 If you’re a UK baker trying to tackle an American recipe or understand American ingredients and measurements…

🌎 Or if you’re another baker who has moved between the two countries and you’re staring at something thinking, “What on earth am I supposed to do with THIS?”

Ask me.

Recipe conversions. Cups to grams. Ingredient sourcing. Ingredient equivalents. Baking terminology. Differences I’ve encountered in setting up and running a baking business here. Or simply, “Have you dealt with this before?”

I might have.

And if I have, I’m happy to tell you what I learned.

There’s no price tag attached to this. I’m not launching a course or selling a consultation package. 😂 I’ve just spent a lot of time figuring this stuff out the hard way, and it seems silly to keep all of that information to myself when it might make somebody else’s road a little easier.

I’m not a solicitor, accountant or food-safety officer, so when it comes to legal or regulatory matters I can only share my own experience and point you toward the right official resources—but I CAN tell you what navigating it as an American baker building a food business in England has actually been like.

My inbox is open.

If I can save another baker a little time, a little money, or one of those “WHY DOESN’T THIS INGREDIENT EXIST HERE?!” meltdowns…

I’m happy to help. ❤️

31/08/2026

This table weighs 80 pounds.

EIGHTY. POUNDS. 😂

And when I was packing up my life in America to move to England, there were probably plenty of sensible reasons why a ridiculously heavy, solid oak library table from the 1950s did not need to make the journey with me.

But there was never really a question.

Because this isn’t just a table.

I remember my daddy sitting at this table doing his work after he got rid of his old roll-top desk.

I remember him using it, later, as a crafting table.

Fast forward 20 years, and, I used this same table for my own work, decorating cookies on it back in the States.

There are years of our lives in this wood.

So when it came time to decide what crossed the ocean with me and what stayed behind, I couldn’t leave it.

I packed Daddy’s table into my crate, brought all 80 ridiculous pounds of it to England... and then it sat wrapped up in our shed for the next two and a half years.

Until today.

Today, Daddy’s table made another little journey.

It went up to the Clay Factory.

Because I’m finally starting to put together the Y’allright? decorating classroom, and classes are coming.

Soon, y’all are going to be sitting around my daddy’s old library table decorating cookies and cakes, learning something new, laughing, talking, making a mess and—hopefully—making some memories of your own.

And THAT is why I hold on to things.

I’m not interested in living in the past. But I do believe in carrying the good pieces of it forward.

I love things that have a story.

Recipes handed down through families. Furniture with scratches and marks from the people who used it before us. Traditions that get passed from one generation to another. The stories behind the things we make, the people we meet, and the connections we make along the way.

I don’t want everything shiny and new.

Sometimes I want the old table.

The one my daddy sat at.

The one my family sat at for nightly meals.

The one I decorated cookies at.

The one that travelled from America to Devon because I simply couldn’t leave it behind.
And now, the one where people will gather around Y’allright? and make a whole new collection of memories.

I cannot begin to tell you how happy that makes me.

Daddy’s table finally has its next chapter. 🧡

31/08/2026

🧡 WE’RE ON THE MAP, Y’ALL! 🧡

Have y’all heard of Map My Cake?

It’s an online map dedicated to finding all those wonderful little cake sheds, honesty boxes, treat boxes, farm stands and hidden foodie stops dotted around the UK — and the Y’allright? Goody Box is officially on there! 🙌

I absolutely love this idea. Not just because you can now find our little Goody Box on the map, but because it’s such a brilliant way to discover and support small, independent businesses when you’re out and about.

Going on a day trip? Heading somewhere for the weekend? Fancy finding a little cake shed you didn’t know existed? Have a nose at the map and see what’s nearby.

And if you spot Y’allright? on there… yep, that’s us! 🧡

Southern American favourites, British classics, nostalgic treats and good old-fashioned homemade baking, tucked away in our little corner of Ivybridge.

I’ll pop the Map My Cake link below so you can have a look — and maybe plan yourself a little cake-shed road trip while you’re at it. 😂

Welcome to the map, Goody Box! 🧡