The food that raised us

The food that raised us

From the kitchens that raised us.

I'm Evelin. I sit down with families, cook what they grew up on, and write down the dishes, recipes and kitchen memories that feel like home—then turn some of them into shirts you can keep and wear.

We measure memories in meals.

A worn wooden kitchen table with a handwritten recipe card, a folded shirt and the makings of a family meal.
The table, the card, the shirt

Some places never had a gift shop.

You can buy a magnet from every airport and a tea towel from every museum. But the places people most want to bring something home from don't sell anything: your mother's kitchen, your grandmother's table, the bakery two streets over, the grocery where the shopkeeper knew your family's order, the restaurant that closed.

Your mother's kitchen never had a gift shop. So we made one.

Hands working at a crowded kitchen table, mid-preparation, with bowls and cloths pushed to the edges.

The story this month

Manila classic adobo — better tomorrow

Manila classic · Philippines

It's the studio's written recipe — our Manila classic kitchen version — not a family card. I want the distinction visible: a recipe is somewhere to begin, not permission to invent the people who taught it.

Underline step three — do not stir: five minutes is not a long time, but standing beside a pot of adobo, it is a small eternity.

Read the full story
Mama's Lumpia shirt design

The shirt made from this story

Mama's Lumpia

$33

See the design
Front of the Lumpia recipe card: a handwritten letter.
Philippines · Card front · 1 of 2

The Kimchi film

Many hands, one jar.

Watch the film & read the Kimchi story
A Table Stories Studio film · AI-animated scenes, not footage of a contributed family.

Explore by kitchen

The food that raised us

Each kitchen opens onto its own pages: the dishes, the stories we have gathered so far, the recipes, and the shirts that came out of them.

How a story becomes an object

How a story becomes a shirt

Nothing starts with a shirt. It starts with somebody telling us about a dish.

  1. 01

    A family shares a dish

    Usually a conversation, sometimes a photographed card.

  2. 02

    The memory is written down

    Who cooked it, when, where, and what was said around it.

  3. 03

    The details are researched

    Names, spellings, regional variations, and what the dish means where it comes from — checked back with the contributor.

  4. 04

    We draw our interpretation

    Line art and a two-colour composition in the studio's own hand, never a photograph of somebody's family.

  5. 05

    The story becomes a shirt

    The finished design goes into the shop; the story and recipe stay free to read.

Wear the story

Carry the story with you

Shirts are where we started. Each one names a dish, a kitchen and a place.

See all 6 designs
Mama's Pho t-shirt design — Hanoi Style, Slurp loud, love louder

Mama's Pho

Pho · Vietnam

Slurp loud, love louder

$33

More coming

One dish a week, made the same slow way.

The Table Stories Studio banner: the studio seal beside its name and the line, we measure memories in meals.

The studio

The person pulling up the chairs

Evelin Weber founded Table Stories to collect and keep the foods, family rituals and kitchen memories people carry with them. She does the asking, the listening and the writing: finding the families, cooking alongside them, checking the details, and introducing each story properly.

The people and the kitchens are the subject. She just sets the table.

Why I started Table Stories

Share your dish

What food immediately takes you home?

A dish, a memory, a family saying, a card in somebody's handwriting. Everything here started with somebody telling us about a dish.

Want to learn a family recipe, but unsure how to ask? Start with one dish and a little time together.

How to ask your mom for the recipe — free guide

We read everything that arrives. Some entries become stories, with your permission first. Sending a dish doesn't mean it becomes a product.

The monthly letter

Pull up a chair.

One letter a month: a family story, a recipe, and the story behind the next shirt.

One letter a month. Unsubscribe any time; your address is never sold or shared.