How one woman used a cookbook club to build a new community in North Carolina after spending two decades in Los Angeles
by Molly Schoneveld 

When I moved back to North Carolina two years ago after 23 years in Los Angeles, I expected a little bit of culture shock. I had grown up in Albemarle, after all, but hadn’t actually lived in the South since I graduated from the University of North Carolina Greensboro in 1999. That summer, my dad and I drove across the country — all 2,437 miles — to drop me off at a house in Studio City, where I’d be living with the daughter of my mom’s friend and her actress roommate. I’d only met them once before, on a quick scouting trip over spring break.

Aside from the guilt I had knowing that I broke both my parents’ hearts as their only child moving that far away, that first day in Los Angeles was one of the best days of my life. I was living my dream! Much to my family’s dismay, I did not come home after a few months. Instead, I spent decades building a life on the West Coast.

Though I now feel like an Angeleno in many ways, North Carolina never leaves you. I gravitated toward other Southerners who’d moved there around the same time. We spoke the same language — we said y’all and called our mamas — and ate pimento cheese and biscuits, foods that seemed foreign in a place known for sushi and Chinese chicken salads. I met my (non-Southern) husband at church in Los Angeles, and we built a life together.

But during the pandemic, we decided our tenure out West was done. We needed to be closer to our parents at this time in their lives. So we packed up our tiny townhouse, the one we saved for years to buy, and bought a much larger house in Raleigh. We were starting over, but no longer as 20-somethings with nothing to lose.

My husband and I both work from home, and we don’t have kids, so that meant we were missing the most common ways people build community: water-cooler banter and school sports. I kept asking myself the same question: How do you find your people as a grown-up in a new place?
It was a friend who had gone through a similar transition, moving from Los Angeles to Denver, who challenged me. What are you willing to do, she asked, to get the community you say you want?

That question inspired me to come up with an action plan. After all, I was pretty sure friends weren’t just going to magically appear at our door. (Other than our neighbors, who actually did — and whom I can never repay for the hospitality they’ve shown us.)

I thought about it. I’ve always loved cooking for people. In my 20s, I would pile a million friends in my apartment on Sunday nights and feed them like I was the dorm mother, trying out recipes like my godmother’s seafood chowder or stuffed pasta shells. After we got married, my husband and I would entertain for special occasions, like Friendsgiving, but space was always an issue for hosting a group.

But here in Raleigh, we have space! We have an actual dining room where I can seat 10 people comfortably and a huge kitchen island where we can chat over food prep.

So, inspired by a cookbook club that another friend had started years ago, I decided to start my own. It’s sort of like a book club, but you read a cookbook, and when you meet up, everyone brings a dish. Not only is it a great way to try multiple recipes from the same book, but it’s also an easy way to entertain, since it’s basically a potluck. (No need to even put out hors d’oeuvres, because someone is bringing those!) Around the table, you talk about what you liked in the book, which recipes didn’t quite work, what you’d make again, etc. — instant icebreaker.

But first, of course, I needed some members. I decided to try inviting a women’s coffee group that I’d joined when we first moved here. I’d only gone a few times, and barely knew most of the people, but I sent the text anyway. To my surprise and delight, folks were interested! A month later, I found 10 amazing women around my table, some of whom I’d never even met.

For the first dinner, I chose a cookbook called Big Night by Katherine Lewin that was getting a lot of press at the time. One woman brought wine from her family’s vineyard along with Lewin’s Big Chopped Salad; another brought Sabzi Polo with Tahdig (a Persian herb rice with a crispy bottom that looks really fancy and tastes even better).

Someone else, with tons of ambition, made the Bulgogi-ish Lettuce Wraps, all professionally displayed on a huge wooden cutting board. It was really fun because many of us shared photos of what we were making ahead of the party, so it got everyone excited for the big spread we were about to have. We learned that while some of the harder dishes were delicious, you can’t go wrong with deviled eggs and a green onion dip (also in the book). 

Since then, we’ve cooked from Ina Garten’s Go-To Dinners, where I made her Grilled Porterhouse Steak with Rosemary and Fennel (you can’t believe how easy and impressive it is!) and I introduced the group to my favorite London chef, Yotam Ottolenghi, through Ottolenghi Simple (the safest way to start with his recipes, which can be intense with a million ingredients).

The Watermelon Salad with Green Tahini Sauce was a standout — so good, in fact, my friend Thea made it again at a later dinner party. Though we loved everything from the Spinach and Gorgonzola Stuffed Jacket Potatoes to the Shrimp and Corn Fritters, everyone raved over the Vanilla Custard with Roasted Strawberries and Rhubarb for dessert.

Going out to dinner is lovely, but when you’re in someone’s home, there’s an intimacy that helps you get to know someone on a deeper level. What candle do they have burning? What’s on the playlist? Are they cloth-napkin people? These details tell you what they value, how they want you to feel and even how they see themselves. It’s a kind of unspoken storytelling that opens the door to vulnerability, generosity and real connection.

What began as a casual idea has become a bimonthly ritual, a stress-free dinner party that’s also an education in trying something new in the kitchen. Over the last year of having our cookbook club, I think we would all agree that more complicated cooking doesn’t always mean more enjoyable. Simple dishes made with fresh, in-season ingredients almost always steal the show.

I’ve also learned to let go a little — to focus less on the presentation (though I did make a signature cocktail for the first one) and more on the experience; to make sure I’m actually relaxed when guests walk through the door.

But I’ve also learned that the real secret ingredient to these dinners is not what’s on the table — it’s who’s around it. Over the past year, the cookbook club has allowed me to connect with a group of entrepreneurial, curious, whip-smart women who are doing all the things and still making time for each other. We talk about work, motherhood (or not), burnout and ambition. We trade ideas, referrals and, of course, leftovers.

Just as I’d hoped, this cookbook club built something I very much needed: a circle of women who are becoming my new tribe here in Raleigh. 

This article originally appeared in the September 2025 issue of WALTER magazine.