This piece originally appeared in SAVEUR’s Spring/Summer 2026 issue. See more stories from Issue 206.
I can only vaguely remember the night I met Mariana, but I was drawn to her instantly. I don’t recall what we were celebrating or what time of year it was, but some friends had put on a small dinner that eventually turned into a dance party. It was one of those meals where everyone’s cooked something special, music is playing, drinks are flowing, and platters of artfully arranged food are piled high on a candlelit table. It was a fabulous fusion of creative and culinary worlds, and that’s exactly where Mariana Velásquez resides.
Originally from Bogotá, Colombia, Mariana has spent more than two decades bridging the worlds of food and art, working as a chef, stylist, housewares designer, and creative director. She authored Colombiana, a cookbook celebrating her heritage, and recently released Revel: A Maximalist’s Guide to Having People Over, complete with menus and game plans covering everything from shopping to meal prep to setting up the ideal ambience.
Mariana is knowledgeable when it comes to food, style, and entertaining, but the thing that makes her so special is how natural it all feels. I love the way she brings her culture and family into her work, and how effortlessly she makes you feel like you’re a part of it. Whether we’re cooking all day in the kitchen or chatting on the bench in front of my shop on New York’s Orchard Street, it’s enriching just to be in her presence. It’s the same to hear her describe her kitchen in Cartagena—a laboratory for bringing these various elements of her life together and transforming them into something utterly original. Mariana’s work is building worlds, and it’s a gift to be brought into the one she’s built for herself.
Beverly Nguyen: What was it that brought you into the world of food?
Mariana Velásquez: For me, very early on, maybe I was 14, I realized you could be a chef—like that was a career—and I started looking into it. My parents thought I wasn’t serious because, you know, Food Network wasn’t around yet. Chefs were not celebrities in the way that some are now, and there were no cooking schools in Colombia. But I thought, that is what I’m going to do—I’m going to become very good at cooking. But I always knew that it was about the art and the history and the ritual and the ceremony around the table. I didn’t know how to get there, but I knew I needed to start somewhere and cooking was it.
Where did you first start cooking?
At that point, you could still go knock at a restaurant’s back door and be like, “Can I come in and peel carrots for the day?” You could stage. I moved to New York City and I cooked everywhere—I mean, I peeled carrots everywhere. It was a one-day, two-day thing, and you were exposed to this world. You were like a fly on the wall. Then I moved to Big Sur, California, via Carmel. I knew the owners of the Post Ranch Inn, and I cooked there for a year and a half. And then I went to cooking school.
Where do you think your appreciation for cooking came from?
Honestly, food was always such a big part of my family. My mom has a housewares business with several beautiful boutiques—the art of the table made her career. And my grandmother, too; she was always in the kitchen cooking something. She was all about making the food, and my mother was all about the mise en scene, the display, the flowers, the table settings, the entertainment.
So you really grew up around this. What are some of your earliest memories around food?
Right away, I think about limes being zested. It’s such a particular scent that takes me back to the kitchen at my mom’s and my grandmother’s in Bogotá. Even today, I grate limes and it transports me. My grandmother used to make this dessert—the recipe was probably from the back of a sweetened condensed milk can—and it was a layered dessert with crackers and lime cream.
What was your grandmother like?
She always wore pencil skirts. She wore silk blouses with a bow. And she would put on short heels and an apron. No matter what she was doing, she was always fabulous. She had short, lilac hair. She was so beautiful, and was also someone who wasn’t afraid of doing all the work. She would wake up at 5 a.m., grind the corn, and do all the things. She loved making things with her hands, and she had an amazing garden. She wasn’t afraid to get in there.
What was her kitchen like?
It was really the kitchen of my childhood. To me it seemed huge, it had something like a 12-burner stove, and it had this avocado green tile. Big countertops, and this little breakfast nook, which is where she would set me up so I could sit on the bench and help her cook. She would give me small tasks all the time. She always had things cooking, pots bubbling; she was making preserves, cooking tamales, preparing elaborate dishes all the time.
And how has that informed your kitchen today? I imagine some merging of your grandmother’s attitude and your mother’s creativity.
You know, my kitchen is not my grandmother’s, which was really used for others; it’s a kitchen for me. And it’s very particular. It’s in a historic apartment in the walled city of Cartagena, on Colombia’s Caribbean coast. The apartment has been in my family for many years, and then I took it over and renovated it. And the kitchen is like my little lab. It’s not like my kitchen in New York, where I host and cook—this is a place where I cook for myself and maybe two more people because it’s tiny. I chose all the materials carefully. I get to cook with ingredients I don’t have access to in New York. When I’m here, I’m drawing, I’m cooking, I’m experimenting, I’m reading a lot. It’s very self-nurturing.
I love that. What inspired the materials you chose?
I borrowed things from local architecture. It’s an old, old building that used to be a warehouse, so it has very high ceilings, and it sits right in front of the wall that surrounds the city. The structures attached to the walls of the old city are called Las Bóvedas, or “the vaults,” and there are all of these broad, beautiful arches in white and mustard yellow. In the apartment, I really stayed true to the tiles, to the limewash walls, to using local stones so it felt like you’re here as opposed to anywhere else in the world.
Tell me more about the details.
We built these—I don’t know what they’re called. In Spanish, we call it mampostería, or masonry—these modular, cement-work cabinets built into the walls. I went with travertine, a natural stone that requires a bit of maintenance, for the countertops and the sink, and I sealed it by hand. I just give it a good buff every time I go by. There’s a little oven hidden beneath the stove, and the fridge is hidden behind a door. It just ruins the visuals. And a lot of the textiles are my own design, from my brand Casa Velásquez.
When you’re cooking for people here, what are you usually making?
Typically I start with ceviche. And lately I’ve been making a cocktail with this incredible palm fruit called corozo. It’s super sour, kind of like a cranberry or a lingonberry, and very dark. I boil it to make an infusion and mix that with gin or mezcal. And then I’ll sauté shrimp and garlic with some really good tomatoes, plus bread and fresh avocados. And that’s it. I keep it super simple. When I do have people over, it’s two or three max. I can take out all of my textiles and really enjoy it—I can use everything I have.
It brings me so much comfort to be here, especially after a particularly difficult year. I usually only come for a few weeks, but this year I skipped winter in N.Y.C. I was here for all of December and January. It’s my core, a place that doesn’t change, a little refuge to come back to.
Recipes
Sea Bass Aguachile With Grapefruit
Rice Arepas With Smoked Trout
The post In Cartagena, a Stylist Creates the Kitchen of Her Dreams appeared first on Saveur.
