Hi there! I’m Julia, the carnivore-keto queen behind Julia’s Green Kitchen—except it’s less “green” these days and more “red” with all the juicy steak I’m grilling. I’m the cook, butcher, photographer, and videographer here, grinding my own meat (and flour when I’m feeling extra homestead-y). Welcome to my wild, raw-dairy-fueled corner of the internet!
I hail from a small Russian mountain town surrounded by hot springs and mineral waters so potent they could probably cure a hangover—or at least make you feel fancy while soaking in them. Growing up, I feasted on the freshest Caucasus grub—think epic meats and rustic flavors mixed with a splash of international flair. The unmatched hospitality and nose-to-tail cooking of my homeland lit a fire under my apron, sparking a lifelong obsession with food and feeding folks.
I started cooking as a kid, helping my mom and grandma wrestle dinner onto the table. With cash tight and ingredients scarce, I mastered the art of stretching a ruble and swapping stuff out—sometimes accidentally inventing a whole new dish when the recipe went AWOL. My family, friends, and neighbors became my guinea pigs, bravely chowing down on my culinary experiments.
Then I moved to the US after college, and holy cow (literally), the food scene blew my mind! From sushi to pierogies, I dove into it all, but my heart stayed with the farm-fresh vibes. I used to haunt farmers’ markets like a veggie-obsessed ghost—now I’m more likely to be found haggling over a side of beef or raw A2 cream from some grizzled homesteader.
My husband and I thought we were living the “healthy dream”—salads, lean protein, carbs, and a classy glass of wine. Sure, we’d sneak some fast-food yumminess now and then, but who doesn’t? We exercised, hugged trees, and recycled like champs. Then BAM—health gremlins hit. Hand eczema, kid allergies, gut woes—you name it, we had it. Doctors shrugged, peddled steroids, and told me my son would “outgrow” his issues by 2… then 3… then 5. Spoiler: he didn’t. I was done with “swap your soap” excuses and pricey tests that led nowhere.
So, I went full carnivore-keto renegade. One day, I stormed home, grabbed a trash bag, and yeeted half my pantry—sugar, gluten, processed junk—gone. Plan B? Figure it out with meat, raw dairy, and a grinder. Food’s not just calories; it’s primal intel for your body. I ditched the veggie-heavy life (sorry, kale) and leaned hard into ribeyes, organs, and butter churned on my counter. I still grind my own flour from nuts or seeds when I’m feeling fancy, but let’s be real—meat’s the star here.
I’m no nutritionist, just a homesteading mama who learned the hard way. My recipes are meat-heavy, raw-dairy-blessed, and veggie-light—think nose-to-tail goodness with a side of “I milked this myself.” Table sugar? Outlaws in my kitchen. Dairy? Raw, organic A2, straight from the udder. I’ll show you how to whip up feasts that are quick, delicious, and make you feel like a Viking—minus the pillaging.
My guinea pigs—er, family and friends—test every recipe. My kids love getting their hands dirty in the kitchen, sneaking scraps of liver or bacon while “helping” me. You’ll catch them in my videos, giggling as they lick the spoon (don’t worry, it’s usually just tallow).
This blog’s also about baring my soul over a sizzling skillet. I’m here to connect, not preach. We’re all chasing that warm, fuzzy feeling of belonging, right? Well, nothing says “I get you” like a shared rack of ribs. No judgment—just real talk and real food. I’m not here to boss your plate; I’m here to share what turned my family’s health around, one bite at a time.
So, grab a steak knife and join me. Hope you enjoy chewing the fat—literally and figuratively—with this carnivore-keto twist. Let’s homestead, grind, and eat our way to feeling badass—because life’s too short for limp lettuce and soggy excuses!
