Before you can truly understand “Que,” I need to let you in on a few things.

I haven’t been vegan my whole life.
Surprised? Don’t be.
It’s been about 18 years now—18 of the most eye-opening, transformative years of my life.

This isn’t a fancy story. There’s no fluff. Just my real life, as it happened.

They say kids will always show you what they’re called to do—if you pay attention. Everything we’re meant to be… we’re already born with it.

Close your eyes for a second.
Think about your childhood.
Not everything—but the parts that gave you pure joy… or left a mark of pain.

For me?
I remember Family.
I remember Love.
I remember Church.
I remember that the people around me were always helping someone else—no matter the cost. They gave, even when it hurt.
And I remember being told over and over again:
God is Good All the Time, and All the Time God is Good.

One of my most vivid childhood memories was seeing this little plastic kitchen set in the dime store—Kresge’s or Woolworth’s maybe. No bells. No whistles. But it was everything. We weren’t rich, but we were good. Never missed a meal, a holiday, or a flower dress (even though I couldn’t stand ‘em!).

I didn’t throw tantrums, but babyyyyy—I wanted that kitchen set so bad it might have been worth one. I never even said it out loud. But Momma (my grandma—okay, a saint) and Mommy (my Mommy Mommy, as in out-her-body Mommy) knew.

That Christmas?
I got it.

They gave me the kitchen.
But here’s the wild part:
They let me cook Christmas dinner on it—with real food.
REAL. FOOD.

That blue plastic cookware? That little play china set? They let me serve dressing, greens, mac n’ cheese (Momma’s, of course), sweet potatoes, turkey, cornbread—the whole spread—from my little kitchen.

I couldn’t tell you how old I was. Maybe 5.
But I remember the feeling.
Like the moment I knew—this is it. This is who I am.

Fast forward a bit.
I never set out to be a chef. I never dreamed of starting my own business. That’s just not what people in my family did.

But what changed everything… was getting sick.

Under 30, and it felt like my body was falling apart.
Always sick. Constant sinus infections. Rashes. Eczema that made me want to scratch with bricks. Pneumonia like it was nothing. After my second pregnancy—boom: asthma. I coughed like I’d smoked 20 packs a day. Then, one morning, I woke up and I couldn’t walk. My feet looked like I had elephantiasis. My ankles and calves were so swollen, Mommy and Daddy had to carry me to the hospital.

And no one knew what was wrong.

Every test came back inconclusive. I was living a real-life episode of House—and not the fun kind. Finally, a specialist ordered a lung biopsy.

That’s when I heard it:
Stage 4 Sarcoidosis.
And on top of that?
A severe dairy allergy.

I was floored.
Most of the medications they had me on included dairy—no wonder I wasn’t getting better. And now they were adding steroids.
2–3 times a day.
I remember thinking, “They are going to kill me.”

So I did what any graduate of Google University would do:
I researched. I obsessed.
And everything I found pointed to going plant-based.

I wanted to scream.

How was I supposed to go vegan?!
Momma made the best Mac n’ Cheese on earth!
And now dairy was trying to take me out?

Still, I knew I had to try.
So I jumped.

I started swapping out ingredients. Changed my fridge. My pantry. My mindset. No more processed junk. No more chemicals I couldn’t pronounce. No more sugar, just dates and agave. I created new versions of all my favorite foods—vegan versions. The switch wasn’t as hard as I thought.

And then—
It started working.

In 30 days, my cough disappeared.
In 60, the rashes were gone.
By 90, I didn’t feel like I was living in someone else’s skin anymore.

I felt alive again.
Food was healing me.
Why wasn’t anyone teaching this?!

People started asking questions. They wanted recipes. They wanted help. They wanted to feel better too. I didn’t want to push veganism—I just wanted folks to understand the power of eating to live.

So I started a blog:
Cooking with Que: A place where Vegans and Meateaters Co-Exist.
That was the goal. Not judgment. Just information. Inspiration. Transformation.

But then…

Momma got sick.

Stage 4 lung cancer.
My best friend. My second mom. My heart.

I watched them prescribe her meds. Chemo. Radiation.
No one mentioned food. No one mentioned fighting from the inside.
I did what I could—brought her teas, herbs, soursop… but she was in her 80s. Stubborn. Strong. “I’ve been eating this way my whole life.” That’s what she’d say.

And so I had to watch… as the medicine stole her away.

That hurt in a way I can’t even describe.
She was the one who always told me, “Quiana, people are going to know your name all over this world.”
She wanted to be a nurse. She left nursing school to raise a family.
She used to say, “I wish I would have…”

I never wanted to say that.
And I never want anyone else to feel that either.

Momma passed on February 19, 2017.
And that day, I wanted to give up.
But I didn’t.

Because her voice still rings in my head:
“Keep God first, and you’ll be fine.”
“Put on red lipstick, even when it’s hard.”
“Don’t wish you would have. Just do it.”

That’s what I carry.
That’s what I teach.
That’s what I live.

This isn’t just food.
This is faith.
This is legacy.
This is Crazy Faith.
And this is just the beginning.