The tucked-away restaurant, the beautiful hotel, a shop you would never find on your own, the neighborhood worth wandering, the afternoon with absolutely nothing planned—I love figuring out the details that make a trip feel like it was made just for you. Get to know the story behind The Minetta Method and the approach that goes into every trip I design.
The Minetta Method was born from a small street in Greenwich Village, where I once lived and learned to appreciate New York not just as a visitor, but as a local. On Minetta Lane, tucked away in the Village, I came to understand that the character of a place often reveals itself in the details—the neighborhood café, the corner shop, the rhythm of a morning, the restaurant you return to, and the everyday rituals that make a place feel like home. That way of traveling stayed with me: rather than simply seeing a destination, I want to settle into it, understand what makes it special, and experience it on its own terms.
That philosophy is at the heart of The Minetta Method. Every trip begins with you—your interests, your pace, your hopes for your time away—but the destination has a voice in the planning, too. I look for the places and experiences that capture its character, while leaving room for the moments that can’t be planned at all. The result is travel that feels personal without feeling removed from the place you came to experience.
I believe in slowing down enough to experience a place beyond its highlights, with thoughtful planning that considers not only where you’re going, but how you’ll experience it along the way.
My love for thoughtfully designed travel started long before it became a business. My first itineraries began in none other than Branson, Missouri, where, at eight years old, I was already planning our annual trips with my grandfather down to the details. Looking back, it’s probably no surprise that the little girl mapping out our family adventures would grow up to create a travel design company.
Over the years, summers spent in Maine with my family, studying abroad in London, and living in New York City shaped the way I see travel. I began to understand that a place feels different when you move beyond the highlights and take the time to discover its rhythm, character, and everyday moments.
Somewhere along the way, I became the person making dinner reservations around sunset times, researching neighborhoods before arriving, and thinking about how each detail could shape the experience. For me, the planning became part of the joy. The research, discovery, and anticipation were just as exciting as the trip itself.
Over time, I came to appreciate that the most memorable moments of travel rarely come from simply checking off a list of landmarks. They happen in the slower moments in between: lingering over a meal, wandering a neighborhood, finding a place you never would have discovered from a guidebook, or simply settling into the pace of a place.
The Minetta Method is the culmination of that lifelong curiosity. It’s a way to share something I’ve loved for as long as I can remember: the excitement of discovering a place, figuring out how to experience it well, and creating a trip that feels like it was made just for you.
There’s just something about New York. It can take the most mundane moment—a walk to the subway, a coffee run, sitting on a park bench—and somehow make it feel extraordinary.
In 2005, we were staying in Queens when a subway strike left us stranded on the wrong side of the Queensboro Bridge. We somehow ended up getting into the backseat of a stranger’s car to cross the bridge. We couldn’t believe we were doing it. We also couldn’t believe we survived. Now we call it Uber.
We traveled on a shoestring budget and stayed in Airbnbs before anyone had really heard of Airbnb—back when it meant renting a room in someone’s apartment. Some of the best travel recommendations we’ve ever received came from those hosts, which is probably why I still believe the best way to experience a place is through a local’s lens.
Before The Minetta Method, I spent more than a decade as a speech-language pathologist. It may seem like a completely different world, but I think the two have more in common than you might expect: listening carefully, asking the right questions, and paying attention to the little things that make someone feel understood.
One minute, you’re stuffing a stroller into a bag that can barely zip and sweating as you try to remove car seats from the backseat as quickly as possible. And then before you know it, you’re walking proudly behind them as they roll their own suitcases with backpacks on their backs. Parents, I’m here to tell you: it does get easier—and it’s always worth it to take the trip.