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Elle Palmer Winterrowd, Carmen’s
This place is named after my grandma, but it’s built for everyone who walks through the door.
I was born and raised in Lebanon. Aside from four years at SBU in Bolivar for college, this has always been home. Both of my parents are educators. My mom still teaches, and my dad was a coach before he retired. So I pretty much lived at schools growing up.
I didn’t have a big plan when I went to college. I started out in general education, then explored accounting and math, even thought I might teach. Eventually, I landed on business management. I wasn’t sure what I’d do with it, but when I graduated, my dad was building Mighty Oak, so I came back home and helped launch that. I worked there for six years.
Baking actually started for me in college, in my little apartment. I made things for friends and roommates, and it just took off. I created a name and a logo, sort of playing around with what I was learning in business classes, and I stuck with it. After college, I worked in the wedding industry for a while, then got connected with Nancy Hall at A Taste of Andy’s. That’s when I realized how much I really loved the food side of things.
I left Mighty Oak, worked with Nancy full time, then even taught math for a couple of years, because why not? But eventually, I came back to food. We launched a bakery food truck last year. It wasn’t a huge financial investment, so we decided to try it out. I loved it, but I missed having a stable space. I wanted a room that didn’t move every time I took a step.
Before the 229 Project was ever a thing, my husband and I had looked at the building Carmen’s is in now. I kept seeing it as a bakery in my mind. It just had that look. But the timing wasn’t right. We were preparing to launch the food truck, and I didn’t think I could do both. So we walked away. Then, months later, the 229 Project was announced, and it was that same building. I applied within 30 minutes of the posting.
Getting chosen felt surreal. I wanted it badly, but I also didn’t want to force anything that wasn’t meant to be. I wanted to follow the path God had for me. When we found out we’d won, I told my husband, “This doesn’t even feel real.” But the doors kept opening, and the True family has been incredible. I call it a ‘true blessing’ – no pun intended, but kind of.
Carmen’s is named after my grandmother. She and my aunt passed down their love for baking and hosting. They always took care of others first, often eating last, or standing in the kitchen while everyone else sat down. That spirit is the heart of this place. I want Carmen’s to be generational. I want it to feel calm, welcoming, and full of love. It’s not just for me or my family. It’s for Lebanon.
We’ve only been open since March, but it already feels like we’ve been through so much. We’re learning what people want, figuring out our rhythm, and dreaming ahead. I want to grow, maybe wholesale or catering in the future, but I’m committed to doing it one step at a time.
I’m a dreamer, for sure. My husband is the realist. I’ll look at a brick wall and have a hundred ideas. He’s the one asking which ones we can actually do. Together, we balance each other out.
We have a two-year-old, and he loves mama’s cookies. Running a business with a toddler is chaos sometimes, but I’ve tried really hard to set boundaries. I want to be present here, and at home. That means taking time off and not letting the business consume me. I’ve seen what happens when you don’t set boundaries in your life.
Nancy Hall has been my biggest mentor through all of this. She’s my rock and my cheerleader. I wouldn’t be here without her, or without the True family, or without my own family’s support. I’ve been blessed by so many people, and I want Carmen’s to give back in return.
One of our goals this year is to track our cookie count. When we hit our 10,000th cookie sold, we’re planning a huge giveaway. We’ve been given so much, we just want to find ways to give it back.
I hope this place is still here years from now. I hope my son grows up in it the way I grew up in kitchens with my grandma. And I hope people keep walking through the door and feeling like they’re home.
Elle Palmer Winterrowd, Carmen’s
