We'd talked about building an app company for years.

We're Lindsay and Scott. Siblings, a graphic designer and a software developer, and the two people our family comes to with every "what app should I use for this?" question.

For years we'd talked about starting an app development company together. We just never had the time. Normal jobs, normal busy lives, and the idea kept living on the someday list. Then one day we decided to stop waiting and go for it.

The first thing we asked each other was: what app should we build first? We had one rule about it. Whatever we made had to be something we'd actually use ourselves. Something our family would use. Something our friends would use. That mattered to us more than anything.

And one idea checked every box. Because there was a question we'd both been getting for years. Our parents asked it. Our in-laws asked it. What's the best app for saving Grandma's handwritten recipe cards? For us, it was personal: how do we digitize Maw Maw's recipes? Everyone, it turned out, had a box or a drawer of them, and everyone was a little afraid of losing them.

So we went looking. We researched every recipe app we could find, and there wasn't a single one we felt good recommending. Some could import a recipe from a link. A few could even read handwriting off a card. But not one of them kept the card itself.

That was the dealbreaker. Because the card is the point.

The faded ink, the splatter marks, the handwriting that's unmistakably your grandmother's. That's a huge part of what gets passed down. A recipe is instructions. A recipe card is a person. Lose the card and you lose the part that mattered most.

The apps out there would digitize the recipe and quietly throw the original away. We wanted the exact opposite. Scan the card, pull out a clean recipe you can actually cook from, and keep a photo of the original attached to it forever. The handwriting of your grandparents, your great-grandparents, whoever wrote it down, saved for good.

No one was doing that. So we built it ourselves.

A lot of recipe apps are built around social sharing first. We built Tradish around the people you cook with. The original card stays with the recipe. You can write down the story behind the dish, tag the family member who taught you, and pass the whole thing on, handwriting and history intact. Your TikTok and Instagram saves come along for the ride, so everything lives in one place instead of five.

Every feature in Tradish started with one of us saying "I wish a recipe app could just..."

Meal plans that build the grocery list in about two minutes. Cook mode that keeps your spot and keeps the screen awake. Smart grocery lists that combine the olive oil from three recipes into one line, because we shouldn't be doing that math at the store.

The bar for every feature is the same: would we use it tomorrow night?

Scott built the engine. He wrote the backend, and it shows: the code is clean, the app is quick, and imports come in fast, accurate, and reliable, whether it's a link, a video, or a photo of a card. He was set on making something that just works.

Lindsay focused on how it feels to use. The functionality, the flow, the small stuff. She wanted Tradish to remind you of an actual cookbook, warmth and paper and good type, but modern where it counts. That's where the paper-texture background and the fonts came from. Every interaction is meant to feel easy, and she's constantly tweaking it to make it better as we go.

We're both a little obsessed with building apps that are fast, functional, and beautiful. Tradish is the first one we've made together, and we started here on purpose, because saving these recipes was a problem we watched people give up on. We're having a lot of fun building it. We hope you love using it as much as we love making it.