Kitchen Table Capitalism

Let me share with you a story.

It begins not in a boardroom or Senate chamber, but in a kitchen. A cluttered, humble, lived-in kitchen.

Somewhere in rural Nevada, a mother stirs a bubbling pot of jam while her toddler naps. Down the road, a retired couple bakes biscottis and labels mason jars with handwritten care. In a Las Vegas apartment, a young immigrant turns her grandmother’s tamale recipe into a side hustle.

These aren’t just hobbyists playing chef—they’re entrepreneurs. Visionaries with spatulas. Capitalists with convection ovens. And thanks to Nevada’s newly passed Assembly Bill 352, they’ve finally been given something most Americans assume is already theirs: the legal right to earn a living from their own home.

And therein lies the real story. Because AB 352 isn’t just a food law. It’s a sovereignty law. A declaration that self-government starts at home, sometimes literally at the kitchen counter.

Nevada Governor Joe Lombardo’s signing of AB 352 this year might not have made front-page headlines, but it should have. The bill, passed unanimously through both chambers, modernizes Nevada’s outdated cottage food laws—raising the revenue cap from $35,000 to $100,000, permitting online and phone sales, and finally allowing mail or third-party delivery. It’s the kind of legislation that doesn’t just remove barriers—it quietly restores rights.

“These updates are not minor tweaks,” said Ellen Hamlett, Activism Associate at the Institute for Justice, the group that spearheaded much of the reform. “They’re the difference between a dream deferred and a dream realized.”
For those unfamiliar, cottage food laws govern what kinds of homemade food products can be legally sold without a commercial kitchen license. Think: cookies, cakes, jams, pickles—goods that don’t require refrigeration or complicated storage.

But under Nevada’s previous law, even these non-hazardous foods were hemmed in by outdated rules that left many aspiring cooks feeling more like outlaws than entrepreneurs.

“Selling cottage foods is one of the easiest and safest ways for people to start a small business,” Ellen told me. “It empowers individuals to build something for themselves using what they already have: their skills, their recipes, and their home.”

And in that, there’s something deeply American.

Look closer and you’ll see that AB 352 isn’t just about cookies and canning. It’s about reclaiming agency in an era where systems often seem rigged against the everyday person.

At its core, this is about free enterprise. A state saying: You don’t need to beg for permission to work. You don’t need to lease a commercial kitchen, file 40 permits, or pay thousands in startup capital to bake banana bread. You just need heart, hustle, and a clean counter.

It’s also about sovereignty. Not in the jingoistic, flag-waving sense but in the Taoist sense of self-rule. Of knowing your own rhythm. Of not needing an overlord to validate your worth. It’s about saying, “I can govern my own affairs—my business, my kitchen, my economic fate.”

And finally, it’s about self-government in the truest, Jeffersonian sense. Local people, deciding how to live. A legislature responding to its citizens. A reminder that democracy is not something handed down from Washington but is baked into our communities, literally and figuratively.

Perhaps the biggest game-changer in AB 352 is the increase of the revenue cap from $35,000 to $100,000. On paper, it might look like a simple number tweak. But dig into the economics, and you’ll see how transformational this really is.

“$35,000 in gross revenue isn’t much,” Ellen explained. “That’s not net profit. After supplies, packaging, booth fees, and ingredients, you’re lucky to walk away with a few thousand.”

In practical terms, the old cap forced entrepreneurs to either stunt their own growth or leap into commercial kitchens prematurely, often without the capital or clientele to sustain it. “It pushed people into high-risk, high-cost situations before they were ready,” she said.

The new cap gives breathing room. It lets Nevadans test products, build a loyal base, and scale organically.

And most importantly, it allows for a livelihood—not just a side hustle.

But the revolution doesn’t stop at the dollar sign. AB 352’s second major provision brings cottage food into the 21st century: legalizing online sales, phone orders, and mail delivery.

Prior to this reform, Nevada was one of just a few states that barred home-based food businesses from selling over the internet. That meant no Etsy storefronts, no Instagram orders, no rural delivery.
“You could be the best baker in Battle Mountain,” Ellen said, “but if someone in Reno wanted your cookies, you had to meet in person or not sell at all.”

That’s not just inconvenient. It’s discriminatory.

Think about the elderly, the disabled, the chronically ill, or the isolated. Think about the single mom who doesn’t have a car. The veteran who lives on tribal land miles from the nearest farmer’s market. For them, delivery isn’t a luxury; it’s a lifeline.

AB 352 recognizes that. It treats rural and urban Nevadans alike, acknowledging the reality that food and commerce in 2025 are often digital.

“There’s no evidence that online sales or delivery compromise safety,” Ellen said. “Most states already allow it without any problems. This law just brings Nevada up to speed with common sense.”

Who wins with this legislation?

The easy answer: everyone.

But if you look more closely, you’ll see that cottage food laws disproportionately benefit women, immigrants, stay-at-home parents, retirees, people with disabilities, and others for whom traditional employment is either inaccessible or undesirable.

It’s about dignified flexibility, which is a rare thing in today’s labor economy.

It’s about not needing to choose between caring for a loved one and earning an income.

It’s about cultural preservation. Many home cooks make traditional foods that are deeply tied to heritage—samosas, empanadas, challah, mochi. Under AB 352, those flavors can be shared more broadly, giving Nevada a richer, more connected food economy.

Laws like these don’t pass on their own. They happen because people push.

Ellen Hamlett knows this firsthand.

“When we began this campaign,” she told me, “Nevada’s law hadn’t been updated since 2013. Meanwhile, other states were expanding freedom—removing caps, allowing shipping, and broadening legal food categories. Nevada was falling behind.”

It was the producers themselves—home cooks, parents, artisans—who sparked the change. “The real momentum came from the entrepreneurs and advocates. They showed up. They told their stories. They made the legislature listen.”

Her voice softened. “Working on this bill was one of the most rewarding parts of my time at the Institute for Justice. It’s one thing to believe in liberty. It’s another to help someone live it.”

We’re living in a time where faith in government is low, inflation is high, and trust in big systems is eroding. The middle class is being squeezed, wages have stagnated, and the so-called “American Dream” feels like a nostalgia meme rather than a reality.

But what if we’ve been looking in the wrong places?

What if the future of American prosperity is not in giant corporations, tech unicorns, or government bailouts but in something much smaller and more human?

Something like a homemade jar of apple butter?

In Nevada, that’s not just food, it’s freedom.

So here’s the question: Could Nevada be the start of something bigger?

Ellen thinks so.

“This law is a great step, but there’s still work to be done,” she cautioned. “Nevada still limits the types of foods allowed. The revenue cap, while higher, still exists. Compare that to Arizona’s Tamale Bill, which removed restrictions on culturally significant foods. Or other states that have eliminated caps entirely.”

In other words: AB 352 is a strong foundation. But the real blueprint for reform? That’s still being drafted—by everyday people, in every state, at every kitchen table.

The Institute for Justice has already supported similar reforms in more than 25 states. But what makes Nevada’s story remarkable is its bipartisan nature. In a country increasingly divided, this law passed unanimously. Think about that. In 2025. Unanimously.

That’s what happens when policy touches real lives, not just talking points.

Let’s step back.

This story began in a kitchen. And maybe that’s exactly where the next American revolution will rise—not from the podium, but from the pantry.

AB 352 is a story of individual power. It’s about trusting people. It’s about embracing diversity, flavor, and grit. It’s about putting economic power back into the hands of the people who’ve always had the recipe but never the license.

If you care about free enterprise, support laws like this.

If you believe in self-government, demand reforms like this.

And if you’ve ever tasted a pie so good you wish the whole world could try it—well, now they can.

All it took was a little legislation, a lot of determination, and a whole lot of cinnamon.