How to Start a Podcast of Your Own

Or at least, how I did it.

Today’s newsletter is a little out of the ordinary—it does not contain any dinner ideas at all. If you’re here for recipes, I promise I’ll have more for you on Friday. (Maybe check out this list of favorites or dive into the archives in the meantime?)

I get a lot of DMs and emails asking about how to start a podcast, and instead of responding one by one, I wanted to offer everyone a peek behind the scenes here at The Dinner Plan.

These questions come up over and over: What equipment do you use? Are you making any money? How do you keep track of everything you need to do?

While there are so many folks who’ve hosted podcasts for wayyy longer than I have, and there are so many different answers to these questions, my launch is fresh in my mind right now as I hit publish on the 25th episode of the show.

My goal was to offer fresh dinner inspiration every week through conversations with awesome cookbook authors. When I started, I had no idea if I could make it into a sustainable business.

To be honest, I still don’t know. But I’ll break it all down for you.

I’m a bit nervous to share the dollar amounts here, but I’m going ahead in the hopes that it’s helpful, with a hat tip to

carla lalli music

for her recent transparency on the true costs involved in making YouTube videos. I trust you will use what I’m sharing for good, not evil.

This post is free for all to read, but I hope if you find any value here you’ll subscribe to this newsletter and hit follow wherever you listen to podcasts.

Should I start a podcast?

Ha! I definitely can’t answer this question for you! (Though hopefully some of the information below will help you think through the logistics and investment required.)

I will say this: If podcasting is something that you’ve been wanting to do, don’t wait for someone else to give you permission. I’d pitched (and researched and wrote and recorded a pilot for) an earlier podcast concept to a company where I had connections.

I waited for that green light for months and months, thinking I needed their big audience and pro sales force to make it work. I thought I needed their nod to make it “real.”

I was crushed and lost a lot of confidence when they finally bothered to say no.

I only started feeling like myself again when I took the leap. I began mocking up what my expenses would be to get a show of my own off the ground, and started dreaming about who I’d get to talk to.

Betty Liu

. Melissa Clark.

Justine Doiron

.

Hetty Lui McKinnon

. Kenji López-Alt. My list kept growing.

No one was going to say, “we pick you, go!” But that didn’t mean I couldn’t say it to myself.

Say it to yourself. Say, “go.”

Wait, but what should I start a podcast about?

My advice here is pretty similar to what I say to friends who want to write a book. The best podcasts (or book proposals) are very clear on what one specific thing they’re doing.

So I probably wouldn’t recommend launching until you have a really clear elevator pitch. If that sounds too formal and terrifying, get a friend on the phone and chat their ear off about what your dream podcast would be, what you’d be excited to talk about. Or take a walk and talk through it honestly. What show do you wish existed?

Soon you may have the pitch—an idea of your podcast in a single, strong sentence.

Let yourself talk through or write the way you’d explain the show to a potential listener or advertiser: Why are you the person who should host this show? What service or entertainment does it offer?

You can write up two different ideas! Three!

If one concept starts feeling really good, can you think of a list of eight episodes for that show that you really want to do?

Does it sound fun?

What does it cost to make a podcast?

Tons of people record great podcasts at home, which is a really cost-effective option once you’ve gathered the essential equipment.

Honestly, you could record on your laptop, wearing old corded headphones, and have a hit on your hands.

But if the question is what does it cost me to make my podcast, here’s the deal.

I found myself in a kind of odd position, because my next door neighbors began demolishing part of their house the month I started recording The Dinner Plan’s first episodes. I had to find a setup that avoided the noise, so I started booking time at The Brooklyn Podcasting Studio. (Yes, the neighbors chipped in for it at first.)

There are so many benefits to studio recording. Not only do I avoid the hammering and drilling cacophany from next door—which was often so loud even noise-cancelling headphones didn’t help—but I also am spared the random honking horns, the ringing doorbell, the garbage trucks, the leaf-blowers, and all the other noises that could interrupt a recording session. If you have children or dogs you may want to consider that factor.

Studio prices vary a lot, especially depending on whether you’re booking an engineer for your session or not. Again, this is an expense you may not need to saddle yourself with! You could also switch to a studio later when you’ve begun to see ad sales that could cover the cost.

Where I am in New York, there are some self-serve (that is, no-engineer) studios at $25 or $30 an hour, depending on the length of your session, while studios with engineers start around $58 per hour, with varying prices depending on how many sessions you commit to, the length of your sessions, and the cancellation/rescheduling policy. (Podcasts guests! They sometimes cancel at the last minute!)

When I was looking for a spot, I saw studios at $75/hour and higher as well—and of course, if you want to add video, that increases the rate significantly.

If making sure everything is running correctly makes you nervous—or you’re looking for a helping hand with the sound edit—the setup at a place like the studio I use might be appealing. You’re jugging a lot when you’re on mic, and feeling overwhelmed by tech will not make for a better recording.

Working with a sound editor to polish up the track after recording is an additional expense. But fiddling with the files when you don’t know what you’re doing takes longer than editing when you do.

Of course, you can also hire an editor for your show at an hourly rate (I pay $65/hour), even if you record at home. (If there’s a show you like, listen to the credits to find out the editor’s name—that could be a good place to start.)

This is me, concentrating really hard on what to say next.

What equipment do you need for podcasting?

Since I rarely record at home, I’m not the greatest person to answer this question. I purchased a Shur microphone and adjustable arm early on based on a recommendation from a friend, before it was clear that I was sticking with the studio.

I use my home mic for occasional recording on the weekends or evenings. (Sometimes you’re talking to someone in Australia! Sometimes you need to record an ad before your next studio visit!) My studio expert assures me that the sound is pretty good. I’d probably get more seriously soundproofed if I were regularly recording at home.

My buddies over at the Everything Cookbooks podcast all use different microphones;

Kate Leahy

told me she started with a Shure MV88+ she’d bought for making cooking videos, and has tried out a more complicated mic (Blue Yeti X) that has a bit of a learning curve in terms of settings. Plug and play is great for beginners.

But please, please, before you spend a dime on equipment, play around and see if you even like podcasting.

What podcast software do you need?

I’m definitely paying for too much software. Don’t be like me!

My episodes are recorded in Riverside; it’s a bit like Zoom but saves locally, which has gotten me out of at least one quirky-internet bind. Another bonus is that you can use the Riverside video to make social clips, even if you’re not using fancy cameras. It offers episode transcripts as well.

If you’re working with a studio, you may not need your own account; the studio may just send you the files to listen to. Pro accounts on Riverside run around $288 for the year, but you can find discount codes online.

You can certainly listen back to the tracks in free software, but I use Hindenburg for any editing, and I love how it lets you click into the transcript to hear that moment in the track. Is it overkill for what I do? Probably, but it’s nice to have the option to do edits as needed. Start with a free trial; I’m paying $16.34 a month for a pro account.

This is important though: You can use Descript (which now includes Squadcast) for all of your recording (including with remote guests), editing, and making social videos, which cuts down on how many subscriptions you’re paying for. I didn’t love it but plenty of people do.

I do love Veed.io for social clips. (Here’s an (affiliate) invite link for Veed; the Lite plan I use is $12/month.)

I use Canva for making episode graphics. Again, start with the free version; the pro version is $15/month. You could probably make your video clips in Canva too!

Acast is my podcast host. Essentially, hosts automatically distribute the mp3 you upload to all the various podcast streaming apps. So I upload once, and they send it out to Spotify and Apple Podcasts and iHeartRadio etc.

When you’re just getting started, some of these streamers have to approve your feed; this is why people post a trailer a week or two before the launch. Once everything’s running, you can schedule your podcast episodes to go live, and they’ll appear everywhere within 30 minutes or so.

My understanding is that you can host a podcast on Substack for free, and use it to distribute your show to various players as well. This gives you the option of making it available only to paid subscribers.

Because I want to keep The Dinner Plan’s shows and newsletters available for all listeners and readers even if they aren’t in a place to become a paid subscriber right now, I’ve started with a different route. Acast has an ad marketplace that provides ads that will play automatically if you want. (You can also work with them to sell custom host-read sponsorships; I haven’t used that side of it because I sell my own sponsorships.) You pay about $180 per year to be able to access Acast monetization options, but again, big discount codes exist online and I actually got a free year somehow. I’ll be honest: I don’t love the lack of control you have with these ads, so I try to avoid using them by selling my own sponsorship placements.

What does the day-to-day work of making a podcast look like? How long does it take to make an episode?

Every show will be so different; doing a research-heavy narrative show is absolutely a different beast from my interview show, which features cookbook authors talking about their real-life home cooking.

Here’s where I’m spending my time:

General research: I’m always looking a few months ahead, reading cookbooks that are coming out soon, and thinking about guests who I’d love to talk to. This happens in the background, really; I’d likely be reading all these books anyway.

Booking: Once I’ve found a few cookbooks I’m really excited about, I’ll reach out to the authors or their publicists and try to set up a recording date, making sure the studio is available and sending confirmation emails. I currently have booked 10 guests for the future, and am in conversations with a few more. I’ve been sick for 11 days at the time of this writing, so I’ve also had to re-book three guests I was supposed to talk with. Don’t underestimate how much time booking is going to take you!

Staying organized: There are tons of online tools for task management, but after leaving a corporate job I honestly wanted nothing to do with any tool I’d used before. You might love Trello or Asana or Notion. I do keep a spreadsheet that tracks bookings, recording dates, ad placement, and file status, with a separate tab to track people I want to reach out to about sponsorship. I’ve been using Wave for invoicing since my early freelance days.

But I wanted something on paper for daily use—nothing beats crossing something off with a pen! I didn’t want to primarily use a daily calendar, though, because my tasks are spread across several phases in several weeks. My planner-expert friend

Meghan Splawn

knew the magic word that unlocked it: I needed a dashboard planner. Basically, this desk planner allows me to keep separate to-do lists of different types of tasks, so I can jump around depending on my energy (it also has a small weekly section at top for urgent priorities/scheduling.) Mine is from ink+volt but others exist. I tend to fill in my social media plans and recording plans at the top.

This is my actual planner. I feel so naked.

Episode planning: Leading up to the interview, I’ll read the author’s most recent book, and re-familiarize myself with their earlier work. I’ll sketch out questions and send them a few to prepare for, since I want them to really have time to think about specific recipe recommendations and a list of cookbooks they love. I go back and forth with the guest and publisher about which full recipe we’re going to share in my newsletter as well.

Recording: I try to record two episodes a week, so that I can take a week off when I need to. I go to the studio, complete a little sound check, then do the interview—that’s the fun part! While I’m there, I’ll also record any ads that I’ve sold directly.

One friend asked: How far in advance are you recording? It varies, but as I’m writing this, I have recorded four episodes beyond the one airing this week. After years and years in food media, I know that nothing stresses me out more than a last-minute scramble, and I love to have the luxury to work on the task I feel like doing most rather than the most urgent task. So I have multiple edits in progress all the time, and that also means I’m not too stressed if the studio is running behind sending me files.

The edits: Once the folks at the studio send me a rough cut of the files, I listen back to the whole episode and send any notes their way. Usually we go through two rounds of listening, sometimes three. I listen to the whole thing every time just in case something accidentally got messed up in the files, so each episode takes about 1.5 to 3 hours of listening time.

The Substack: While I listen, I take notes on any recommended recipes and books mentioned in the episode, and write up a little newsletter to share all those links. I also get permissions to reprint a full recipe from each guest—one of the recipes they’ve talked about in the show. The newsletter’s content is all visible to free subscribers, but contains affiliate links, which can grant a small commission. I’ve made a whopping $72.10 so far from Amazon in 2025; my carefully-curated Bookshop list of every guest’s cookbook recommendations has lead to…one purchase. By a friend.

Scheduling: Once the episode is sounding good, I upload it to Acast, my hosting platform, give it a name, and write short show notes. I also upload simple art for each episode, which is pretty quick to make in Canva.

Unless I’ve filled all the ads slots myself, I insert a marker for Acast’s ads as well before scheduling—these are ads that automatically play at the beginning and end of the show. I don’t have any control over what these are; my payment is based on how many listens that episode gets. My January payout for those ads was $130.60. Payment terms are 60 days. It’s obviously not enough to support the show yet.

Promo: For every episode, I create video clips and posts on various platforms to help spread the word and grow awareness of the show. I coordinate a book giveaway for each guest as well.

Ad sales: As you can see above, the ad payout from the hosting service is not yet anywhere near enough for the show to break even, especially given my weekly studio costs. So how am I making it work?

Let’s talk podcast monetization

I want to be completely clear: launching a business is much easier if you’re coming from a place of security and privilege, since you don’t know when or if your investment is going to turn into something that steadily pays a fair rate for the work involved. And also: the bottom could drop out at any time.

If you sell your podcast idea to a podcast network or media company, they might pay you up front for your work, setting you free from having to save your own cash to invest in your project.

They might sell ads for you, and hook you up with a producer and editor, so all you have to think about is the content.

A sweet deal if you can get it! (I tried. Failed.)

But that sweet deal comes with big expectations.

A successful show for a big network or media company needs to pay not just you, but also contribute toward their the cost of their experienced staff, their overhead and office space, etc. A show probably needs to be pretty big for them to re-up their commitment.

Getting a no from one of those companies doesn’t mean you can’t—or shouldn’t—make a podcast. You can go it alone. And if you’re going it alone, you get to decide what success means for you.

Maybe your podcast goal is actually to get the word out about some other project of yours—a paid Substack, or a company you run, or a book you’re writing. Then maybe the effort and expenditure you put into your podcast is basically a marketing effort (and budget), not a job.

Maybe your goal is to deepen your relationship with your newsletter readers, or dig deeper into a topic you’ve always wanted to explore.

Maybe your podcast is a hobby for you; it’s something you’ve been wanting to learn how to do. Hey, it’s cheaper than going to grad school!

Let’s say, though, that you want to your show to not only pay for itself but to allow you to quit your day job and pay your bills. Then you’re going to need a monetization strategy—and time to execute it.

To be completely honest, that strategy probably needs to start with either saving up a nest egg, or seeking out a launch sponsor. Maybe there’s a local business that wants to get the word out about something. Maybe you have a contact from an old job. It doesn’t hurt to ask.

You need to plan for the marathon, not just show up and start running.

SIDENOTE: There are lots of other models that are worth thinking about. Launching a podcast on Substack is a whole different ballgame. You could charge your listeners directly and skip ads completely. I haven’t tried it, in part because I’m still small around here!

Some companies might join you as a sponsor at the launch because they’re excited about your project. But unless you bring a huge audience from other parts of your life, the growth process (and simply learning how to make a good show) may require your attention before you can make much headway on monetizing.

Everyone’s experience is going to be different. I’m not a Substack bestseller. I’m not a YouTube star. I couldn’t get a big company to underwrite my entire show.

But I like to think I’ve established trust with readers and listeners over all the years I’ve run popular food websites and written for newspapers and magazines. My two books continue to sell. Every week, I get a note from someone who’s loving the show.

I’ve been able to secure small sponsorships for the show on and off from the beginning, which has allowed me to publish it—and this newsletter—free for listeners and readers. I offer a handful of ad slots in each podcast episode, and as the months march on, I’ve been delighted to fill them pretty consistently with ads from companies that sell condiments and snacks, fun ingredients, cookbooks, and cookware—the sort of stuff my listeners get excited about.

I do all of the ad sales myself, not working through a manager, and while I’m definitely, definitely not pulling the rates your friendly giant-audienced influencer is getting, where we stand 151 days after my show’s launch is that I’m covering all the expenses I’ve detailed above and beginning to earn a little something for my time.

I’ll raise the rates as the audience grows. I’m loving the business side of it almost as much as the creative side; it’s especially fun to help a small company get the word out about their new projects. And it feels amazing to build this thing more or less on my own, to get better at hosting the show over time, and hear from more and more listeners who are enjoying it.

Recently, I’ve turned on a paid option that allows readers an option to support the show if they feel moved to—those paid subscribers get access to cookbook giveaways and other fun stuff as a thank you.

I still take on other work. I’m 151 days in, and I don’t know where this is headed.

But at least it’s helping me feel more inspired to make dinner.