If you don’t know me yet, there’s one thing you should understand before anything else:
I fucking love to cook.
Not in the “MasterChef audition tape” way. Not in the “meal prep hustle” way.
No, this is deeper. This is blood, bone, and fire.
Cooking, for me, is less of a hobby and more of a ritual. A quiet rebellion. It’s therapy without a couch, religion without a god. The knife becomes an extension of thought. The sizzle, my gospel. It's not just about the food—it never really is. It's about control in a chaotic world. About creating order from the raw and the wild. And if I’m honest, it’s the only time I ever feel fully present.
See, food and I, we’ve got a strange relationship. I don’t love food because I love eating. Hell, most days I barely taste what I make. I love food because I love making it. I love the alchemy. The transformation of dirt-dusted roots into something you’d write home about. There’s no perfume like that of freshly picked herbs, no sight more honest than soil-streaked hands harvesting rain-kissed produce. That’s the kind of beauty that doesn’t need a filter.
The kitchen? That’s my church. My dojo. My therapist's office.
It’s the one place where my hands know what they’re doing even when my head’s a mess.
Where every scar on my knuckles tells a story, and every dish is a page I didn’t know I was writing.
I don’t eat slow. I don’t pose my meals for the 'Gram.
Food, to me, isn’t a spectacle—it’s a conversation.
But when I do sit down to taste something, really taste it, I chase one thing: that WOW factor. That split-second where you close your eyes and go, “Damn.”
That’s what hooks me. That’s what keeps me coming back.
So no, I won’t flood your feed with perfectly plated snapshots.
But I will show up here, from time to time, with stories from the stove.
The hits, the flops, the things that turned out better than I expected, and the ones that should’ve stayed in the pan. Maybe I’ll drop a recipe. Maybe I won’t. Maybe you’ll just get a tale, a taste, or a tip whispered like a kitchen secret.
Either way, the fire’s always on. Pull up a chair if you're hungry for more.