Salt, Ink, & Soul
Writing on food, family, and identity
“I write so that our food, our struggles, and our stories are never forgotten, but carried forward as legacy.”
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Felix the Fox Collection
Gentle adventures from the Whispering Woods — stories of courage, friendship, and resilience for children, and for the adults who read beside them.
Latest Post
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The Collapse of Trust: Why We Don’t Believe Each Other Anymore—and What It Costs Us
Trust used to be a form of currency. Not the kind you could count, fold, and hide in your wallet—but the kind that lived in a neighbor’s wave, in the unspoken agreement that your word was enough, in the belief that a promise was a thing with weight. Now, trust feels like an antique—something admired
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The Quiet Battle: On Becoming Better Than I Was Yesterday
There’s a war I’ve been waging for as long as I can remember. It’s not loud. It doesn’t wear camouflage or march in boots. It’s fought in quiet rooms, in the space between my reflection and my own gaze, in the long corridors of thought I walk every day. The battle is simple to name
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The Erosion of Empathy: How Modern Culture Profits from Our Disconnection
There was a time when the measure of a man — or a woman — was found not in the size of their following or the polish of their online image, but in the quiet and consistent act of showing up. I wrote about this recently, about the sacred obligation of standing beside a friend or
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The Weight of Showing Up
In Two Birds, One Road, I wrote about the quiet importance of simply being there—about how showing up can matter more than any polished speech or perfect gesture. Lately, that truth has pressed heavier against my chest. It started with something I saw on television. An airman, just graduated from basic training, stood alone in formation.
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Two Birds, One Road
Hello. If you’ve read my words before, you already know—I don’t go out often. Not in the way people mean when they talk about “getting out” as a lifestyle. I don’t float from brunch tables to crowded patios, nor do I glide through farmers’ markets with tote bags heavy with fresh basil and conversation. I
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“The Taste of Absence”
I’ve never had the kind of kitchen childhood you read about in cookbooks or see in those nostalgic food documentaries. There was no grandmother with her sleeves rolled up, coaxing flavor from a pot as if she were bargaining with the ancestors. No father at the grill, the smell of charred meat mixing with family
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