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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“What We Remember, We Keep-Alive”
I had been working on the newest book in my Culinary Crossroads series, where Jamaal was supposed to return home—to the States and the old South. I thought it would be simple. A return to where it all began. A pilgrimage from the polished kitchens of Manila to the front porches, fields, and kitchens that shaped so…
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What’s Going On: The Sound of a Man, a Moment, and a Movement
Some albums are flawless—technically perfect—masterpieces of production, arrangement, and execution. And yet, something is missing—some intangible element that separates great from transcendent. I don’t know what that something is. But What’s Going On has it. It’s there in the first few seconds before Marvin Gaye even starts to sing. A murmur of voices, street-corner conversation fading in and…
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Where the Real Food Lives
There’s a quiet truth you learn if you sit down and listen long enough at a table that isn’t yours. I’m talking about food—the real kind. The kind that doesn’t come with laminated menus, mood lighting, or some Instagram-ready plate presentation designed to be photographed more than eaten. I like food the way it was…
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Grams Not Guesses
So I wanted to cook, Not to become a chef. Not to impress anyone. I wanted to cook because I loved sweets. I loved good food. That pure, unsophisticated craving for something warm, buttery, something you pull out of the oven and burn your tongue on because you just couldn’t wait. But there’s a difference between…
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Mise en Place and the Mess That Made Me
When I first started cooking, it was chaos. A beautiful, clumsy, borderline dangerous kind of chaos. Pots clanged, drawers opened, and knives were in all the wrong places. Every piece of silverware I owned was used, and every pan was dirty. And the recipe? I was reading it while I cooked, squinting through steam and panic, trying…
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When the Lord Smiles on You (And Brings Soup)
I’ve lived in New Mexico for years now. Long enough to know the smell of roasting green chile means autumn and that the line between red and green isn’t just about salsa—it’s about identity. Long enough to pretend I’ve tasted it all. But that’s the thing about New Mexico. You never really taste it all. This…
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