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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Our Music: The Beginning and the End
A Meditation on Soul, Sound, and the Ghosts That Sing Through Us When I was a boy, like most Black children raised in America, I laughed when Africa was mentioned. Not because it was funny but because we had been taught to laugh. Conditioned to see our origin not as a source of pride but…
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Where Are the Heroes?
A Meditation on What We’ve Lost I don’t know when it started. Maybe it was gradual and subtle, like a dimming light you don’t notice until the room is too dark to read by. But one day, I looked around at the screens that raised our children and couldn’t find the heroes. I began to…
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U2’s The Joshua Tree: When Pop Music Reached for Something Higher
It’s not supposed to feel this deep. It’s pop. It’s not supposed to carry this much weight, not supposed to stir this much longing. Pop is supposed to be light. Easy. Disposable. Something you hum along to in the car, something that moves through you without leaving a mark. No one told U2 that. Or…
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So It’s Me and Cake Again
A Reflection on Pound Cake, Memory, and Soul There’s something quiet and personal about returning to a kitchen after a small failure. You remember the last time—how it crumbled, how you forgot the parchment, how it fell apart before it ever came together. But you also remember the taste, the intention, and the lesson. That’s…
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A Place to Sit Still: Birthday Reflections, Burgers, and Becoming Social Again
Last night, I went out. Not on the day of, my birthday had come and gone, as I’d hoped it would, quiet and unbothered. But I’ve learned that the people in my life now don’t take kindly to silence. They don’t take “I’m okay” at face value. They don’t let me disappear the way I…
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Anywhere but Nowhere: On Driving While Black in the Land of the Free
I own a nice vehicle. The kind that hugs the road like a whisper and hums like it knows where it’s going. It’s the kind of SUV that should be free. Built for long stretches of empty highway and distant horizons. But it sits mostly still. It idles in the garage. It moves through town…
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