Welcome to my corner of the internet—where heritage meets reinvention, storytelling comes with a side of spice, and Cajun cuisine gets a plant-based glow-up. Yes, I said it-I’m making vegan Gumbo. Let’s all take a deep breath.
I’ve wanted to start a blog for a long time. I’ve had plenty of ideas—some fleeting, some more fully formed—but none of them ever felt like the idea. It wasn’t until I started untangling the beautifully chaotic mess of my own identity that I found the motivation to finally hit publish.
So, welcome—if you’re here, I’m honored. This little slice of the internet is a space for storytelling, reflection, and connection. It’s also where I attempt to convince people that a roux can, in fact, be made without animal fat.
Reconnecting with My Roots—Through Food (and Questionable Life Choices)
I grew up in the River Parishes of South Louisiana, right in the heart of Acadiana. I say that with pride, because it’s central to everything I hope to do here. Cajun culture is rich, layered, and deeply tied to the land—kind of like gumbo, if gumbo also came with a complicated family history and an existential crisis.
But growing up, I felt disconnected—from my heritage, from my environment, and from the wisdom that had sustained generations before me. Now, I’m finding my way back to it, but through a lens that even my ancestors would probably side-eye: veganism.
Look, I know Cajun cuisine and plant-based cooking seem like they exist in entirely different universes. One is built on butter, boudin, and c’est bon; the other, well… isn’t. But when you really break it down, they’re not as different as they seem.
At its core, Cajun cooking is about making something extraordinary out of whatever’s available. It’s about resourcefulness, sustainability, and a deep respect for food. And guess what? That’s veganism too. So why not marry the two? (Besides the obvious reason that some folks would rather die than admit you can make étouffée without shrimp.)
I haven’t found anyone who has successfully brought these two culinary worlds together. But I believe it can be done—and done well. This blog is where I’ll prove it.
And beyond the food itself, cooking is how I show love. Feeding people, nourishing them, making them feel cared for—that’s my love language. Food is memory. Food is survival. Food is the one thing that always made sense, even when nothing else did.
The Double Meaning of “Queer Cajun” (Or: Why I’m So Committed to Making Family Members Nervous)
When I call myself a Queer Cajun, I mean that in multiple ways.
Yes, I’m queer—genderqueer, specifically nonbinary. My identity is fluid, complex, and tied to every part of how I move through the world. But “queer” also means strange, unconventional, and slightly ridiculous. And let’s be honest—making Cajun food vegan? That’s practically a crime against humanity in some circles.
But that’s exactly why I want to do it.
Cajun culture has always been about adaptation. It’s about taking what you have and turning it into something extraordinary. That’s what I plan to do here—honor my roots while reimagining them in a way that respects both my heritage and my values.
And if that makes me the black sheep of Louisiana cooking? Well, at least I’ll be a well-fed one.
Uplifting Queer Voices (Because the Revolution Won’t Be Brought to You by AI-Generated Content)
Alongside honoring the past, I’m deeply committed to amplifying queer creators. Because if history has taught us anything, it’s that we’re living in a time where queer voices are under attack—again. (Seriously, why are we always on the verge of a dystopian novel?)
Artificial intelligence is already reshaping the economy in favor of artists, makers, and storytellers, but at the same time, we’re seeing a coordinated attempt to erase queer people from public life. It’s happening in schools, in government, in workplaces.
But here’s the thing: we are not going anywhere.
If the future belongs to creatives, then it’s our responsibility to make sure queer voices are preserved, protected, and remembered. Every act of storytelling—every recipe, every interview, every moment of connection—is an act of defiance.
And I don’t know about you, but I plan to defy the hell out of everything that tries to silence us.
But here’s the thing: we are not going anywhere.
Uncovering Hidden Histories (Or: My Family Tree is a Mess, But at Least It’s Interesting)
I wasn’t taught much about my family’s past. What little I did learn was fragmented—stories half-told. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve started digging. Because if I don’t piece it together, who will?
I’ve learned that this silence wasn’t accidental—it was deliberate. A tangled web of shame, survival, and good old-fashioned avoidance. The biggest and most obvious piece? The shame of slavery, a history many Southern families have chosen to bury instead of confront. Another layer? Ancestors from Germany who fled World War II, erasing their identities, and assimilating to survive.
The idea that history can be curated, is one of the fundamental tenants of white privilege. That what’s left out, doesn’t matter. But it does. It always does.
So, I’m going to talk about it. Because the past doesn’t go away just because we ignore it.
Breaking the Silence on Addiction (Because “Just Say No” Was a Big Bamboozle)
Another part of my story—one that can’t be separated from the rest—is addiction. Specifically, the lasting impact of the War on Drugs.
I am one of the significantly many gay men who completed the D.A.R.E. program, only to end up with a specific addiction later in life. And let me tell you—there is a direct correlation between those two things.
The “Just Say No” campaign didn’t prevent addiction. It created shame. It spread misinformation. It set us up for failure by teaching us fear instead of harm reduction.
For me, this was compounded by a healthy dose of Catholic guilt. (An excellent seasoning for repression, but a terrible foundation for self-awareness.)
There’s an entire generation of us who grew up with this lie. And the consequences? They’re still playing out today.
We need to talk about it. So, I’m going to.
What Comes Next?
This blog is an experiment. A living document. A reflection of everything I care about—heritage, identity, culture, survival, storytelling, and food. It’s where I reconnect with the past, fight for the future, and hopefully, build a little community along the way.
If you’re here for the food, stick around—I’ve got some wild Cajun-vegan recipes coming your way. If you’re here for the stories, I hope you find something meaningful or thought provoking. If you’re here for both? Even better.
Either way, I’m glad you’re here. There’s a lot of work to do. And a lot to say.