My Lens

I Go by Smell

I started with one silly rule. Food has to be real. That's it.

It could be some random corner nobody recommended. It could be the award-winning address everybody has already been to. Doesn't matter. I don't judge by the label, I don't judge by the price, I don't judge by the pose that gets the likes. I judge by the smell. Authenticity, soul, respect. Everything else is just scenery.

The kitchen shaped me before anything else did. Years of trying to understand what food is, and how it reaches people, not just from the pretty angle that makes it into the photo. With the first breath, I can tell who honors the ingredient. Who has patience. Who respects the person about to sit down and eat. On any ordinary day, in any city in the world, the person sitting down to eat wants to be fed: with nutrients, with affection, with comfort. The person cooking wants to do their craft and earn their day. Nobody who decides to spend their life cooking does it just for the money. Before anything else, it's an act of love. Period.

On the road, what I run into most are lists. "Places you can't miss" that, in practice, were built by good marketing. A few of them, sure, actually deserve the fame. Perfect setting, food with no flavor, no seasoning, forgotten by the next day, even after the most-liked photos.

I don't believe in those lists.

Travel is too personal to live out someone else's checklist. It's not about ticking off the places you were told to go. It's about feeling that moment and trying to see angles, flavors and values you never could have if you hadn't been there.

Food is still my starting point. The trip is everything else. That's what Food Like a Hug is: my record of life in transit, of the tables that feed me on the inside and never let my passion die. The food. The kitchen. The people.