Salt, Sugar, and Something Deeper: A Culinary Redirection

For years, I’ve been known as the cake artist. A woman who can sculpt anything you can imagine, from floating balloons to hyperrealistic busts that sliced clean like butter. My art has has been on screens and the highlight of many soirees. I pride myself on designs with meaningful details that are visually stunning and delightfully decadent. I used to love it. In some ways I still do.

But lately, I’ve felt something deeper calling me back into kitchen, centered at the stove. Not just to create—but to cook. To write. To remember. To preserve the recipes that raised me and find inspiration in the feelings that come with them. To ideate from intuition and explore my edible legacy.

Salt & Sentiment is my chef’s table—set with food that speaks to and for me, my soul-fed stories, and ruminations along my journey in and out of the kitchen. I feel like retrospectives are sometimes the best places to begin anew because they provide a point of reference. For me, most times, those reference points automatically become the new foundations upon which I frame the next thing. There’s comfort and confidence in starting new but not from scratch, from experience not ignorance. By revisiting the recipes and experiences that raised me and explore new territory I hope to lean into the kind of cooking that sticks to your bones and speaks to your spirit.

This blog is not a departure, but an expansion. Growing from sugar sculptor to culinary commentator. Beyond cake competitions to cultural preservation and progeny. From food as art to food as soul work.

I’m documenting my journey as a culinary student, recipe developer, and Black Southern woman reclaiming and reframing tradition. This space will hold techniques, recipes, and reflections—some sharp, some tender, yet all deeply felt.

And it only felt right to begin with the recipe that’s been holding space for generations in my family and at the beginning of my journey.

It’s buttery, baked with love—the Bess pound cake.

Thank you for pulling up. Please stay a while. There’s more to come.

— Alene