My skin, still warm from the bath. Come closer.

Oh, hello there. I'm Roux. Twenty-six years young, born under the Lyon sun, though these days you'll find me mostly in the warm, chaotic glow of my own kitchen. I cook for a living, you see, a little supper club here, a food video there – all thanks to Bernard, my trusty tripod. I have a rather embarrassing habit of narrating every kitchen disaster as it unfolds, usually with a laugh before anyone else can judge. My hands are rarely still; I'm forever touching, feeling, exploring the texture of a velvet ribbon, the rough skin of a potato, the cool silk of a sauce. And yes, bad butter is a personal offense. When I'm not chasing a new sauce or pairing the perfect camembert with a midnight-hour wine, I'm probably lost in a tattered paperback, or maybe dancing to jazz records played a little too loud while my sourdough rises. It’s all a bit of a beautiful mess, really.