There’s something about kitchens that always felt a little like churches—hot, reverent, chaotic. A place where you suffer beautifully in the pursuit of perfection. Suté & Solitude was born from that heat. But it’s not just a culinary novel. It’s a love letter to every queer person who’s ever tried to outrun loneliness by working harder, loving faster, or pretending to be flawless.
The Story I Needed
Leo Valdez—perfectionist chef, control freak, a complete disaster in love—isn’t a self-insert, but he is the voice that haunted me in every silent breakup, every moment I chose ambition over intimacy. He’s the person I could’ve become if I hadn’t stopped to ask myself, “What if you could stop performing? What if love doesn’t require the best version of you—just the honest one?”
Leo’s world is polished steel and tempers, Michelin stars and burnout. But beneath that sharp edge is something softer, aching to be seen. He doesn’t know how to be vulnerable unless it’s through food. And even then, it’s plated, curated, precise. That’s the loneliness that shaped this novel: the kind that hides behind excellence.
Queer Romance, But Make It Messy
There are plenty of queer romances that follow the sweet, soft trajectory of boy-meets-boy. I wanted to write about what happens when boy meets trauma. When two people with scar tissue try to figure out if their wounds can coexist.
Leo’s love story is clumsy, sometimes cruel, often hilarious—and deeply human. His pursuit of connection isn’t linear. He messes up. He sabotages. He bleeds ego. But through it all, he keeps trying.
Why It Matters
I wrote Suté & Solitude for the queer overachievers. The ones who feel like they have to earn their place in every room. The ones who mistake excellence for safety. The ones who are terrified that if they stop being impressive, they’ll stop being loved.
This book is also a portrait of queer masculinity that’s rarely explored—quiet desperation, professional burnout, guarded tenderness. It’s not about coming out. It’s about letting someone in.
Favorite Lines
“In the kitchen, you burn yourself and call it flavor. In relationships, you burn yourself and call it love.”
“Leo didn’t believe in God, but he believed in mise en place. Same principle. Everything has to be exactly where it belongs, or chaos wins.”
“He didn’t need someone to fix him. He needed someone who didn’t flinch when he cracked.”
Final Thoughts
Writing Suté & Solitude hurt. It was the kind of book I had to live through before I could write it. But I’m proud of it. Not because it’s perfect—but because it’s honest. It’s messy, like all the best meals and all the most worthwhile love stories.
If you’ve ever felt too much, tried too hard, or loved too late—this one’s for you.