About…

…Project's first nature

The Food Diary was born from the desire to share my favorite recipes and experiments, and to reinterpret the idea of a diary. Instead of something private and static, it becomes a living, evolving space—open, structured, and meant to be shared.

It takes the form of a blog where I document my creations: dishes, techniques, combinations, and reflections. Each entry is part of a broader process—an attempt to capture a balance between intuition and method, tradition and exploration.

Subscribing gives you full access to the archive and future content, delivered directly without intermediaries.

This is not a catalogue of perfect outcomes, but a record of a process—one that evolves over time, shaped by curiosity, discipline, and taste.

…Project's second nature

This blog also exists as a quiet response to how the internet has changed over time, and as an attempt to hold on to something that now feels distant and faded.

My wish is to offer a space that feels calm and safe, where content is not guided by algorithms or monetization, but by true attention and genuine care.
A place where recipes and writing are shared because they carry meaning, not because they are designed to circulate.

In this sense, it is a small return to a different way of being online—not founded on performance and visibility, more open to curiosity, slowness, and personal expression.

My intention is simple: to offer a piece of my inner world, where I write as I cook and I cook as I learn with no endpoint, nor a metric to reach.
I share my thoughts and small journeys and I truly hope you will enjoy it as much as I do.

Here I do not measure performance, but passion.
I do not nudge preference, but try to give voice to what's otherwise unspoken.
I do not engineer content, but let it blossom, imperfect as it might be.
I do not care about money or consensus but for the simple joy of sharing.

Dopamine is not an ingredient you'll find in any recipe here.
Because here you are a reader, not a user.

…the Author

My name is Luca, and I believe cooking is both an act of care and a form of expression: a way to create something beautiful while nourishing the body and the soul with attention and intention.

I have always resonated with the idea that we are what we eat, and that life itself can be approached as a work of art. In recent years, cooking has become precisely that for me—a practice that anchors attention in the present moment, offering a quiet refuge from the noise and speed of modern life.
It demands precision, patience, perseverance, and respect for ingredients; it rewards you with joy, knowledge, balance, pleasure and at times, surprise.
There is a quiet discipline in handling raw materials well, understanding how flavors interact, and composing dishes that feel coherent rather than accidental.

In that sense, cooking is also a form of meditation. It connects you to what nature provides, and sharpens your sensitivity to detail: textures, aromas, transformations. Each step, however small, carries intention. Whether cooking for yourself or for others, it becomes an act of attention and care.

I am from Puglia, in Italy, and my roots in Italian cuisine remain central to how I think about food—simplicity, quality of ingredients, and balance.
At the same time, living in Brussels has expanded my perspective: the access to a wide range of ingredients and culinary traditions creates a unique playground for exploration. Among these influences, Japanese cuisine and its surrounding culture have had a strong impact on me—from technique to philosophy, down to the tools themselves. This curiosity led me to study materials, knives, and processes with a level of detail that naturally extends into how I cook.

I like to approach flavors as a painter approaches a palette. Cooking, for me, sits somewhere between craft and experimentation: a home kitchen that occasionally becomes a laboratory. I am not a professional chef, but an independent home cook driven by a persistent desire to understand, refine, and ultimately enjoy food at a deeper level.