Traveller. Culinary critic. Keeper of the Keys.

Roscoe has been beside me his whole life. Sixteen years on the road — countries, kitchens, languages, and the long stretches in between. He is not a mascot. He is the companion who was already there when the story began.

He does not speak in words. He speaks in a tilt of the head, a pause, then — Bah! “Where’s the chicken?”

In the chronicles he appears as Duke Roscoe and as Chef Roscoe. Those are stories. The dog walking the road with me is real.

More than stories. A world.