Hey, I’m David C. Kling, and if you’ve ever tasted something that made you pause and ask, “Wait, what is that?” then we’re already on the same wavelength.
I’m 41, born and raised in Austin, Texas, where BBQ smoke is a love language and breakfast tacos are a birthright. Even as a kid, I was the one digging through the spice rack instead of watching cartoons. My mom used to joke that I didn’t learn to walk. I learned to wander.
Before I ever put on a chef’s coat, I was an anthropologist. I spent years studying how people tell stories through food, across borders, faiths, and generations. Eventually, it felt dishonest to just write about it. I needed to taste it, touch it, ruin it, redeem it. So I traded my field notes for knives and my thesis for a sourdough starter.
I learned the hard way. Burnt caramel. Exploded kimchi jars. One infamous poblano ceviche that cleared a whole room. But every mistake gave me deeper respect for the people behind the dishes. From mole cooks in Oaxaca to picklers in Seoul, I listened more than I talked.
Marcus and I met at a pop-up dinner in Austin. We argued, of course, about miso and mole. By dessert, we were sharing dried persimmons and laughing like old cousins. When he told me about Flavor Trips, it struck something deep. This wasn’t about fusion. It was about conversation.
Now I bring the fire, both literally and philosophically, to the Wayfinder Table. I work with wild ferments, native herbs, and stories that don’t fit neatly into categories. I’m not here to impress anyone. I want to shake up your palate just enough that you ask better questions.
Food to me isn’t a performance. It’s a ritual. A risk. A beautifully messy map. If you leave one of our dinners a little more curious than when you arrived, then we did our job.
Come hungry. Leave wondering.