Or, Hipster Elle Will Cry Herself to Sleep at Night for the Foreseeable Future
So I'm wandering around the interwebs, reading and nodding and oohing and ahhing (like I do).
And I noticed that a lot of the blogs I visit bear photos of food.
Nay, not just photos of food—stupendous photos of food. Glorious photos of food.
If you know me and my photography habits, you know that I dig snapping shots of whatever food is placed in front of me (or that I find myself bookin' it toward—ain't no shame!). Sushi, sandwich, cereal... all the foods. And drinks. Those are fun too.
And in recent times, I'd been toying with the idea of foodblogging my little heart out 'cause I apparently missed my original calling as food blogger/photographer/consumer (fact: I love food and pictures and the Oxford comma). Yeah, I'm not to THAT level—"THAT level" being professional, obviously—but I. like. food. In fact, I'd been toying with a particular food blogging idea, but that's for the future (ooh, lookit me bein' all sneaky and secretive!). I was going to be a married Julianne Potter ("My Best Friend's Wedding," anyone?).
But then it hits me that almost every blog I enjoy perusing boasts lovely, pristine, gritty, UH-mazing images of the respective blogger's food experiences. (And most post their own recipes for said marvelous dishes. Man, I can follow a recipe, but chaos enters the flavor of any meal from whose precise recipe I diverge. Betty Crocker I am not (though I am the spit-image of Julia and Paula with regard to how much butter I tend to employ—come to me, lardy goodness!).)
It was like my glorious idea semicolon neck tattoo: it had already been done.
And not just done—done, like, a billion times.
And done well.
Food pictures are like cockroaches (stay with me here): for every one you see, there are probably two thousand more being taken in that instant.
This realization makes Hipster Elle a sad panda.
And Hipster Elle mopes a little bit and grumbles to herself (mentally, of course).
But then I looked up (literally, actually).
And I realized...
I love looking at the myriad of meal magic acts frozen in film form. I just do.
Q: How many times have I seen a deep-dish fancy-schmancy pizza from This Amazing Pizza Parlor resting on a chunky bamboo board?
A: Probably about one hundred and eleventy times.
Q: How many times have I seen a rich, chocolate-chunk-laden scoop of gelato snuggled in a frost-frosted cup which in turn is resting upon a mocha-stained coffee table?
A: Perhaps seventy-five times... and some change. (People from NYC love their gelato—and I apparently end up reading a lot of their blogs...)
Q: How many times have I seen a dazzlingly blue Special Margarita That is Made This Particular Way That's Whoa-Famous at This One Hole-in-the-Wall Mexican Restaurant That's Way Hard to Find But is TO DIE FOR?
A: Likely somewhere between five and ten times for as many Thursdays and Fridays as exist between now and when I first started reading blogs (and I got started early, kids).
Q: And do I enjoy looking at all those pictures?
A: Yes! (Duh!)
The thing is, I enjoy seeing the creativity in the meals, in the angles, in the lighting, in the backgrounds, in the people—in the atmosphere captured at that most precise moment in time. It's like sneaking into a world of delicious [for the eyes]. The viewer of the picture gets an open invitation to feast his or her eyes (haha) on foodstuffs that he or she may never have seen before or may have seen a hundred and two times but never in this particular way before.
Yes, in my blogdom wanderings I may have observed, like, thirty photos of a roasted-peach crostini with brown sugar and ginger this week (it could happen!), but you know what? I enjoyed it every time. The thoughtfulness, the cleverness, the composition, the plating—it's just so... intriguing! From couture restaurant offerings to someone's sister-in-law's famous homemade whatever to the I-followed-the-recipe-exactly-but-the-result-looks-like-a-burn-victim mishaps (true story, BTW)...
I dig it. I really do.
So, even if there are a million people out there snappin' iPhone Instagrams of their street-vendor Chicago hot dog or painstakingly photographing their best friend's designer-bakery wedding cake with a Canon 21-Billion and Super-Crazy-Awesome-Zoom Lens, the fun is not diminished. On the contrary, really, 'cause the prevalence of foodtography (please tell me I made that up just now) brings forth new ideas (sliced nectarines on grilled cheese? what?) and inspires the unthought-of (serving New York strip steak cubes in a martini glass is pretty nifty).
The way I figure, there's a pretty broad horizon. Every plate, every glass, every soggy ice cream cone with the bottom falling out is an '80s song of delectable intrigue. (What? I like '80s music.) And, of course, nothing's been done exactly the same way twice (the parsley flakes will never fall where you think they will). There is still so much to be enjoyed! There's so much adventure to be had!
There's joy in food—the preparing, the plating (or bowling?), the observing, the tasting. And by gosh, do I love observing. (And tasting, but that's way obvious.) I may have seen a kajillion food pictures, but the sheer entertainment value every picture has provided me with reminds me that, just maybe, the pictures I take of whatever sundry food-laden table I happen to find myself in front of just might bring a smile to someone's face (or a groan, depending), or an idea to someone's mind, or whatever...
Y'know?
So! I am out to (continue to) capture whatever delicious escapades I embark on! Regardless of whether it's been done before (Hipster Elle is kicking Food-Photography-Happy Elle in the shins right now), I haven't done it before.
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| Some of Carofish's delightfully tangy key lime pie with some serious fork action goin' on in the foreground. |
A friend of a friend once said, "Dude, sometimes, I swear to you, there's more poetry in sno-cones than there will ever be in words. And that's my final thought on this subject." (Preach it, sistah.)
Brace yourself, li'l point-and-shoot camera of mine, 'cause you're gonna get busy.
And that's my final thought on this subject.
