I treat food like people. Every person has a good side and a bad side. Everyone looks better in one kind of light than another. And the same is true for every plate of linguine in clam sauce, every grilled pork chop, every shish kabob and every bowl of Berry-Yogurt Pavlovas with Chamomile-Lavender Syrup that's ever come out of a kitchen. Just sayin'.
Food is one of my joys to shoot. It never complains. Never grows impatient. Never arrives late to a table, rolling its eyes and proclaiming, "I hate having my picture taken!"
Every plate of food is a little work of art, waiting to be captured before it melts or runs or hardens or dries-out. It's a young beauty who won't live-out the day.
So while the staff is scurrying around doing their get-ready thing, which is quite impressive actually, and the chef is cranking out the dishes from a kitchen in prep-mode, the doors are opening in 45 minutes.
Now the temptation is to lay the dish in the some window-light, shoot-away and be done with it and that's just criminal. Like the chef sprinkling some Mrs. Dash on your fillet and saying, "That's good enough" and sending it out. I mean....no.
This food is a thing of beauty. There is color and texture and light that we rarely get to actually see because, well...the average restaurant isn't terribly well-lit. They go for ambiance...for intimacy, and the poor food is all dressed-up and sitting in the dark.
But when photographing the food I want both. I want the intimacy, but I also want the food on the red carpet with a thousand flashes lighting it up...I want it to be the star. And this is where it gets a little tricky. Because I'm not usually shooting for powerhouse clients, the world doesn't stop when I arrive, in fact the world doesn't even spin a little more slowly.
Now I've seen photographers come-in to shoot food with three assistants and monitors and a van full of equipment and a production schedule for cryin' out loud. And I'm like....Holy Tarragon! Who has time for that? Who pays for that? I just want the food to look good, I don't want to beat it to death.
So I bring a few small lights and work fast. Strike-up a rapport, tell the salad a quick joke, ("Lettuce not be radicchio") thank the chef and the staff and get-out.
Except for every once in a while.
Years ago I was shooting at a French restaurant in Greenwich, CT. It was a 10 am shoot...early for a restaurant. I arrived on time and by 10:16 the air was thick with Gauloises smoke and the first of a nice dry red was open. The dishes arrived and sat opposite me like old friends. An appetizer, a main course, a dessert...all looking fabulous. I approached them from many angles, gave them a dash of highlight and a pinch of backlight. I drew from my last Gauloises, finished my red, and as I left, the summer sidewalks were being freshly hosed-down, the geraniums watered, and the lunch specials written in chaulk on the blackboard.
And I realized that this is the feeling I want in the photos. Not a product shot...not an overly-lit still life, but something to stir a memory. That late-night/early-morning, "Should we have one more? What the hell, of course we should," feeling. Because that's what great chefs and great restaurants are all about. Nights to remember, experiences to hold close, a taste you can close your eyes and recall.
Tough to distill down into a photo...but that's the flavor I want.