How the food bloggers are doing it. From food photography, illusions and hopes.
Dear Mr Buddenbohm,
That I had a lot of fun in bed this morning is clearly due to you. Or rather, your little literary custom painting with pumpkin soup. Because at 6:50 am I was not sure if it would actually be possible to leave the bed in any reasonable time, I sought help and assistance with my SmartPhone. Would the world out there have something ready for me to stand up to? The world (or the Facebook Newsfeed algorithm) said it was pleasing to me, because my article appeared on my mobile screen. I read and acted.
You write about making a recipe from this book in the rather involuntary circle of loved ones. I also want to write a lot about the book very soon. But first to something very beautiful: illusions. Or better: shared illusions.
Because I also believe very strongly that every single food blogger out there leads a very well-ordered photo life. Just not me. While there are everywhere two-and-a-half-long oak tables with magnificent patina in the light-filled rooms, I pinch crookedly in my shoe-box-sized kitchen and snap my food. Without family silver. But with a daylight that, broken from the right and left standing beautiful old buildings, not at all beautiful in my kitchen. I am also sure that everyone else out there existing Foodblogger sons (the number and numbering may vary) never jumped into the kitchen exactly when, after minutes of work with the help of a flower vase tin can noodle pack pyramid finally successful reflector I leaned against the photo-background pinching on the edge of the table. Wooden floors swing. Especially under hopping. The universe means well with me, because it gives me so much training my self-control. You grow with the challenges. Occasionally. However, reflectors tipped into the food are always a family highlight, do not you think?
But it's not all bad either. After all, my body control is influenced quite positively by food photography. For example, if one balances on one leg, for example, pressing the edge of the worktop painfully between the 4th and 5th rib, finally finding the angle for the perfect photo. That's definitely great for the pelvic floor. Then you just can not breathe, because the light has unfortunately just become worse and the shutter speed of the camera has increased to 1/30. It is like it is. Hopefully, Photoshop will do it afterwards. Also an illusion.
When listening to beautiful music during the act of creating "delicious food/chic photos" you should also be more willing to compromise. I'll tell you that quite frankly. Since my son's help during cooking was limited to drumming on our upside-down pasta pot for several years, I've already progressed in this regard.
Speaking of advanced: at some point it will be up to me. Then I will knead dough in my perfectly tidy eat-in kitchen on the long Eichentisch from the founding time. I have a relaxed smile on my face. For example. Besides, I do not wear a totally messed-up office dress (because I did not find the apron again in the chaos), but something appropriate, beautiful, pure flowers. In the background is an exciting radio play of my choice - why not something with Ms. Marple or the good old Hercule? - while the sun shines through the large, freshly cleaned windows. Then I put the dough on a huge, clean sheet and put it in the hip-mounted AEG Mutlifunktions-Dampfgar oven. My son comes to the kitchen with a good and measured step and shows me his class work in math.And as he leaves the kitchen to learn ancient Greek vocabulary for his favorite subject, I step into the photo area of the kitchen with a perfectly chilled rosé from our wine fridge. I pick up some of the props from the huge, long-walled Shabby Chic Shelf and place them on the illuminated photo surface. Thinking which of the old driftwood boards might be the perfect base for my motif, my gaze wandered out into the garden to the lush herb spiral ...
No, dear Mr. Buddenbohm, I'm not giving up hope.