Food photography has a certain serenity about it. Everything is arranged just so. The lighting is designed to put a dish’s best foot forward. Food photography is like MySpace angles for food. That sloppy trainwreck of a burger can look great with the right preparation and a few props.
When you look at a good food photo, it all seems so effortless, like you happened upon a happy culinary coincidence. These photos, however, are often more deliberate than you might think. I was amazed to find out there is actually a profession dedicated to the craft; they are called Food Stylists.
When I think of the term “Food Stylist”, the first image that comes to mind is a carrot getting a perm from a chain-smoking pink-haired hairdresser named Wanda.
Apparently that’s not quite accurate. Who knew, right?
I was reading an interview the other day with one such food stylist, and it amazed me how involved their profession is. It’s more than lighting and set up. For example, in a photoshoot for a cereal, a food stylist will hand pick each flake individually, looking for flakes that have that something extra. Each flake should be the George Clooney of flakes, so to speak.
My favorite thing about food photography is how it masks the chaos that occurs in our small kitchen.
I started eying the clock nervously at the end of my work day, yesterday. I had been putting off this recipe due to a variety of reasons: work, homework, busy schedule, laziness… and an intense tear-filled mourning period this week due to the cancellation and airing of the final new episode of Law & Order, the greatest television show of all time.
I had been hearing all day about severe thunderstorm alerts. I slumped in my chair, filled with annoyance. It looked like it was was shaping up to be another cooking session that lacked a sufficient amount of natural light. This is a problem because the lighting in our apartment tends to blanket everything and everyone in a nice putrid yellow color, and there is only so much I can photoshop my way out of.
Imagine my surprise when I stepped outside and saw that, despite the overcast sky, I still had a chance at natural light. I ran, employing a strategic bob-and-weave technique essential for all Washington DC pedestrians, to the Metro station.
As soon as I got in the door of our pre-War Old Town Alexandria apartment, I was tearing around. I wanted to waste as few precious seconds of daylight as possible on inconsequential things like, oh, walking the dog and going to the bathroom.
I crash landed into the kitchen, face first… literally.
With a mouth full of tiled kitchen floor, and my trusty sidekick, Clover, by my side, I was ready to take on that evening’s dish.
I felt energized with purpose. This recipe was going to be an exercise in patience and well thought out photography. I would be detail-oriented, thorough, and precise in all of my dealings.
I should have been smarter and realized that my little face plant was foreshadowing things to come.
Clover ended up being more of a clean-up crew rather than an assistant, although I doubt she minded.
My hand-eye-ricotta cheese coordination was awful, as the ricotta kept ending up everywhere except the food processor or the mixing bowl. At one point a substantial dollop ended up in our utensil drawer. And of course it couldn’t just land in one spot. No no, it covered all three exposed compartments of forks, knives, and spoons. I dumped the newly covered utensils unceremoniously into the sink and pressed forward.
Immediately afterward, a good bit of ricotta ended up on the floor… and in my hair.
Then there was the olive oil incident.
Sometimes I get swept up in the moment when I’m cooking. In spite of my total ineptitude, I’ll get on a roll and start pretending I’m Giada De Laurentiis.
“Look at me! I’m a tiny big-racked Italian, who over-enunciates Italian words and makes cooking look like porn!”, I’ll say, as I swirl olive oil with gusto.
Well, last night I swirled with a bit too much gusto and got olive oil all over a nice pair of jeans.
I started swearing. Repeatedly. (Again, with gusto.) The situation further devolved when, in an effort to regain control of my kitchen I knocked the empty box of rigatoni onto Clover’s head. She couldn’t get it off, and started running around the apartment, careening headfirst into walls repeatedly before I could get ahold of her to remove the box.
She opted to sleep on the couch after that, swearing off the kitchen. No amount of raining cheese was worth box attacks, apparently.
I wish I could say the rest of the endeavor was without incident. I burned my hand after I forgot to remove the baking dish from the oven before I started pre-heating it, and didn’t realize that maybe it would be smart to use a potholder. Blanched spinach felt down my shirt. I stubbed my toe. I broke a nail.
But the great thing about food photography, though? You would have no idea what happened from looking at the pictures. It looks deliberate and calm. Like I was swirling around, listening to jazz, blissfully transferring spinach from the boiling water to an ice bath, sipping on a glass of wine… instead the tripping, “heavy on the rum”-cocktail-sipping mess that was the reality.
Asiago, Ricotta & Spinach Rigatoni — Serves Four (or two, with seconds), another butchered beyond recognition recipe from Food & Wine magazine.
INGREDIENTS:
One (1) pound rigatoni
Two (2) cups ricotta cheese
Five (5) ounces uncooked baby spinach leaves
Two (2) cups semi-soft Asiago cheese, grated
1/4 cup seasoned bread crumbs
Five (5) tablespoons Parmesan, grated
Three (3) tablespoons olive oil
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
Freshly ground salt and pepper
DIRECTIONS:
1) Preheat your oven to 450-degrees. If you store your baking pans in your oven like I do, remove them first…
2) While waiting for a pot of salted water for your pasta to come to a boil, blanch your spinach, making sure to squeeze out as much excess moisture as you can. Set aside.
3) When the water comes to rolling boil, cook the rigatoni about two minutes short of time listed on the box.
4) While your pasta is cooking, blend together thoroughly the ricotta, spinach, Parmesan, nutmeg, as well as a bit of salt and pepper in a food processor. Transfer to a bowl and stir in one (1) cup of the Asiago cheese.
5) Drain, and transfer your pasta to a 9 x 13 baking dish. Toss pasta with one tablespoon of olive oil. Combine your spinach/ricotta mixture thoroughly with the pasta. Top evenly with the remaining two tablespoons of olive oil, followed by the rest of your Asiago and Parmesan cheeses. Distribute your breadcrumbs across the top of your dish.
6) Bake for 15 to 20 minutes, until the top is a nice golden brown.
7) Serve hot!
{ 3 comments… read them below or add one }
You’re right, the photos don’t tell the whole story…but they do make the food look delicious!
What’s the count now for incidents involving dogs with bags or boxes stuck on their heads?
Yay, I love kitchen disaster stories with happy endings!
And now I crave pasta. PASTA I SAY.