I’m conflicted. Not in a negative sense,
but I’m conflicting because I’m trying to understand both sides of an issue. I
have long felt that to really look at both sides is to be able to find a common
solution, compromise, or the holy grail of consensus. It’s why you won’t find
me always supporting business versus labour, or one political party over
another. I prefer solutions that are not filtered by ideology, greed, or
authoritarian intellectualism.
My parents went well out of their way to
treat my brothers and I very fairly, with the result being that we generally
get along well, and each of us tries to respect and understand the other. We
also have a tendency to approach the world in a fair, practical, and mostly
impartial manor. I always found it easier to find practical solutions when I
wasn’t blinded by the “fluff” of position based reasoning. I have to admit
however, that with life not actually being “fair” it has raised some
interesting ethical issues.
But back to today’s reason for inviting you
here. It’s about dinner, or lunch, or breakfast. In my travels I have shared
with you many a delightful meal in fabulous and not so fabulous places. On
occasion I have even supplied pictures. Turns out not all chefs are fond of you
taking pictures of their food. Somewhere along the way someone decided to give such
photography a derogatory name, “Food Porn”. I find the term highly offensive. I
have shared many a shot of very attractive ribs, though I have had little to
offer in the way of leg of lamb and chicken thigh. Really, “food porn”? I don’t think so!
I share dining experiences from the road
because they’re a huge part of the travel adventure, and my basic survival. A Prime
Rib in Idaho, a shrimp Po Boy and exquisite beignets in New Orleans, fresh Stone
Crab chowder, Lobster Mac & Cheese, Ribs from Corky’s in Memphis and Big
Kenny’s in Key Largo, the Waimea Wings from Buffett’s at The Beachcomber, Cumin Crusted Mahi Tacos at Senor Frijole's, even
the “full English” breakfast at the Brewer’s Fayre, all of which were standouts.
The “sausage patties” at Arnold’s Classic Diner in Rapid City were a standout
example of how eating on the road can be a different kind of adventure,
especially when faced with an undiscovered Goodyear product.
I try to write about good food. I take pictures
of good food. I also write about family and good family experiences. That
doesn’t mean my “visual aids” should carry an offensive label. Food and travel
were the conflicting thoughts as I read the article. As a teenager my parents
took us a lot of places. In our teen years they took us to Europe twice (each
time for a month), took a two week escorted bus tour through California and
Nevada, and to Hawaii a couple of times. Once with most of the neighbourhood along
at the same time. I also had the opportunity to spend seven weeks in Montreal
after my father got a 16 year old me a job working for the Olympic Broadcaster
in 1976. That’s how I learned about Mr. Sub, St. Hubert Chicken, and how to
microwave a baked potato!
So I ate a lot of different food in a lot
of different places. A cold cherry soup in Germany, and a fried spam sandwich
billed as a hamburger on the Isle Of Man are always good for a shared laugh
with my brothers. Even today, long after my parents have passed on, we try and
get together at local restaurants for breakfast on Sunday mornings. It carrys
on a long family tradition of Sunday breakfasts together.
And we do laugh because the food gave us positive
common experiences. When we were quite small our parents would take us to
Seattle where we would visit the new Space Needle, the Pacific Science Center,
and the amusement park next to them both. We had to dress up for lunch
(changing in the back of the car) because we went to a place that served the
best plate of restaurant spaghetti I ever had. My mother would always be very
concerned because we had on our dress white shirts and in typical kid fashion
we would wind up with small specks of tomato sauce on them. Never mind that we
got directions to the place from a motorcycle cop who looked suspiciously like
Gertrude from the local kid’s TV show, J.P. Patches. Sadly I have never been
able to find it again, but all restaurant spaghetti is measured against those
memories.
Childhood travel memories were built around
meal times on the road, but also life lessons on the value of road time
together. By now my brothers are wondering why I haven’t brought up the camping
trips where mom had to cook on the camp stove. It’s because those mealtimes
weren’t always pleasant, and gave us a whole different type of road trip meal
memories. Poor mom had to work three times as hard to feed us, and we weren’t
quite old enough to understand what all that meant for her. I’m glad for the
memories and the lessons learned, but I’m not too sad for the lack of pictures.
Suffice to say that after that road trip the whole family cheerfully abandoned
the great outdoors in a pop up tent trailer for hotels and restaurants. It’s
one of the reasons our little tribe has survived together as long as it has. It
was a conscious decision to try and keep ourselves happy on the road.
But back to the conflicting thoughts. The
article I was reading, http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/europe/france/10641913/French-chefs-hit-back-at-food-porn-photos-in-their-restaurants.html, puts forth that
French chefs are upset that by the time the customer has finished “staging” the
plate on the table to take a picture, the food is cold. In my experience
“staging” has been no more than making sure the beer bottle label faces the camera,
or the wine glass doesn’t seem to be sprouting out of the napkins.
The chefs also complain of flashes going off
distracting other diners. I’ll buy into that one, because it really is
annoying. At Shula’s On The Beach in Fort Lauderdale I accidentally flashed on
my plate while taking a picture of “The Perfect Martini”, my $43 Filet steak and
the $8 baked potato. I felt badly because the place was dark and the couples at
the other tables were having what I supposed were romantic evenings, and it
only flashed once. But I wasn’t paying those prices without some kind of
souvenir besides the quiet memory of an exquisitely beautiful piece of meat,
and a wonderful dining experience where the staff made me, a solitary diner,
feel very welcome.
Then there are the times I wish I had taken
food pictures. Like the time myself and a friend/colleague were on assignment in
Athens during the 2004 Olympics. We were working for different organizations
but we managed to find time in our very busy schedules for lunch at a Taverna
in the Plaka. We were in the shadow of the Acropolis, right outside the gates
of the Agora. We sat outside on a hot August afternoon under a Greek blue sky,
and ate souvlaki while we chatted about our common interests inside and outside
of work. Mealtimes on the working road can be rushed affairs but we took our
time, fending off vendors selling bootleg CD’s and other trinkets. I wish I had
taken pictures to remind me in the years to come what a great time I was
having.
Or the numerous times on the road when I
wish I had taken pictures of working meals. The fabulous team I worked long
hours with on a tragic and deadly landslide outside of Kaslo is one. The only
hotel we could find, The Ainsworth Hot Springs Resort, was twenty miles from
town. There weren’t a lot of options. We had to rush to get back before the
restaurant closed at 8 (one night I nearly collided with a cow on the road that
had slipped its gate), and the wonderful hotel staff who stayed late to feed us
when we squeaked in at five minutes after.
Then there was the time in Vernon when after
a very long and stressful day covering a forest fire evacuation a single colleague
stayed behind to help me pack my work truck, making us both late for a group
dinner. We managed to mostly make it in time for dinner, and she deviously
treated me to my meal. All of those meals were made special by both
circumstance and company.
Food and meal times whether travelling or
around town are moments I choose to share and remember. I often find food is
enhanced by the company and surroundings, the intangible emotional component. I
have found solace in a good meal alone, and friendship and companionship with great
people in great places both for fun, and sometimes in the presence of great
tragedy. It’s tribal and primitive in its ability to keep humans enjoying other
humans doing human things, and sometimes helps to bring forth context, meaning
and comfort.
As any real food person will tell you, it’s
the effort of love that you put into the process of creating and serving that
helps to determine the final, total experience of cooking. A woman I know whose
passion is cooking says she likes nothing more than to cook for family and
friends, whether it’s a sandwich in the kitchen or a full sit down dinner for
ten.
If we choose to take pictures to remind us
of our togetherness or to celebrate dining excellence then stop complaining, it’s
not “porn”! Though I’m sure the guy standing on the chair to get the shot of
the whole table might need a lesson in table manners and basic
etiquette. And watch out for the flash!
Conflict resolved.
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