Category: Food & Drink
Six Top Tips for Food Photography
A flock of photographers, myself among them, is gathered on the roof of the Queen of Hoxton pub in London’s hipster Valhalla of Shoreditch. As each of us elbows for a better angle—now on one knee, then doubling-back for a view from behind–you might well wonder what could inspire such a frenzy among snap-happy paps. Kim and Kanye? Brangelina? Britney Spears gone commando again?
As it transpires, the object—or rather, objects—of our intense interest are a bevy of wine bottles and a table topped with delectable looking platters.
No one cares that the feast has gone cold. We know chef Daniel Ashley will be providing plenty more plates later on, all washed down with a tipple (or ten) of Rosé d’Anjou Loire Valley wines.
For the moment, however, our focus (ahem) is on a food photography tutorial. Our host Douglas Blyde, himself a writer and sommelier, has invited Paul Winch-Furness, one of London’s most sought after food photographers, to share his tips with us this evening.
Beluga Vodka at Rocco Forte’s Brown’s Hotel in London: A Superior Sipping Experience
Flash back to the last millennium. (Wow, that makes me feel old). I’m standing on an Atlanta street corner outside the Metroplex, a grimy mosh pit of a music venue that never aspired to a title as noble as “nightclub,” waiting to see a punk band with a rude name that I wouldn’t repeat in polite company…if I ever kept any.
I’m drinking clear rot-gut fluid—ostensibly vodka, which tastes as though it was brewed in the bathtub of a flophouse—out of a Coca-Cola can. Why? Well, I’m technically a wee bit underage to be seen drinking alcohol, and hiding the contraband liquor in a soda can seems somehow classier than slurping out of a bottle in a paper sack. Not that anyone else cuing at the Metroplex is terribly bothered about keeping up appearances. They’re more concerned about keeping up their spiky, gravity-defying mohawks in the Southern humidity.
I have no pictures of the Metroplex, but this pretty much sums up how you felt after a night at that infamous venue.
Fast forward to last Friday. Now I’m sitting beside a marble fireplace in the Donovan Bar at Brown’s Hotel in London. This Rocco Forte property is a paean of wood-paneled elegance, lit by flickering candles and bright laughter.
Donovan’s Bar, courtesy Brown’s Hotel
Beluga Gold Vodka at Brown’s Hotel
Once again, I’m drinking vodka—but this time, it’s served in a respectable shot glass emblazoned with a sturgeon, and the fluid is so smooth, it slips past my lips and glides over my tongue like a warm, breathy whisper.
While the stuff I guzzled outside the Metroplex may well have been poured from a gasoline can, this nectar comes in a limited edition bottle with an embossed silver and gold label.
It’s sealed with wax and opened with a tiny, Barbie-sized hammer and brush, for heaven’s sake.
This, my friends, is Beluga Gold Line Vodka.
It’s made by the Mariinsk Distillery in Siberia, and it’s not even the same species as any vodka I’ve tasted before. It is, quite simply, dangerously delicious stuff. (more…)
The Cheesiest Way to Say “I Love You”
Some people boycott Valentine’s Day, denouncing it as “too cheesy.” Yes, too cheesy–like that’s a bad thing. But, taken literally, I say, “Amen, and pass the pressed curds.”
French goat’s cheese camembert, mini log and fresh French chèvre
That’s right, people. I’m suggesting eschewing bouquets of wilting red roses and giving the gift of cheese for V-Day. After all, who can resist a hearty hunk of fromage? Unless, of course, your lover is lactose intolerant–because, let’s face it, nothing kills the mood like stomach pains and flatulence.
Now, I’d never recommend that you simply sling a block of shrink-wrapped cheddar in a plastic sack at your sweetheart’s feet, and if a bit of canoodling is on the menu, by all means bypass the blue. (Although it’s one of my favourites, I think we can all agree that it smells a bit like unwashed feet).
No, I’m talking about preparing a romantic meal–wine, candlelight, cloth napkins, the works–with French goat cheese, better known as chèvre. Why chèvre? Because it’s mild, versatile, and your lips kind of pucker when you say it.
Admittedly, ever since I set my kitchen on fire, I rarely attempt anything more challenging than uncorking a bottle of wine. Fortunately, my better half, the Silver Fox, is a culinary wizard, and he’s perfected three recipes, using three different types of chèvre, to accommodate varying levels of ability. (Or inability, in my case.) (more…)