The other day I was craving ravioli. Toothy, substantial ravioli.
Out came the rolling pin, flour, olive oil, eggs, and salt. The camera? I glanced at it from across the kitchen counter but didn’t feel compelled to record a step-by-step. When my hands are communing with the most basic of ingredients, it borders on spiritual. (And if you hadn’t already gathered, my lil’ ol’ blog ain’t Martha Stewart, but I’ll give you some good ideas.)
Earlier, I roasted a small stash of veggies. When I pulled them from the oven, their heat-altered beauty was breathtaking. Garlic glowing like topaz. Cherry tomatoes with garden-fresh goodness in every wrinkle. Mushrooms in hues echoing their earthy origins.
Out came a Chianti bottle and a rustic-looking bowl.
(That’s about as Italian as my props get.)
As I snapped away, a rapturous aroma propelled my menu “plan” in ten different directions. To chop or not to chop? (Apologies to Shakespeare…) Tomato sauce or filling? Garlic-y Alfredo sauce? Mushroom and tomato sauce?
The plus side of photographing dinner-in-progress is that it generates more ideas, which intoxicate me as much as aromas.
Maybe even more.
Once everything cooled down (including my inflammatory food imagination), I opted to make the filling out of freshly-made ricotta (another near-spiritual experience without photographic evidence), basil, oregano, half the garlic, an egg, a good amount of grated Parmesan, and one mushroom slice per pasta packet.
By the way, ravioli “rectangles” taste just as good as square ones.
As for the cherry tomatoes, I tossed ’em on top. (Cherry tomatoes — self-explanatory.) After a drizzle of olive oil, some additional Parmesan, and a grind of the peppermill, dinner was served.
Well… photographed (quickly) and served.
I don’t mind taking pictures as long as dinner’s still hot when I eat it.
Has food photography changed the way you cook — or eat?
Enjoying premeditated pasta,