365/100 Bite into an apple

Holy shit! It's day 100 and I'm still on track. Mostly. We've been trying to eat healthier lately. More fruits, more vegetables, more grains in the diet. It's not so much that we're dieting. I wouldn't call it that. I'd call it more of a lifestyle change to try and get our bodies back on track with a sane reality of food. As such, we've been keeping food around that's got interesting textures and feels.

Like this pineapple.

It has contours and points and pricks and patterns and an aged patina. I played with it for about twenty minutes trying to find different points and angles to shoot it from. This is one of the hardest parts of photographing something: trying to find the "right" framing of it. Sometimes you have to take lots of photos to figure it out because you can't see it when it's staring back at you.

There were two views of this pineapple that I liked the most: this one and a view from the top, staring down into the leaves. I preferred the second in black and white because of the detail in the veins of the leaves. I tried this one out in black and white, but there was entirely too much contrast. It looks much better in full and vivid color. Much easier to see the white, chalky oxidation on the leaves.

Simple light setup going on here. Single SB-900 shooting through a 15" Lastolite Ezybox Hotshoe to camera left.

365/87 Chili Oil

"Americans can eat garbage, provided you sprinkle it liberally with ketchup, mustard, chili sauce, Tabasco sauce, cayenne pepper, or any other condiment which destroys the original flavor of the dish."

Henry Miller

We made stir fry the evening this was shot. General Tso's Chicken as I recall. It was frighteningly delicious. Only, I didn't want mine spicy. I'm pretty particular about what foods I'll eat if they're filled with chili powder or anything that remotely gets the endorphins kicking. Kind of funny when you consider I grew up in a city full of mexican culinary delights, almost all of which are laced with some deliciously spicy detail.

This was the bottle of chili oil that everyone else used to sprinkle liquid heat on their food. They enjoyed it. Sweated a bit, but they enjoyed it.

365/86 Floating banana

Ok, this was a make-up photo. I got so wrapped up over the weekend, that I forgot to take a photo for day 86. So I did it last night.

Recently, I had seen a blog posting on how to "Create Wonderful Sliced Fruit Images" from DIYphotography. The idea was pretty captivating and made a mental note to try it out at some point.

That point was last night when I stared at the bundle of bananas on the dining room table while trying to come up with an idea to photograph. By this point, I remembered the blog post, but couldn't remember where I had actually seen it. No matter, I vaguely recalled what I needed to do: slice up the banana and artfully drop it from an appropriate height, while managing to hand-hold the camera and trigger it at the right moment. Skilled hands, rocket-like reactions ... all in the grip, baby, all in the grip.

Ok, not really. The article calls for slicing up the fruit and holding it together with toothpicks. Once the shooting is complete, all it takes is some photoshopping to get rid of the toothpicks. Doesn't take much. The photoshopping took more time than the photo did, actually.

The lighting setup on this was pretty simple. One SB-900 shooting through a Lastolite Ezybox Hotshoe to camera left about a foot away.

I showed the results to a few folks shortly after posting the photo. I think my favorite was "Whoooooa. How ... whoooooah!"

I like those reactions. I might have to do a few more fruit photos in the near future.

365/81 Only Madagascar's Finest

Yes, another product-type shot.

I picked up this bottle of vanilla the other day at the suggestion of random vanilla connoisseur who worked at the store. Originally, I'd wanted some of the cheap stuff for the bread pudding I'd recently made, but looking over the prices, I found that this ended up being cheaper (in quantity) than the stuff I normally get. In total: $10 for four ounces.

This stuff is the bomb.

Worked great for the bread pudding. I will be hoarding it henceforth.

Anyway, figured that I'd use it for a photo since I enjoyed it so much.

Today, I tried something different for my product shoot. I wanted a pure white field for the background. Normally, I'd do this by throwing light on some white seamless until it was blown out enough for my needs. This time, since I was photographing something suitably small, I stuck the Lastolite Ezybox Hotshoe in as the background and propped it against the table I was shooting upon. This gave me a fairly nice reflection thrown across the wood finish. You vaguely see some woodgrain in the forefront of the photo.

This gave me an excellent base to work from.

Next, I needed to throw a key light in there. For this, I went with my tried and true bare SB-900 shooting through two sheets of paper. Why two? I figured this out previously: the second sheet helps to diffuse a bright hotspot that comes from the flash and shows up as an unsightly flare on any reflective surface.

This gave me a pretty good fill from the left, but I still had too much shadow on the right side of the bottle.

Foamcore to the rescue! A sheet of it was placed on the right of the bottle, giving me a white reflector that further filled in using any of the excess light coming in from the left.

The biggest annoyance of this entire setup was that I couldn't get the bottle top in focus enough with the rest of the bottle. I felt I'd stopped it down more than enough. I think I was just too close when photographing it. A 135mm lens would have probably gotten me far enough away, but still provide enough close in detail and framing to have made this work better.

I made do with what I had.

Overall, I think this worked out pretty well. A bit of extra fill in Lightroom during post and I think I nailed it. Well, nailed it enough. Still unhappy about the top. You probably wouldn't notice it unless you were viewing this full size, though.

Ah well.

Here's a setup shot of the entire work space. Enjoy!

365/80 Popcorn, jiffy style

"The laziest man I ever met put popcorn in his pancakes so they would turn over by themselves."

W.C. Fields

Every once in a while, I get a craving for popcorn. Not just any popcorn. I'm talking about old school Jiffy Pop. You know, the kind you sear over an open flame, holding the flimsy wire handle so tightly that it cauterizes the skin on your palms. You can hear the sizzling of the oil on the bottom of the aluminum pan. Pretty soon, you shake it all, breaking loose the hundreds of kernels congealed together in the now boiling grease. Shake shake. Shake. Shake shake shake.

And then, the first pop. Then another. And another. And another. Soon, the foil puffs up like a big down pillow on the king-size bed of a 4-star hotel. One moment it's flat, the next it's damn near bursting at the seams as it turns into a little steam engine, puffing out little tufts of white smoke as water from the dried kernels of corn super heat and create little explosions of starch.

Pop.

Pop pop. Pop.

Shake.

Shake pop.

And when it stops, you're left with a surprise: either you've gotten a silver-wrapped gift basket of popcorn or you've gotten a burnt casket of corn and crap.

Bon appétit!

365/70 It's a party in your mouth

Look! It's another appetizing food post! These things are addictive. I ate far too many the evening I took this photo. Utterly bloated and cracked out on sugar, I decided that these would be a good way to end the evening, photo-wise. I think it worked out well. The biggest problem I had was with the highlights coming off the plastic bag. It took several attempts at fluffing the plastic up and poking it back down in order to get a nice wash of light reflection from the wall.

I admit to eating a few of my subjects ... the ones that weren't appropriate for film, you know.

So, simple one light setup. One SB-900 bounced off the kitchen wall. No other modifiers for this. Here's a setup shot. The small alcove where this was done is great for work like this. I can get in tight, keep the power low, and have an easy time cleaning up afterwards. The cabinet above helps contain the light, too.

365/46 Zen and the art of life maintenance

Yes, another food post. I couldn't help it. Zen and I go way back. You see, I have this love-hate relationship with Zen. I hate going there because I love the food so much. I always end up over-ordering and walking out of the place, well, more like being rolled out like Violet Beauregard.

I have a special place in my heart and stomach for their 7-pepper ahi. It's spicy and delicious, crusted and seared along the edge like a good steak. Only, it's tuna, so it's momentarily better. I'm still trying to figure out how they make it. My multiple attempts to recreate it have failed softly. But not for lack of trying.

365/44 Your dessert, Sir

"I cook with wine, sometimes I even add it to the food."

W.C. Fields

Valentine's Day is an odd holiday around our house. Because we love really good food and really good drink, we normally choose to forego celebrating the day on February 14th. Who wants to deal with abhorrent crowds and 45 minute table waits or, god forbid, the last minute attempt at table reservations. So we just skip it and have our V-day before the world spends it's pink and heart-filled reality out in a sea of overpacked and overbooked restaurants.

This year, we decided to try something more upscale and local: no chains for us. The lucky place? Peche, down in the Warehouse district between Fido's and Truluck's, is Austin's first absinthe bar. We didn't go for the absinthe (nor did we try it this go around). Instead, we went for the food, raved over by close friends. And this year, we decided to drag a good friend, MJ, along for the ride.

We decided for reservations at 5:30 to beat the normal dinner crowd and oh, beat it we did. The place didn't start hopping until around 6:30 or 7. The quiet lead up was much appreciated. Our waiter, Eric, was excellent. His suggestions for the evening were well placed and most delicious.

We began our journey with a few Bees Knees, a cocktail of gin, lemon, and honey syrup, recommended by MJ. Very smooth. My wife loved them. They were definitely good, but a bit tart for my taste (I have such a sweet tooth when it comes to cocktails). Next up, my wife had a French 76. It's not on their menu, but was, again, suggested to us by MJ. Vodka and champagne. When I told Eric I wanted something sweeter than the Bees Knees, he smiled and said he would find something appropriate. He came back a few minutes later, asking if I liked cucumber.

Now, I've never had cucumber before in a cocktail, so I was momentarily hesitant. He looked like a nice fellow, so what the hell? I decided to trust his judgement. He returned with, what I believe, was a cucumber martini. I took a sip, unsure of what to expect. Damn. The full flavor of cucumber hit me. Not so much an assault on the senses, but a full-flavored ninja martini smack down, sneaking up on you when you're not paying attention, delivering a subtle and ingenious zing. And then the unnoticed cayenne pepper flakes roared to life making the drink sing. Pipe organs came to life, Gregorian monks began to chant, there was a bright light and ... ok, not really. But it was outstanding. I would have it again.

For the appetizer, we noshed on braised pork belly and Nantucket Bay scallops. Ordinarily, my wife is very reluctant to order pork belly unless she knows it's done absolutely right. There's good pork belly and then there's horrid. It's a fine line between the two. Peche delivered something that met the mark and found approval from my wife. I tried not to horde it for myself.



For the second course, I had the caesar salad with a provolone panini crouton. She had the duck confit with polenta croutons in field greens. Sadly, I did not take photos of this. This was one of the most unique caesar salads I've ever had. Ordinarily, I would have expected a cream-heavy dressing; I looked at my salad wondering if they had forgotten it, but as I bit down onto a forkful of lettuce, my mouth exploded with the missing flavor. Looks were deceiving and I'm glad I fell for it. My wife's salad was just as good. I'll admit to stealing a few pieces of duck and polenta when she wasn't paying attention.

For the third course, we chose an array of items: I had the potato gnocchi with mushroom bolognese, Celena had the scallops with brown butter hollandaise, and MJ had the prime beef tenderloin with pommes puree. We proceeded to steal bits of food from each other's plates for the next half hour, with not a single complaint amongst us.

I'm selective about my potato gnocchi, very often preferring my own to anyone else's out there. Peche's gnocchi was light, fluffy, and tender. It melted away in your mouth as the slight peppery bite hit.



Celena is a bit of a scallop snob. Well, not a bit. She's a scallop snob. It's very easy to overcook scallops and ruin the richness of the meat. Peche does it right. As MJ says, Peche's scallops are the best she's ever had. They got the Celena stamp of approval (and hey, I liked them too).



MJ's tenderloin was flavorful and cooked to perfection: medium rare. If you are one of those fools who can only stand a well done cut of meat, this steak is not for you. Please move along and try something else. This one is for bon vivant meatasaurus rexes only. I, of course, stole a few extra bites of tenderloin when MJ wasn't paying attention.



Finally, we ended with dessert and I, being completely lost in the evening of savory serendipity, I forgot to take photos of the two dishes we ordered: a trio of ice cream lollipops in a chocolate shell and a mascarpone tart with strawberries and gelato. I need to learn how to make these tarts so I can have them whenever I want.

The photo of dessert (up top) that I did take was when Eric walked up to show us the chocolate tart for another table. At some point during the evening, we had gotten to discussing photography and how he spent time in South America photographing food there. I have to admit: the chocolate tart looked simply delicious.

In all, I was extremely delighted by the entire evening: the food, the service, the good discussions we all had. Definitely worth another visit to see what new things they come up with on their menu. And maybe we'll try some absinthe. It only hurts once, right?

365/38 Bourbon and bread ... this is the high life.

"A horrid alcoholic explosion scatters all my good intentions like bits of limbs and clothes over the doorsteps and into the saloon bars of the tawdriest pubs."

Dylan Thomas

Today, after a long night and a short sleep, I decided I needed to make something decadent. I've long been a fan of good bread pudding and recently came across a recipe for Bourbon Bread Pudding.

I must say, I never before realized just how rich this stuff was. This recipe called for 3 cups of heavy cream, a cup and a half of brown sugar, butter, LOTS of bourbon (we certainly couldn't give the kids any of the sauce). I found myself snacking on leftover crumbles of butter, sugar, and cinnamon that managed to not make it into the last part of baking. Definitely dangerous for the gut, but only because it's making me fatter.

Oh, and as I mentioned, there was quite a bit of bourbon called for by the recipe gods: 3/4 of a cup to be exact. My wife commented about the smell from across the house while I was cooking up the raisins in the alcohol. Yes, some of it cooked down, but there was still enough left over that you could taste the alcohol ... not just the flavor of bourbon ... in both the sauce and pudding. Delicious. Oh, and the bourbon? I don't think it was anything special. I'm not a connoisseur of bourbon, but reviews on the good ol' intarwebs say that Old Forester was a solid brand. Not bad for a $13 bottle of spirits to cook with.

I think the only "bad" thing about how I made this recipe was not cutting the bread into small enough pieces. I made fairly uniform slices and cuts, so the pudding ended up with uniformly large pieces throughout. As well, I think if I had torn up the bread it would have met with better success.

Overall, though, I would classify this one as a must cook again. Even though it's going to make me fat. This is the price we pay for being refined Internet epicureans, eh?

Oh yeah ... the bourbon bottle in case you're interested.

365/36 All you need is love ... and twinkies

Ok, so I wanted to do something different. Love is different, right? And twinkies? Everyone loves a good twinkie. Especially those cherry red, coconut-covered twinkies. I can hear your arteries hardening right now as you read this. Remember, when the zombie apocalypse comes, the only food that'll be left and edible will be the twinkies. BILLIONS of twinkies. In warehouses and shops all over the world.

But I digress.

This weekend is our latest Austin Strobist meetup. We have a contest going right now to depict love in one of it's many facets. My wife bought the twinkies today and when I saw them, I started thinking about how they would look cut into the shape of a heart. I played with the idea most of the evening. I kept stumbling over the fact that twinkies aren't very ... heart-shaped. Even if you cut them in the right way, they still look a bit wonky.

Once I accepted the fact that I really wanted to use twinkies for this idea, I started looking for other things to go with it. Crushed chili peppers! Red and orange ones! Pepper flakes! Sadly, I didn't have those. But this got me thinking about spelling the word "love" out with herbs we have laying around the house. We've got this large shaker of paprika from a few years back. Paprika isn't a commonly used spice in our home, so the spice is well aged. My wife and I debated it for a moment and came to the conclusion that it would be clump in a non-uniform way. In other words, it would look like shit.

So, next plan.

We didn't have crushed chili flakes, but we did have chili powder. Nope ... too orange. Rosemary? Coarse, but the bag we have is full of pale and extremely dried out rosemary. It didn't look good. Next? A bag of dried lemon balm. This has a naturally darker color than the rosemary, so we used that for the "L". The "O" was dried tea leaves that had been sitting around waiting for a use. I liked the dark and uniform layering of the tea. The "V", was our heart made of twinkies. I ate the right ventricle after shooting. It was tasty. And finally, the "E" was a heavy arrangement of jasmine flowers. I wanted the light straw coloring to give the photo a bit of different texture from the other ingredients.

After arranging it all and making sure I didn't do something stupid like misspell the word "love", I started in with the lights. The 15" Lastolite Ezybox Hotshoe came to the rescue! Initially, I didn't like the shadow it was casting on the butt-side of the twinkie. The more I look at, the more it grows on me.

As of today, I'm 36 photos into this 365 session. I was talking about this with a friend this afternoon and we were discussing how difficult it is to come up with unique photos the farther along this project goes. There's only so many times I can photograph the same building, the same squirrel, the same goofie self-portrait, the same ... whatever. You get the picture. 36 days, 36 photos. I feel somewhat accomplished. I'm not entirely happy with some of the photos in the 365-set, but that's ok. This is an effort in self-improvement, not an effort in getting 365 good photos. I know that some will suck and that's ok.

For now, I'm going to clean up and leave this idea where it's at. 36 photos, 36 unique viewpoints. All done and accounted for. Here's to 329 more days. Somewhere around day 100, I know that I'm going to hit a wall on this. Hopefully I'll be able to push onwards and upwards. After all, that's what this is project is about: self-discipline and improving my photographic eye.

Fun stuff. Fun indeed.

365/16 Pork fat rules

If pork fat rules then, by implication, pulled pork is also awesome. It was another lazy day for us, all surrounding the crock pot. I have never before made pulled pork, so I felt now was as good a time as any. Now, any good and intrepid cook would likely do some research on what cut of meat to use, what seasonings work well with pulled pork, the best way to cook it. They would have gathered the top five pulled pork recipes that they could find coming from the best barbecue books available.

But I'm neither a great cook nor a very intrepid one. So doing all that just really isn't my style. Throwing caution to the wind, I went to the store with a singular plan in mind: get a pork butt roast and some beef broth. Pork butts are cheap. It's a meat that you want to cook low and slow. You want this kind of meat to melt like butter, basically.

And why a crockpot? I'm lazy. Plus, I don't really have a smoker out in the backyard that's worth a shit. And even if I did, I don't think I really wanted to tend to a cold fire all day, just to make some smokey, meat goodness. So, crockpot it was. Afterall, this was an experiment, not some grand contest to make the world's best barbecue. I know where my culinary limits are, thankyouverymuch!

So, into the crock pot it went. Since we were cooking it with the beef broth, I didn't want to give it TOO much seasoning. It'd just melt away into the broth. I wanted the seasoning to come in the final stage of cooking, where it would matter most. So, the pork butt went in, fat-side up. A nice layer of onion powder, garlic powder, kosher salt, pepper, and brown sugar was rubbed in. 6 hours of cooking later, I had a mass of pork that had to be spooned from the pot. Large spoons. Forks were just tearing it to bits. It was falling apart before our eyes. Even the bone came off with nothing more than a quick yank with some tongs.

The next step was to shred it. Two forks and some elbow grease later and I had five pounds of delicious meat, almost, but not quite, ready for devouring. The final seasoning was to come: more kosher salt, pepper, and now, some chili powder mix. I tend to season to smell. If I can begin to smell the seasoning, it's probably just about right. Taste for finesse.

The final component? The barbecue sauce! Two cups of it in my case. More or less depending on how wet you want your mix. We like ours pretty dry. You want the sauce in there to enhance the flavor of the meat, not cover it up like worcestersire on a piece of shoe-leather that once identified itself as steak. Mix it all up, shove it in the oven for half an hour to give it that final look of coming from a pit and you're golden.

Add bread to taste.

And remember: pork is delicious. Embrace it. Live it. Love it.

365/8 Behold ... BEER!

This is grain, which any fool can eat, but for which the Lord intended a more divine means of consumption. Let us give praise to our maker and glory to his bounty by learning about... BEER.

Friar Tuck, Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves

It's Friday. Thank the heavens, the lords, the gods, the flying spaghetti monsters ... whomever makes you happy. It's been one of those weeks that I don't relish reliving, ever. EVER. And tomorrow? It will be 11 degrees in Austin.

Yes, you read that correctly. ELEVEN. This is what we have to look forward to tomorrow morning.

Tonight, though ... spent the evening having dinner and guinness with friends. A welcome and comforting end to the week. Laughter and catching up did abound. Good to see them. It doesn't happen often enough, unfortunately.

The bar was filled with color. Reds and oranges were abundant. We sat next to a shuttered window so we had a blue, diffuse light coming in from the sky as it filtered in through the shades. Mostly, I just like how blackhole of Guinness slapped right up front in the frame.

The beer, of course was delicious. As was the pizza. If you ever get a chance, check it out ... The Parlor on Guadalupe. Get one of the specialty pizzas. You won't regret it.

365/6 It's just a banana. No, really.

I'd like to say I have something pithy and worth note this cold winter's eve, but ... hey, it's just a banana. Abused, scraped, dropped, smushed, mushed, dying, dead, creased, poked, prodded, whithered, blistered ... but not peeled.

Just ... a banana.

It's a metaphor for today. Somewhere, somehow, life will open up and it'll still be sweet inside. Just like a banana. Until then, I'll be bruised and battered on the outside. Just like that banana.

I've been reading Within the Frame: The Journey of Photographic Vision this week. I'm about half-way through, devouring as many pages as my sleepy eyes can eat before nodding off to sleep. I've got a dozen post-it's scattered throughout the first half so far. Things that I wanted to remember, things that I wanted to come back and re-digest again and again. Just stuff that popped out at me like a wrinkled-up and abused banana. Something you don't forget seeing. Will post more about those things later. Maybe even a full book review by the end of the week. Who knows?

Until then, I'm going to go eat a banana. It's looking lonesome.

365/3 Breakfast at Tiffany's

"Of all the lessons in life that I've learned the hard way, the ones involving frontal nudity and hot bacon grease seem to be the most enduring"

Sunday morning sleep is sacrosanct in my home. It's my recovery day, a day of peace and rest, laziness and excess. The kids know to wake up and get their own breakfast. They're generally pretty good about it, fetching themselves cereal or toast. Sometimes with strawberry jam, if we have it stocked in the refrigerator.

But, when I wake up, I want something hearty. Something that doesn't come out of a pre-packaged box. It must combine all the goodness of caffeine to awaken me, syrup to sweeten the mood, and a saltiness that is divine. And where best to have those three luscious ingredients but in a filling Sunday morning banquet of flapjacks, joe, and fried bacon goodness.

The pancakes must be buttermilk. Nothing but the lightest and fluffiest, covered in butter. For a twist, throw in some sliced strawberries. (Strawberries? I sense a trend in the house ...)

The coffee? I love my coffee. It must be ground fresh. None of this Folgers crap for me. I have to want to bury my nose in the grounds and huff it like a street junkie on Krylon (brown, if you please). Each cup must be delicately floated with half-and-half. Or whipped cream. And sugared like a white powdered donut. In other words, light, sweet, and delicious. Like cake.

And finally, the bacon. Thick cut, if you please. Not overdone. Burnt, I mean. I like it crispy, but chewy. Not too much meat, not too much fat. I want it to dissolve in my mouth like a thin slice of proscuitto. Only, with that rich pork fat kick that only comes with the sautéing in a heavy skillet.

And if there's anything you absolutely, positively must do on a Sunday morning such as this? Fancy yourself some clothing when slapping that first strip of bacon onto the griddle.

Trust me. You'll thank me.

Blueberry, blueberry, where are you?

You ought to have seen what I saw on my way
To the village, through Mortenson's pasture to-day:
Blueberries as big as the end of your thumb,
Real sky-blue, and heavy, and ready to drum
In the cavernous pail of the first one to come! 
And all ripe together, not some of them green
And some of them ripe! You ought to have seen!"

Blueberries by Robert Frost

Have you ever pulled a well-ripened blueberry from it's comforting container and just ... admired it? Hold it between your fingers. No, don't squeeze it; it'll burst at the seams. But, just cradle it. They have a delicate skin, a deepest of blue. Some of mine were just past the age of ripeness. You could see it in the skin, wrinkled like the skin of a well-worn man aged in the sun and retired from the orchard.

When ripened, blueberry skin becomes waxy, almost white and milky. This aging of it's coat protects it from spoiling too quickly. But, at the same time, reveals a mottled and textured appeal for the camera. It gives life and depth to this tiny blue planet.

On one end a crater has formed from the tips of the flower petal. It resembles a miniature (yet mighty) impact of rock and ice on a planet surface. Really, go look. Tell me you don't see it.

Anyway, I took up the idea of blueberries one evening recently after having seen a photo of this delightful little fruit falling into a bowl and leaving a trail of light in it's wake. I wanted to recreate that image to see if I could do it. Sadly, I came to the conclusion that it's not as easy as it looked.

I'm still mulling over why I failed here. The scientist in me could give you a hundred different technical reasons on why I couldn't capture it, starting at "not enough ambient light" and ending somewhere around "not enough hand-eye coordination to coordinate the falling berries and the shutter". The storyteller in me just wants to say that the idea, however much I had chased it, just wasn't in me. Frustration set in when I wasn't getting what I wanted.

So, like every grand experimenter, I tried something different.

A little side journey here. One of the things I'd promised myself recently was to shoot every Strobist Bootcamp II subject presented to me. I did the first. Failed on the second (but made up for it with my coffee beans). When the results were announced, I went through the entire 700+ list of entries just to see what people were doing. I declare that I'm standing on the shoulders of giants here. The one that caught my eye (before it was announced as the winner) was this one. Peppers in a well-seasoned skillet. Now this ... this has character. This pan has a story to tell, of all the wonderful and comforting dinners it's sizzled away at. You can see the scratches and dings and pock marks. A hedonistic patina built up by years and years of use.

And this is how ideas start.

I wanted something like this, something showing off the well-used baking stone we have. Our second stone, in fact, lovingly built up through years of curing under the scorching oven heat, saturated with the oils leached out of the foods we've cooked on it. French fries, battered fish, bread, pizza ... you name it, we've cooked it. This has taken years. I was crushed when, in a moment of idiocracy, I took our first stone and set it under a fountain of water coming from our kitchen sink. It was the CRACK! heard 'round the world. Yep. The sudden change of temperature from hellfire and brimstone to cold, cold river water did me in. And I remember that moment every time I'm cooking on our second stone because of the time and effort it takes to season one of these well. An unseasoned stone is no stone to cook on.

So, I had my stone. And I had my blueberries. Like chocolate and peanut butter: two great tastes tasting great together. I had the soul and depth of my background with the life and zest of my subject. So, what to do? Be like any great artist and just plop my load of tiny planets down on this dark brown thingy. Make it look not-so-arranged and neat. Order is the bane of inconsistency. I played with the light a bit combining a bit of flash with a bit of incandescent and didn't like it all that much; the blue and the orange just didn't work well with this. The orange just detracts from the color of the blueberries, warming them up too much. They're blue. They needed to be stark and cold and inviting that way.

I labored on. I spent hours upon hours arranging each and every berry in the most articulate of ways. You know, pushing and prodding gently with a toothpick, picking them up one by one with tongs like a little berry crane, and gingerly dropping them down upon the other without a moments hesitation. Ok, not really. They were unceremoniously dumped from the bowl I was eating them out of and finger-kicked until it looked
right, I realized I was still missing something. Steel! Cold, hard steel. Everyone loves a good blade right?

I'm still debating which photo I like more: with the blade or without. I wanted to see some of the detail and striations in the knife's makeup. It really is a pain in the ass to get that angled correctly so the detail is teased out without blowing out the stripes. I tried adding some drops of water blown on to the entire arrangement but it looked contrived. I also thought about crushing some berries but ... by that point, I was just eating them before I could sufficiently place the crushed ones back on the board.

Oh well.

The lighting setup on this wasn't too difficult. One 32" white shoot-through umbrella on the far side of the baking stone to give me that broad northern-looking light. I had a second light on-camera but aimed directly up at the ceiling to create a large fill source. I wanted just enough light to bring up some of the shadow detail without killing it and without blowing out the detail in the knife. I think it worked well enough.

But again, I'm still not sure which picture I like more. One thing's for sure: the berries were good. I'll need to go and get some more before the season dies out.

Juan Valdez, eat your heart out!

I promised myself I would do every Strobist Bootcamp II assignment this go-around. I swear I did. When I failed at doing the second one (the food assignment), I went out and bought some random vittles at Whole Foods to make up for it. A good strobist I was. I chose a random smattering of things: serrano peppers, fresno peppers, coffee beans, spaghetti (spinach AND wheat), two-bite brownies, and pints of blueberries.

Sadly, the brownies didn't make it out of the evening alive. But the coffee beans did! I'm not sure about the photos though. I need to take a step back and re-evaluate what I did and figure out how I could have made them better. I think the biggest problem is that they're just too uniform in color. All brown, no biscuit.

Biscotti might have helped.

But that's ok. I still managed to spend over an hour working the light and coming up with something that looked good. Compared to many of the 2nd assignment's submissions, I think they suck a bit. For the reason mentioned above. I just didn't think enough about what I wanted to do with what I had.

I have a few more ideas to work through for the berries and peppers, but that's going to take a day or two before I'm ready to even work on that. The hard part is trying to re-create northern sunlight coming in through the window in the dining room. It's just too hot during the day to try and shoot back there.

I've included a few lighting setup shots so you can see what I was doing. It's not much, but it's a start.

What I'm realizing now is that, while the umbrellas do really well at creating a large, soft light, they're extremely challenging to control. I mean, it's a big round light. At one point, I was getting hot spots coming through because of how close I had the umbrella to the kitchen table. Solved that by slipping a piece of paper inside the umbrella at the point where it came closest to the table top to help diffuse out more of the light. That definitely worked great.

But, I need a good softbox. I need more light control for something like this.

In time.

But yeah, take a look at my coffee. Juan Valdez ain't got nothin' on my coffee bean yumminess! I think I'll have to play with this idea some more. Add some piles of white cane sugar, maybe some cinnamon sticks. And a different mug. The brown is definitely just too much.

Oh, and next time I'm buying cheaper coffee. Something I can throw away when I'm done; or at least keep away from my wife who kept trying to act as part of the coffee bean thievery guild of greater Austin. Maybe I'll just buy her her own coffee and that'll solve my problem.

More photos from the evening. Click through to see the explicit lighting details.

"Where's your missionary?"

Foreigners cannot enjoy our food, I suppose, any more than we can enjoy theirs. It is not strange; for tastes are made, not born. I might glorify my bill of fare until I was tired; but afer all, the Scotchman would shake his head, and say, "Where's your haggis?" and the Fijan would sigh and say, "Where's your missionary?"

Mark Twain A Tramp Abroad

Southern fried catfish. Covered and smothered in the hardiest cornmeal batter you can find and dropped into a vat of oil rolling and seething with the fury of the seas boiling before a hurricane. Add some golden fried chips, a splash of tartar sauce, and a hushpuppy or three? You have the makings for some good eats right there.

Work had their annual picnic recently. The main course that was catered in was catfish, cooked on the spot, served hot, and all you can stuff down your gullet. Definitely a photo-op to be sure. I don't remember the company they brought in. It was the Manchaca Fire Department (Manchaca Firehall). They pulled in a large trailer replete with refrigerators packed with catfish, a rather large prep area, and four or five deep fryers. The more people ate, the more fish they battered and sacrificed to the gods of Canola and Flame.

The lines for the food stretched from one end of the building to the other. People chattered and kibitzed, but only in the politest of manners. There was a table full of lego men. Yes, I said lego men. One of the odd traditions, I've discovered. They (as in the group, not the lego men) have team building exercises wherein groups race to build dozens of lego men and the winners get ... more lego men. But all the ones that are built throughout the year get bundled up and given away at this picnic.

Strange, I know. What more could you ask for from a team building experience?

Now, where was I. Yes, they gave out lego men. I picked up one of the medics. Why a medic? I used to work with a Vietnam Vet and he'd occasionally pipe up and yell, "MEDIC! I'M HIT!" whenever something bad went down in the environment. So, I had to pickup a corpsman and stretcher to keep on my desk. Oddly enough, the medic and I soon parted ways when I gave it to my office mate. He objects to the lego men. Something about zombie hordes of little plastic men coming to take over the world or something. Or maybe not. I can't exactly remember. I just recall the look on his face when I placed it on his desk.

But, back to the story. I'm finding that the camera is going with me everywhere most days now. Especially with the new lens cranked on there. I swear, it's practically welded on by this point. Knowing that there'd be a few hundred people at this picnic, it went along with me. I encountered a few other photogs there. They were focusing on the event in general. I was just having fun. With my camera and my heaping plate of food, I grabbed a chair and camped out at a table next to my friend Scarlett. I stole a few shots of her food because it looked more interesting than mine. But then, it was more interesting because I'd eaten most of my catfish and hadn't yet gone back for seconds.

I ended up being joined by a few of the associate VPs. Funny that. I had to be on my best behavior. Wouldn't want to make a resume-altering statement in front of three of the most powerful people in the group. So, I mostly ate in silence and occasionally took a photo or two. When all was said and done, I finished off the afternoon with the remains of what was on the table. Empty plates, full bellies, and nothing but trash.

One of the AVPs commented how good my camera was when the photo of the trashed remains came up on the screen. I pointed out it was the photographer that made the photo. The camera, unlike the photog, was just a tool.

I think it went over their heads.

They still liked the photo, though. And me, I was fat, dumb, and happy. Full of catfish and ready for a nap.

Austin Hangouts

Every Thursday I go to hangout with friends after work. Nothing fancy, just a group that likes to sit down, have some dinner, maybe some coffee, and bullshit for a few hours. Invariably, we all tend to haunt the same dives in Austin for our merriment. Figured I'd at least share some of the better places to go kick around.

Spiderhouse: one of my local haunts for the last few years. Spiderhouse is rather ... eclectic. Even for a coffee house. Spiderhouse wasn't so much designed as organically grown. Most of the seating is outside either under the porch awning, out on the brick patio, or under the gigantic pecan trees out back. They food is ok. It's mostly vegetarian. Not particularly my thing. But I don't go there for the food, I go there for the occasional good DJ playing while we're relaxing with friends, the decent cup of hot chocolate or apple cider when it's cold, or the pint or two of Liveoak Heffe that's needed when it's blazingly hot out.

Ruby's BBQ: Ruby's is a stone's through from Spiderhouse. If you're a meatasaurus rex and you're craving meat, it's the place to go if you're up near campus. Another one of Austin's hole-in-the-walls, the place looks like it's about to fall apart. The tiny one-toilet men's room is covered in graffiti and you have to squeeze your fat ass into the door because it's just so damn tight. But the staff is good, the brisket is better, and the cobbler ... pretty damned tasty.

Dirty Martin's: I found out about this place a few months back. If you could throw a stone and hit Ruby's from Spiderhouse, you could hit Dirty Martin's with a bow and arrow ("I fire an arrow into the air and where it lands I know not ... ooooh! damn, it hit Dirty's"). Yet another greasy spoon in Austin. If you have a heart condition, this is probably not the place for you. Serving one of the best quadruple bypasses in the city, Dirty's is the place to go for hamburgers and fries. This is one of the line cooks. I never caught his name, but his expressions are hilarious when you catch him listening to conversations. Nice guy. Sit at the bar if you can. One of the more classic diner feels in Austin. Oh, and the milkshakes aren't half-bad either.