Chez Moi

August 24, 2014

Small things chez moi

Some photos taken recently at my place, chez moi. Little details, really, continuing my interest in the play of light and shadow at home. We live in a small apartment with only pot plants for company, which means that the daily changes in our immediate surroundings are limited (unlike the home of my childhood). In compensation, one thing that does constantly shift, minute by minute, season by season, is the light that streams through the windows overlooking the balcony and street below.

In the winter, the sun sits low in the sky. In the mornings it beams through the windows, reaching deep into the apartment, brightening and warming the living-dining-kitchen space. When our alarm goes off at 5.45-6am, we usually open the bedroom door so we can see the sun as it rises over the top of the mezzanine.

When the sunrise is especially spectacular, which occurs frequently in Brisbane, I’m usually up and out of bed, camera in hand, trying to capture the moment of deepest colour before it fades all too quickly.

There’s still something in this documentation of the ordinary and everyday. I find these kinds of images restful, or maybe it’s the act of taking them that is so – the conscious choice to pause and take note of a fleeting ray of sunlight or a contrast of textures. Viewed together, they represent an accumulation of moments and and an overall desire for stillness, slowness and mindfulness.

Home is (in an ideal sense) partly a space of withdrawal from external worlds, a place of privacy and self-expression and an arena within which to rebuild and restore. I read photos of the ordinary and everyday at home as an articulation of this withdrawal. They are me as my most introverted self.

I mostly keep such photos for myself; a solitary activity for solitary consumption. However, lately I’ve been enjoying the work of a few people who also appreciate small details in their immediate environments. Sharing a few of my photos gives me the excuse to write about theirs.

Desmond Manny photographs mundane objects as “art artefacts”, posing this subject matter as something of an antidote to the proliferation of exotic, styled and edited photographs that compete for our attention. His eye for detail produces unexpected beauty, such as the buttery knife in Toast, the spent match in Odd One Out, and his Consider the Peanut series. Desmond has self-published an e-book about his work which is free to download from his site. I like these words in particular:

Photographing objects that are considered commonplace, that we interact with every single day in countless routine ways, places the photographer into a frame of mind that is contemplative and attentive. At once the photographer becomes a seeker of the subtle who finds beauty in details and intricacies.

Scott Maker is a photographer living in midwest America. He doesn’t write much, leaving the viewer to interpret what they will from his images. Many of his posts are tagged “ordinary” and feature photos of everyday objects, scenes and activities; small things that aren’t usually considered for their artistic value. One of my favourite posts has to be Photos taken at a wedding, but not of the wedding, and it’s true – there’s no people, no decorations, no typical wedding paraphernalia, just a quiet portrait of the space around him. Also worth checking out from Scott are Ordinary photography at a family gathering and the film series, Photos I don’t remember taking.

And finally there is Teresa Dickson, who blogs at Glance, Observe, Capture. Her Project 7 recently aimed to capture simple things each day for a week, as a way to freshen her creative energy while on holiday from her photography job. Other great posts feature her family relaxing at home (in her words, “simple things are big things”) and walks on wild Scottish beaches.

Thanks to Desmond, Scott and Teresa for noticing and sharing precious pieces of your everyday.

August 13, 2014

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Raspberry Buttermilk Cake

After a short blast of winter, which included only two weeks of “proper” cold, Brisbane has decided that spring is here. While the evenings can still be a little chilly, I’m back to bare legs and light cardigans during the day. I’m doing my best not to panic about how hot summer is going to be this year (la la la la la) and instead greet the rising of sap and birthing of lambs with an air of joyful exuberance – and that of course means cake, of which there has been entirely too little on this blog lately.

Moist and tender, vanilla- and lemon-scented, studded with raspberries turned tangy by the heat: this cake is downright delectable! It’s the perfect cake for a ladies afternoon tea and indeed, I took it to one recently. It was actually a lingerie party, not the naughty kind mind you, the sensible kind; about support rather than sex, where the proprietor dispenses advice on optimum laundering techniques for extending the life of your undergarments, as opposed to various “shades of grey”. Anyway, the elegant simplicity of the cake was perfect at our party, served with tea and a little sparkling wine, as we innocently chattered about mother’s-in-law and pregnancies, kittens and lace. (This of course gets me wondering about what kind of cake should be matched with a naughty lingerie party? Chocolate, it would have to be chocolate. Maybe dirty Mud Cake or boozy Black Forest?).

You don’t have to crook your finger as you daintily eat this cake (although you may find that you want to). All you really need to know is that everyone who eats it will go back for seconds. Even your mega-macho friend who loves the gym will beg you to make one, just for him. I’ve actually had the recipe printed off and waiting to be trialled for five years, which is devastating as I could have (would have) been making it all this time if I had known how good it was.

Did you notice my new napkins, made by Yardage Design?

I spotted them at a market outside GOMA a few weeks ago. The vibrancy of the hot pink print against the variegated grey of the linen was just stunning in the winter sun and I simply had to have them. True to my uncultured roots (New Zealand has more of a paper serviette tradition), I fear that they are too lovely to use on sticky mouths and fingers. I’ll reserve them, I’ve resolved, for draping, covering and embellishment purposes only:

That’s all from me, a bit of froth and frivolity is all I feel like conjuring today (it’s a public holiday). Here’s to napkins and cake, tea parties and underwear, the scent of spring and the Royal Queensland Show (Ekka). I’ll try to be back, next post, with serious reflection and meat. Frou frou!

Raspberry Buttermilk Cake

Servings: 8-12
Print

From Smitten Kitchen

130g plain flour
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/4 tsp salt
56g unsalted butter, at room temperature
146g sugar, plus a further 1 1/2 Tbsp sugar, divided
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
1/2 tsp finely grated lemon zest (optional)
1 large egg, at room temperature
1/2 cup well-shaken buttermilk
1 cup (roughly 140g) fresh raspberries

Preheat oven to 205°C/400°F . Butter and flour a 25cm round cake pan.

Whisk together the flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt and set aside. Beat the butter and first measure of sugar with an electric mixer at medium-high speed until pale and fluffy. Beat in the vanilla extract and lemon zest. Add the egg and beat well.

Switching the mixer to a low speed, mix in the flour mixture in three batches, alternating with buttermilk, beginning and ending with flour. Ensure that each time you only mix until just combined. Transfer the batter into the cake pan and gently spread to fill the pan. Scatter the raspberries over the top and sprinkle with the final 1 1/2 tablespoons of sugar.

Bake until cake is golden and a wooden pick inserted into center comes out clean, which should take between 18-25 minutes depending on your oven. Cool the cake in the pan for 10 minutes then turn out onto a rack to cool completely.

July 29, 2014

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The camera never lies (food bloggers do)

What’s wrong with this picture?

Technical issues aside, the problem is with the content: every bit of food depicted in this scene ended up in the rubbish bin after the photo-shoot had ended. It was not edible.

Recently I spent about an hour on a Sunday roasting capsicums (peppers) and making a spicy marinade, intending to blog the recipe. It was late in the afternoon and by the time I had completed the dish the natural light had faded. I resolved to snap some photos the next morning before work, but I ended up running out of time. I returned home that night to find the capsicums sitting on the bench; a casualty of an early morning dash to extract the lunchbox situated behind the hapless capsicums in the fridge.

My carefully prepared dish had sat out for a whole day and it was now inedible. As is typical of my current obsession, my real pain was not for the wasted food, but for the missed photo opportunity. I resolved to reserve the capsicums in the fridge until Friday when I had a day off. I would see then, if the capsicums had survived long enough for me to take an acceptable photo of the plated up dish. Yes that’s right. I deliberately planned to photograph an inedible dish and pass it off to the world as food.

Come Friday, I prepared to assemble the dish: a simple affair of wholegrain toast and feta with the capsicums draped across (my favourite way to eat the, usually fresh, capsicums). However, by Friday the fridge was pretty bare. The bread was beginning to moulder and the feta had tipped from tangy to stinky. To be frank, I barely hesitated – it’s not like I was going to eat it anyway. I picked off the mould and toasted the bread. I held my nose and spread the feta on the toast. I fished out pieces of capsicum without looking at them too closely and laid them over the cheese.

Wanting to depict a cheerful, breakfasty scene, I made coffee to include in the shot, but one whiff of the milk told me that it too was off. I substituted almond milk, only to watch it curdle as it hit the hot liquid. Feeling decidedly unlucky, I abandoned the coffee and fished out a dusty peppermint tea bag to use instead. After a few shots I felt like the scene needed more colour so I added the mandarin, positioned just so, to ensure that a spot of watery rot was obscured from view.

This isn’t about tattering my own reputation for hygiene (which I’ve done rather thoroughly). The point is that this exercise in artifice got me thinking about food blogging and the essential role of the food photo in food posts. We eat with our eyes, in fact there is no other way online, but many of the beautifully styled food photos that make dishes look incredible bear no relation to the food production and consumption that happens in my everyday life. Just where is the evidence that the dish was indeed delicious (let alone edible), as food bloggers claim? Forget mason jars, tree branches and other romanticising props, maybe we should only trust photos where it is clear that the food has been demolished, like the empty bowls scraped clean in this shot perhaps? Such images may not go viral on Pinterest but there’s an honesty about them, isn’t there (or is there)?

At the end of the day, a digital image is a representation of an unknowable truth that I want you to believe in. I want you to make the recipe I share, so I do my best to make it look and sound good. The actor Cesar Romano is credited with the quote: “They say the camera never lies. It lies everyday”, and I like the dialectic of this idea. Some highly respected food bloggers lie very well and it’s quite clear that you can’t trust me. The proof can only be in the eating of the pudding.

As it happened, I was unhappy with the first set of photos, so a couple of weeks later I re-made the dish and photographed it again. This time I ate it afterwards. I did. Honestly.

For more food for thought, see this amusing post on the “vulgar pleasure” of 1970s food photography and this post for a fascinating demonstration of current food photography trends.

Roasted Marinated Capsicums

Servings: 6
Print

Adapted from Jamie Oliver, The Return of the Naked Chef

4 large red and/or yellow capsicums (peppers)
1 large clove garlic
2 small chillies, or to taste
1 Tbsp coriander seeds
4 Tbsp extra virgin olive oil
2 Tbsp red wine vinegar
Salt and pepper to taste

Roast the capsicums until they are blackened all over and beginning to collapse. I used to do this under the grill in the oven, but lately I’ve been using the barbeque grill plate, turning them regularly to ensure they blacken evenly. Once ready, place the capsicums in a bowl and cover with a plate. The heat will continue to steam the skin from the flesh of the peppers.

While the peppers are steaming, prepare the marinade. Finely chop the garlic and chillies and add to a bowl. Lightly crush the coriander seeds using a mortar and pestle, just enough to crack the seeds open and release their scent. Add these to the bowl along with the oil and vinegar. Mix and season to taste.

After a few minutes, or when the capsicums are cool enough to handle, peel off the blacked skin and remove the seeds. Tear each pepper into several strips and add to the marinade. Stir well to coat evenly. The peppers can be eaten immediately, although I prefer to cover and chill them to eat the next day when the flavours have melded and the garlic has softened. They taste great on toasted bread with feta and they are also excellent with hard boiled eggs and avocado.

July 20, 2014

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Toowoomba

Colin and I share the same birthday. That’s either beyond adorable or frankly weird, depending on your point of view. Most people think it’s cute, but the novelty wore off years ago for us. While the advantage is that neither of us are likely to forget the other’s birthday, sometimes I wish I could have my birthday to myself. Just once I’d like it to be my day. I’m sick of sharing.

Foot-stamping aside, such trials of life are always what you make of them. Our usual approach to is to eschew presents and parties and go out for a fancy meal, usually the fanciest of the year. This year we wanted to do something different, and since our birthdays (I try not to say “our birthday” as it makes us sound like twins…too weird) fell on a Saturday, we decided to go away for the night. Where do you go for a special weekend escape to celebrate your awkwardly conjoined birthdays? Apparently not Toowoomba.

Poor Toowoomba. We were surprised by the negative reactions we received when we told people we planned to go there. I don’t really understand. Sure, it doesn’t exactly have the most rocking nightlife, but it’s a beautiful green town situated high on the crest of the Great Dividing Range. We’ve visited and stayed in many other places close to Brisbane, both the Sunshine and Gold Coasts (the usual holiday destinations for beach-loving Brisbanites), the hinterland of both Coasts, as well as Byron Bay in northern New South Wales. We had never been west of Brisbane. I love the cold, as I am ever fond of saying, and in Australia the winter is much colder the further inland you go. For my birthday, all I wanted was a properly crisp winter, trees that properly shed their leaves, a crackling fire, and a bit of batten-down-the-hatches. I got all that in Toowoomba.

Toowoomba (“the Garden City”) has around 150 public gardens and parks, and is best known for hosting the annual Carnival of Flowers every September. At that time of year all of the public parks are awash with colour, which must be gorgeous, but in June the town was peaceful and green, with blazing autumn leaves, dappled sunlight and that gentle air of small-town slow. The centre of town is dotted with stone churches and halls, beautifully restored buildings like Cafe Valetta, and art deco treasures such as the Empire Theatre. It’s a great place for hunting antiques, wine-tasting at Preston Peak winery, and hiking around Table Top Mountain.

We stayed for one night at Vacy Hall, a heritage listed building that was built in 1899 by a wealthy pastoralist. It operated as a private residence for many years, then was converted to a boarding house before being refurbished as guest accommodation in the 1980s. It is a wonderfully evocative building, with voluminous curtains, high ceilings and cedar-lined passageways that smell of linseed oil. All the rooms have open fireplaces. We lit ours after we got home from a great dinner at Veraison, and I lit it again at 6am the next morning – determined to get one more fire before we left.

After checking out on Sunday morning we ate a fantastic breakfast at Engine Room on Railway St, then visited the stunning Japanese Garden situated on the grounds of the University of Southern Queensland. After a thorough wander we reluctantly hit the road back to Brisbane, feeling like our 24 hours in Toowoomba was exactly the mid-winter birthday escape we were after.

Lately I’ve been trying to get my un-techy head around the manual settings on my camera. I’ve long relied on simple tricks, luck and repetition to produce my photos, but a growing dissatisfaction with my results has led to a bit of learning. Toowoomba provided ample opportunities to practice. I’ve often been drawn to capture scenes with a mix of sunlight and shadow, but I’ve usually ended up with over-exposed sunlight and under-exposed shadows. However, something must be sinking in finally because these shots are a big improvement: