I cover foodie events that feature table after table of small bites from a variety of restaurants. Normally I roam around the side and back of tables to get shots of famous chefs, people preparing food, and people handing food to other people. You may have noticed I also love the patterns that rows of small plates make.
While I’m doing my thing I often josh a little with the employees, and sometimes they hand me a plate. Many chefs understandably want to prepare a special plate with a perfect garnish and no splatter for a photograph. I usually take that plate over to a sunny area to photograph it. I don’t stand in front of the line gleefully enjoying the food and laughing, “Suckersssss.”
As an extremely enthusiastic, if not professional, reporter, I feel like it’s my job to get the story. I have to try each and every bite in order to make restaurant recommendations and take beautiful, mouth-watering pictures so that you can live vicariously through the posts. Besides wanting those behind-the-scenes pictures I am often racing the sunset and the sheer impossibility of hitting every table. And like a crazed food paparazzi, I have to get the shot. I have to get the story.
Well, this week I was at Disneyland. It was a particularly hot and crowded day. As I waited in a miserably long line for ice cream, another park employee slipped up to the side of the counter and ordered ice cream for herself and some friends. As she sailed past, I noticed a particularly self-satisfied look on her face. If I had laser-beam eyes, she would have been dust.
Last night at another food event, I noticed the other food bloggers patiently waiting in line like good citizens, and I realized that I am probably lucky that no one has laser beam eyes.
