A Picture of Food

I just finished processing a bunch of produce that was languishing in my family’s fridge. I chopped and froze peppers, cut the brown spots out of cauliflower, and put the grapes on a bowl on the table so somebody will actually eat them. It got me thinking about food, and I realized that I have a photo habit even greater than my duck obsession: taking pictures of my food.

Consider this breakfast at Shari’s that a friend’s parents bought for me in Roseburg, Oregon.

I ordered this ensemble at a fast-food joint in Salt Lake City called “Greek Souvlaki No. 1.”

Mary and I made this tasteless pasta when we were staying at the Point Montara Lighthouse Hostel (the ocean view was more than worth the lack of accessible groceries).

This isn’t actually my food— but I got the next size down at Fat Smitty’s in Port Townsend, Washington.

I had my first panini at Village Books in Fairhaven, Washington.

And seriously, if you’re going to eat hot dogs in Hollywood, you have to take a picture of them.

Sometimes when I look back at my travel pictures, it seems silly that I’m taking pictures of food. And yet, there are entrees that I miss: the ratatouille the two French women made for me in Monterey; the Easter dinner I cooked for the L’s in Utah last year; the giant “mancakes” that I fried for my friends at the Everglades Hostel every morning. I guess that seeing the pictures brings back memories, just like anything else. You don’t always have to have a scenic background or a goofy face to take you back to a place you’ve been.

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