In the past, when someone would ask me what kind of photographer I want to become, I would reluctantly respond that I wasn't sure about that. I was, however, sure that one day the skies would part and divine intervention would deliver the answer. Then Aran Goyoaga and Karen Mordechai of Sunday Suppers announced they were teaming up for a food styling and photography workshop at Karen’s gorgeous studio in Brooklyn, New York. As a James Beard Award nominated food blogger, stylist, and photographer, Aran brings a sense of authenticity and commitment to natural beauty. Coupled with Karen’s emphasis on design and community, these two created an opportunity I simply could not resist. Within minutes of the announcement, I had secured my spot for the workshop. My heart had already been leading me towards food photography and this opportunity gave me the courage to dive in. See for yourself what a beautiful (and delicious!) experience it was.
In the spirit of celebrating the gorgeous light in the Sunday Suppers studio, this image was taken in the prep kitchen close to the windowed wall. I kept it bright with a slightly higher ISO and slower shutter speed. I love the way the greens and yellows contrast, but my favorite part is the little two-toned dish with parsley.
After a lovely breakfast prepared by Karen and her team, we settled in for some education. But this wasn't your average school room setting. With it’s perfectly north facing windows, the Sunday Suppers studio bathed us in gorgeous light all day. The space is clean, fresh, and open. The aesthetic almost begging for creativity to flow. Aran shared her creative process and helped us through some of the more technical aspects of food photography. She talked about the importance of thinking seasonally and honoring both the food and where it comes from. Soon smells from the nearby prep kitchen were beginning to permeate the space. It was time to get our hands dirty.
First we played with fuzzy green almonds, thinly sliced prosciutto, colorful roasted carrots, and a variety of cheeses still wrapped in parchment from the cheesemonger. Aran styled a charcuterie plate and we used the ingredients in creations of our very own. Then, of course, we enjoyed the fruits of our labor. Lunch was a silky soup from Aran’s cookbook and crisp salad with fennel and grapefruit. As you would expect, no one ate before the dishes were sufficiently photographed. My soup got cold, but that’s beside the point. As I walked back to my apartment at the end of the day, with the shadows growing long over South Williamsburg, I already felt full. As though I had already learned so much and grown more than I thought possible in a single day. But there was still more to come.
I wanted to play around with the light in the studio to see if I could harness it for a moodier tone. I moved to a dark reclaimed wood table, dropped my ISO, and sped up the shutter speed ever so slightly. My composition goal was to complement the watermelon radishes with the pink in the ramps.
Day two was about putting the knowledge into action. After another delightful breakfast, Karen and her team prepped ingredients for us to work with; including vibrant watermelon radishes, gorgeous purple artichokes, otherworldly mushrooms, tiny little sprouts, and of course, more cheese. We sliced rustic breads and spread fresh ricotta. We chopped green onions and sprinkled sea salt flakes. Thankfully, it was also that magical time of year when ramps are in season. As you can see, I had a bit of a field day with those wild and untamed bouquets. Then it was our job to style and photograph, following every whim all the way through to post production. Lunch was a bowl of golden quinoa with pesto and some of the ingredients you see in these photos. Again, hungry photographers squeezed in a few last shots before sharing a meal together.
This photo isn't so much about the purple itself, but more about the purple and green working together. One of the participants had cut the artichoke in half - a brilliant idea - and the potatoes were a perfect complement. I fussed a lot over where the fork should be. As Aran pointed out, authenticity is key. So I put the fork where I would drop it during a meal. The bordered edge of this textile was the perfect way to bring together the purple and green. This was shot on the floor of Sunday Suppers, using the window sill to block some light so I could be darker, but not too moody.
Aran talked a lot about creating curves in her images. Ramps are naturally full of curves, but against the backdrop of this curved wood, they stand out even more. This photo was taken on a bench surrounded by hungry photographers.
It was a weekend full of magnificent food, discovery, and companionship. Before leaving the studio, I asked Karen for recommendations on where to have dinner for my last night in Brooklyn. She would, of course, know best. So I spent my evening reveling over a three course meal at Diner, located beneath the Williamsburg Bridge with New American cuisine and daily changing menus written on napkins or old receipts. There’s nothing like a spectacular meal in a beat up railcar from the nineteen twenties to remind me why I love Brooklyn so much.
I learned many lessons throughout the workshop - including that a hungry food stylist never did anyone any good. So, eat my friends. Eat fresh and eat beautifully. Eat with gratitude and appreciation, for Mother Nature is full of abundance and we have much to be grateful for. Now, I'm off to the farmer's market before ramps go out of season again.
For me, this scene was all about the gorgeous Pallares knife, made from carbon steel and boxwood by a third-generation blade smith in the small town of Solsona, Spain, not far from Barcelona. I chopped the green onions to create a scene that was in progress.
Have I mentioned how special ramps are? This was one of my first shots of the day. I thought the bundle spoke for itself, so I shot it alone on that familiar reclaimed wood table. In order to create the contrast and celebrate the woodwork, I used an assistant to hold a black card off to the left.
