Imperfect

On a drizzly spring day a few weeks ago, I was fortunate to be invited for lunch at my friend Ellen's home. It's always a treat to receive that particular invitation because Ellen is a private chef. Spontaneously, she can throw together a meal from whatever she finds in her fridge and garden that's more scrumptous than any restaurant around.

Beyond the wonderful fish chowder and deer tongue lettuce sprinkled with chive flowers, I was delighted by what lay on the table. Longing to photograph the two pears bathed in natural light, I chided myself for not bringing my camera. But there, beside my napkin lay my iPhone. Dare I stoop to that level, become just another iPhone shooter.
You have no choice, I told myself pressing the silly "app." Although one pear is marred, the rooster's head is cut off and the file is half the size of my Canon's digital capability, I couldn't get this image out of my head. To read a more lyrical rendition of this post, visit Recovery Thru My Lens.

Rugelach

During the holidays, any holiday, one of my greatest pleasures is cooking with my kids. Here's a plate of chocolate raspberry rugelach baked yesterday by my daughter, Jackie, and photographed overhead using natural window light.
I'm sure most of you have seen or eaten these cream cheese cookies traditionally baked on Hanukkah, but available in bakeries year-round. Yesterday while walking with my friend and author Julie Sheehan, I expressed my "trans-cultural" delight over the fact that Jackie had baked 150 ruggelach to be wrapped in sets of a dozen and presented as Christmas gifts to her boyfriend's family.
"Rugelach, what's that?" she asked.
"You know, those little crescents I had at my Hanukkah dinner."
"Oh those," she said, "I didn't know what they're called; how's it spelled?"
Never quite sure, I looked it up when I returned home. Here's what I found: Rugelach ( /ˈruːɡələx/; Yiddish: רוגעלך), other spellings: rugelakh, rugulach, rugalach, ruggalach, rogelach (all plural), rugalah, rugala (singular), is a Jewish pastry of Ashkenazic origin.

Last Supper

Sometimes a chore can turn into a delight than can be transformed into a photographic pleasure. For a week I've been preparing for a two-week trip to Europe where I'll be visiting my daughter who's studying in Barcelona; then I'll travel to Paris to visit friends.
As part of the endless preparations, I kept eying the food in my refrigerator hoping I wouldn't have to throw it away just before heading for the airport. Yesterday a friend and I were sitting in the sun in my backyard about to leave for a goodbye lunch when an idea popped into my head. "Let's just stay here," I said, "I've got all this food that I don't want to waste....why don't we just use everything in the fridge."

So two eggplants, leftover tomato sauce and mozzarella, and some parsley became my version of eggplant parmesan. We also roasted a few orange and yellow peppers, used half a container of mesclun for two small salads, and warmed the remains of a loaf of semolina.

An hour and a half later, this Mediterranean meal graced my table."Take a picture," my friend said, "it looks too good to eat."

But I'm hungry and tired from all the cooking I thought sighing.

"Com'on, do it for me," she insisted."

*for those of you who are enjoying Learning to See, I will be away until early November when I hope to return with some more photographic pleasures!