, , ,

Thanks, Mrs. Borrelli

Are there any cuisines, world-wide, where there isn’t a treat of some sort that you can have with your coffee?

So I had a rough couple of days. Nothing earth-shattering, just those days where it’s hard to keep your mind straight because of some issues, here and there.

A friend (Joe) who has a studio a hundred feet from my studio (down the hall and up a flight of stairs) offered me a cup of coffee. He just bought himself a stellar espresso machine and was well on his way to match any shot from any decent coffee shop pretty much anywhere. I was happy to accept.

We talked – about this and that – some about my concerns, some about coffee, some about lighting and photography, about the view…

And then he brought out a small loaf, he said, “my mom made this”.

Mrs. Borrelli, his mom, came to Canada from Italy, gosh, in the 1960s? She never got around to learning much English. I have met her before and she is lovely.

And my goodness can she bake. It’s not biscotti. It’s too soft. Joe couldn’t remember what it was called, but he sliced off a couple of pieces for the two of us and we enjoyed it with our coffee. Apparently she sweetens it with honey. The flavour is subtle but sublime.

Conversation, great coffee and a biscuit to go along with it. I can’t imagine a more perfect way to spend a few minutes on a rainy November morning.

/0 Comments/by
, ,

Last One

OK, the last two.

Last piece.

Who gets the last piece? Why is it often such a fight? I know I shouldn’t do it, but often when it’s offered to me – that final piece of sushi, the last cookie on the plate… 

I take it. 

I mean, someone has to, why not me? I suppose that the “you snooze, you lose” mindset that drives these impulsive decisions is a bit childlike… But if it’s a tasty morsel, I do find it hard to resist. 

For these macarons, I really, really had to work at not having them both. 

It would have been nice, though, if my kids (who gleefully took one each) appreciated my sacrifice. 

/0 Comments/by
, , ,

Her favourite flavour is strawberry.

Doreen, with her strawberry ice cream.

I was asked to photograph Doreen McKenzie Sanders quite some time ago. She was, by this time, in her 80s and she was a delight to spend the afternoon with. I’m not sure who had the idea of photographing her with an ice cream cone – the store was a regular haunt with her, it would turn out – maybe she had the idea.

The shoot was fine – one of my best images came from it that day. It’s still in my portfolio easily 15 years later.

…but I want to talk about the ice cream for a moment. I want to talk about how we all have our favourites. When we went to shoot Doreen had the strawberry she is pictured with here. In fact, we had to have 2 cones to finish the shoot. She was allowed to eat the second one. Strawberry has never been my favourite ice cream flavour. Not by a long shot. I like strawberries and everything, but more in the context of breakfast. My ice cream choices are either salted caramel or raspberry cheesecake. My older daughter, who actually works in an ice cream store, would gag at those flavours, while chomping on Mango. My wife might agree with my older daughter, unless there is hazelnut in the store. My younger daughter? Well, when she was younger it was bubblegum. Now I’m not sure.

Regardless. We all have our favourites. And we are all convinced that our favourite is the best and that all the others pale in comparison. Food can be like that. Heck, life is like that but at least with food it’s generally a lot less problematic.

/0 Comments/by