I love the idea of dining al fresco, I really do, but I don’t recall ever enjoying the reality. It’s not for lack of talent. I’m more than capable of assembling the elements of a very pretty picnic, with white napkins and champagne photogenicly misted in buckets. I’m good at this because I write books about food and spend days on location watching stylists sort out food and props while people in baseball caps scurry around to light the damn thing .
I can pack the perfect picnic and I believe I know what the ideal environment entails, so why is the reality of both always so bad?
I’ve come to realize that there’s an unbridgeable gulf between our ideal al fresco dining, the photos we make and share, and the truth—a myriad of tiny insults and inconveniences that inevitably get in our way. There are shadows between that and reality.
I’m not quite sure when we Brits turned our eyes to the Mediterranean. Blame Lord Byron and young aristocrats for the Grand Tour in their gap year, blame cheap package holidays or Elizabeth David, but when we dream of al fresco dining, it’s always overlooking the blue sea or in some sun-drenched square. But we are not sun people, just look at the atlas. We share latitude with Denmark, Belgium, Netherlands, Germany and Poland. A more realistic image for us would be drizzling in a square with a low Gothic belfry, or somewhere in a pine forest around a brazier with clothes erected. Led to keep out the rain, roasting some kind of fungus. Better yet we’re indoors, in some Valhallan Bill Haller, fires lit, singing melancholy drinking songs with our fellow Nordics. It would really help if we could manage our expectations – not Amalfi or Sao Paulo de Vence, but Tallinn or Bruges.
Perhaps the defining image of al fresco dining is Édouard Manet’s “lunch on the grass’. The painting is often considered a symbol of the transition from realism to impressionism, and art critics delighted in its contradictions and inconsistencies—especially the illogically nakedness of the main female character in the work. Wearing indoor clothes? Why do naked women appear to be illuminated by the sun, but the man is illuminated by studio lights? In 1863, the Academy jury was outraged and rejected the painting outright, but Manet was right about one thing. It was a picnic, so obviously everyone was in a lot of pain.
The man in the funny little hat seems to have found a country grass to lean on, or maybe a shallow hole to put his ass in, so at least he doesn’t have screaming pain, but his partner stays upright entirely because frankly Incredible core work. Nude women are desperately twisted into spirals to catch our gaze, so none of them are in eating poses. If you have a 17 degree lateral kink in your L3-L4 vertebrae, your entire stomach wall will constrict to hold you in place, and you won’t be able to swallow even if you can get food into your mouth with one free hand.
It’s fun, isn’t it? In pictures of picnics, from vintage paintings to Instagram, people are elegantly groomed, propped up on their elbows nonchalantly, always laughing maniacally, flirting or chatting passionately, but no one, no one tries to actually munch on an egg sandwich .
cookie moon
I evolved to sit at the table and eat I see it as my responsibility to do this in order to maintain my place at the top of the food chain. This group of people will never be forgotten.they don’t care about their Lunch scattered in Grass, prey for ants and wasps. my God. Have they considered the Hornets? The picture that was supposed to define the relaxed, bohemian glamor of outdoor dining is looking more and more like a rolling disaster.
OK, enough physical discomfort. Let’s talk logistics.
I have another coveted picture posted in my office.This is the work of American photographer Slim Aarons, who has been photographing jet aircraft for decades after experiencing the horrors of World War II through his camera golden youth At their favorite European vacation spot. This photo is weird. Four people, dark and clearly wealthy, sat relaxing at a table with bowls of fruit and pasta. There is a small side table with wine, dessert and a pile of clean plates. They’re perched on a vertiginous terrace halfway up the Capri cliffs, overlooking some spectacular rock formations and very intimate views of the timeless lapis lazuli of the Mediterranean.
Given the nature of the Aarons photo – rich, beautiful people doing expensive things – I’m not sure I like myself to like the photo so much. I consoled myself with the funny angles of filming it. It’s not overtly posed like most of his work. In fact, the photographer was farther up the cliff, perched and shooting down, being overlooked by diners. Perhaps the most important thing about this photo to me, though, is something that only people who have spent too much of their life in food service really think about. People were involved in setting the table, arranging the food, and sending it down those steep steps. many people. And I’m almost certain none of them were photographed.
I totally agree with the idea of having a bite to eat while taking in the amazing views. I also want to satisfy my hunger by gazing at the sweeping Highland vistas or the 50 miles of unspoiled, undisturbed Pembrokeshire coast, which is why well-wishers have invented thermoses, Kendal mint cakes and nutritious energy bars. But the thing about views is that the further away they are, the better. The thing about food is that the farther you have to make it, the less enjoyable it is. They say the scenery doesn’t start until you leave the parking lot, which is farther than I’m prepared to carry a folding table. I want to sit on that patio in Capri with all my heart, but I’m not sure I want a team of Sherpas to carry everything from the kitchen.
how can i be so positive We Have a False Consciousness About Eating Outdoors? I know because I’m the secret part of the problem. Like many foodies, I sometimes post on Instagram what I’ve made (@timhayward, since you asked). My family is now accustomed to short pauses before meals, and for me, it’s fiddling with a lamp, or climbing up a stool in the kitchen, just to better frame the “overhead”. It’s a shallow business, to be sure, but that’s not even the most embarrassing point. The kitchen door leads to the only outdoor space in the house – a small patio, on which I put the “InstaTable”. It’s a terrible thing. Too wobbly to support anything, the supports held together with metal straps and rusty screws.Don’t allow anyone to clean it so as not to reduce its authenticity rumor. Whenever the sun is bright enough, I slide back the door and photograph the dishes in brilliant dappled light. . . and take it indoors to eat.
You thought I was dining al fresco, at a beautiful antique dining table, with my dear family surrounding me drinking rosé and admiring my smile as the sun poured through the bougainvilleas good words. . . Hell, I want to believe that too. Like everyone else, I’m deeply invested in this idea, but, when it finally comes down to it, I can’t be mad. I’d rather be in a more controlled place. Just inside, sit in a suitable chair at a suitable table, open the door and look out. Maybe in a restaurant with a view. Perhaps best of all, on a restaurant patio somewhere, a lot of people were interested in my idea of al fresco dining, bringing me things and fixing things when they went wrong.
I’m now looking at what I think is the only real representation of a picnic in the canon, a black and white photo of a couple having a picnic, and the caption tells us it’s the A38 outside Newton Abbot. She’s reclined on one of those aluminum framed folding beds/chairs we use to pinch our fingers. There is a tartan blanket. The inevitable thermos. He was as young as men of his time. He could be anyone between the ages of 30 and 70. There is a Primus stove and a tea kettle. He looks like he learned to use it to drive a tank to Tobruk. Neither of them seem particularly happy, and we can see why. They’re sitting on the side of the road, and while they may be looking at the stunning view behind the photographer, a few inches behind their shoulders a Hillman Minx flies by.
I printed it out and put it in my notebook. A useful touchpoint. It reminded me of the strange indignities of post-war British life, of our continued resilience in the face of adversity, if not with gleeful laughter then at least with somber determination.But most importantly, I use it as a death memorialnot so much to remind me of death, but rather to show a sobering reality shot to anyone who suggests we eat out or “pack a picnic.”
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