Years ago, I worked as a professional photographer. Hasselblad used my pictures in their lens catalogue. But that was another life. These days, no truckload of gear, just an iPhone in the jacket.
These days, I shoot when something catches my eye—a moment in a kitchen, light on a table, a road that looks right. Sometimes I am prepared, sometimes I just react. The pictures are for us. For the blog. Our memory bank.
For example, we remember the restaurant was amazing, the evening perfect, but the actual dish? No idea. Something with duck, maybe. That is when we pull up the picture.
Sometimes I forget to take pictures. Sometimes they look dreadful. Sometimes I get it right.
But there are some shots I like. All with a story.
© Iternitty
We were leaving after dinner, heading up to our room. The elevator is in the entrance, and there is a window into the kitchen. I stuck my head in and thanked the kitchen for a great service, held up the iPhone, took one shot.
The chef throwing a V sign in the background surprised me – it made the whole picture come alive and warm. But for me, the picture is really 3 Michelin star chef Kyle Connaughton with his glass of white Burgundy.
I had seen him pour it earlier. Almost the end of service. Deserved, I thought.
One shot, no setup, just the moment.
© Iternitty
This was pure luck. An open fire shot, taken with my Leica D-Lux 8. I forgot to check the settings properly, but I was in a good mood and just fired away.
Standing there, feeling the heat from the flames, watching the chefs work. They cook outdoors year-round. The old sawblade from the mill holding the fire.
For me, it is a great picture.
Later, in Photoshop, I pushed the colours warmer to bring back what I felt—the intensity, the heat, the skill.
© Iternitty
We asked the hotel concierge for a restaurant nearby. It was Saturday night in London, not the easiest night to get a table. He said he knew somebody at Petrus and could get us the chef’s table. A French restaurant, he said. I thought bistro and said yes.
I had no idea what chef’s table meant. My wife knew. She probably also knew it was a Gordon Ramsay restaurant. She said nothing, just smiling. I was just happy we got a table.
Surprise.
The regular guests sat upstairs, unaware of who was cooking their food. Down in the basement, a small kitchen pushed hard to get the dishes out. The opposite of today’s open kitchens where chefs have become the main course.
I wanted to capture that. The anonymity. Hands working, no recognition. Just cooking.
The picture was meant to hang in our kitchen, two metres wide. Somehow it is still on my computer. I started to think, nah, it is not that good.
What do you think, leave it on the computer? Write a comment at the end.
© Iternitty
Cardamom Sea Star at Noma.
The service was sluggish, and my attention drifted. Probably waiting for the wine to arrive for the dessert. Not particularly happy about the evening, to be honest.
So I turned the plate, positioned the knife to catch the light just right. Perhaps I was doing a little influencer work after all.
When my mind wanders, I need something to focus on. This time, that waiting gave me the shot.
© Iternitty
Our latest visit. The camera was on our table, pointing towards the kitchen in the dome. This could be good, I thought. Minimum effort, just push the button.
My professional side had taken a timeout. It often does when we are out enjoying ourselves.
The next day, looking at the picture, all I could think was: why did I not think twice? Why did I not see it? Of course it should have been Rasmus Munk standing there in the opening.
The dome, the projections, the warm light spilling from the kitchen, the reflections on the table. It is a great picture. But it could have been THE picture.
That happens sometimes. You look at a picture and realize the moment is gone. Still angry about it.
© Iternitty
We went for one Irish coffee before lunch. That was the plan.
Buena Vista Cafe is famous for their Irish coffee—2,000 cups a day since the 1950s. We sat at the end of the counter to watch the bartenders work.
They were hilarious. One-liner after one-liner, working the crowd like a stand-up routine. Two Southwest Airlines flight attendants sat next to us. We all ended up laughing, talking, bantering back with the bartenders, staying far longer than intended.
It almost turned into a liquid lunch. We drank too many, but the sugar managed to carry us to In-N-Out Burger afterwards.
Sometimes the best days are those that just do not go as planned.
© Iternitty
A mailbox on Silverado Trail. We almost missed it.
Most wineries in Napa have grand entrances. Failla had this. A mailbox, nothing else. Easy to miss. I stopped and took the picture.
We had a relaxed, unpretentious tasting on the sofa at the Lodge, do not worry, spit cups. We bought a bottle of their Pinot Noir, Lola, stuck it in the car door compartment, and headed back out.
My wife put on the Kinks. “Lola” blasting from the speakers, windows down, the Calistoga roads ahead.
That us-against-the-world feeling. The road, the weather, just us.
Every time I see this picture, I am back there—driving through wine country with my wife, the music loud, feeling free.
Sometimes a mailbox is never just a mailbox.
It is not always me taking the picture. Sometimes my wife gets the better shot.
My father used to say: “KISS. Keep it simple, stupid.”
So I do. iPhone, four shots, then I move on.
