I woke up that morning my head bursting full of fresh ideas, inspiration and knowledge. I had just gotten back from a wonderful weekend spent with 100 people I’ve never met before, yet some I’ve felt like I’ve known since ages. We were all there for a purpose, some more focused than others. And the one common thread that strung us all together was our combined love for eating and sharing of food. It was the first-ever Food Bloggers of Canada Conference, and I hoped it wouldn’t be the last.
I tucked away my laptop neatly into my backpack. Alongside, I placed my notebook, a sticky pad, some markers, a pencil and a pen. And the cookbook I was in the midst of reviewing. Yes, couldn’t leave without it. Ends of tiny sticky notes proudly displayed themselves from pages in between. Evidence that the book had been prodded, probed, and not to mention, marked for its must-try recipes. Just as I was about to step out the door, I decided to take my camera along as well. I walked the short distance to the cosy cafe around the corner from my home. The air crisp and birds chirped in almost a sing-song.
Finally, signs of Spring. I found myself humming along only to realize a while later, that my iPod was still in its casing in the bag’s front pocket. The song I heard and hummed along to must’ve been in my heart then.
I ordered myself a large cup of Mint Hot Chocolate (the best I’d had in a long, long time) and a muffin. As I grabbed my cup, I spotted a comfy chair at the corner by the window. Perfect, I said to myself. I set up my laptop, opened my notebook to a fresh page and took out my favourite pen. I comfortably settled on the plush leather chair and browsed away on my laptop. I made notes as I sipped on my drink and nibbled at my muffin. It had been so long since I did this that I’d forgotten how much I loved it.
Minutes went by, and before I knew it, I was getting messages from my stomach. I had hardly noticed that it was almost time for lunch. I had spent the past few hours working, just doing what I considered play. An old man walked up to me and asked if I was a writer. I beamed. It had been long since I was asked that question. I smiled and said yes, along with a few other things – I added. I’m a writer in a more broader sense of the word, I told him. I explained to him that I wrote about food, simple food, exotic food, everyday food. Food that brings us comfort and pleasure, and also about food in general. I took pictures of everything I cooked and most of what I ate, I photographed moments and captured memories. I created and designed and made things look pretty. Yes, I liked having pretty things to look at.
Well then, you must be a food-artist, he said as he smiled and trailed away. Food Artist. Is that what I was? Is there even such a thing? I’d never thought of it that way. A smile lingered on my face as I packed up my things. It was time to head back into my kitchen.