It's a great table of impressive food: salmon, spinach, maple butter on that freshly-baked bread, multiple glasses of rosé, the lemon risotto. Yet, here is something that you probably would never notice if I didn't tell you. In my discreet left hand is an led flash illuminating my face so that the digital, automated camera can focus in low-light restaurant conditions. And underneath my feet is a bag with a notebook and pen that scribe every detail of the menu and memory of the experience that I have to keep reaching down for. And between my legs is an iPhone, covered with a napkin, that I don't want to crush. The very nice people at the next table are looking at us like we are crazy. My ankles have mosquito bites that are itchy beyond belief and I'm just hoping that I don't have arugula draping my teeth. So, that's the glamorous life of a food-writer.
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