- When I think of summer, I think of Harry’s
- PNG’s Canberra-built Bomana immgration centre likened to WW2-era camps
- Childless by choice, alienated by response: Why?
- Morrison’s first speech of 2020 will be overshadowed by the McKenzie crisis
- Bettina Arndt’s Order of Australia is further questioned after allegations surface
In this week’s Burgers I’ve Burgled, I prove my commitment to the craft. Here is what passed my fancy, and then my lips this week…
As one of a species who lives in the embryonic pool of foodstagrammers in Sydney (I’m currently the fish that attaches itself to the body of a passing apex predator), I was invited to a lunch of my fellow artists who choose to donate their limited time to capturing captive food on a plate. I accepted the invitation, but I was unsure what to expect. The only thing I knew about the positive mass that made them different was their choice of emoji after their copy and paste congratulations. In my head I pictured people with their heads replaced by their trademark emoji.
Commitment to the craft, like that woman who turned herself into a cat with plastic surgery, for some reason.
As it turns out, they’re normal people. However, as normal people do when meeting people they don’t know, we all clung to the sole thing we knew about each other, and referred to each other by our Instagram handles. It’s as thrilling as it sounds.
Also, side note regarding etiquette: when the food arrived, no-one documented it, as there seemed to be an unspoken agreement that deemed court the alpha of the group, like a pride of jungle cats would photograph the carcass first, and then we’d all follow. But no. What followed was three solid minutes of awkward, nervous silent inaction. As it turns out, I can’t remember what I ate, because I didn’t take a photo of it. Nor did anyone else, which acted as the spooky organ music that played underneath the forced conversations.
It’s a jungle out there.
Anyway, here’s what passed my fancy, and then my lips, this week.
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Perhaps I should close with some advice. Not life advice, lord no, unless it’s to do the exact opposite of every decision I’ve ever made so far, but perhaps what I learned from my close encounter: the more niche the group, and the more pleasant and likeminded they seem, run. Run for the hills, as no good can come from it. Their hopeless obsession mirrors your hopeless obsession, and once the high-fives have made their connections and faded away, the question that keeps spinning in your head is “do I really sound like that?”
Yes, yes you do.