Pastoral Fantasies at the Dinner Table
A bunch of red grapes piled on top of each other; a flakey pie whose contents can only be seen by squinting into the decoratively carved vents, done by the cook before it went into the oven: the main dishes are big enough to feed a party. The wooden table, busy with silverware and decorated china, slightly worn from time, confirms that there is a crowd somewhere behind the confines of the snapshot. Glasses filled generously with wine reflect the soft light emitted from the candles, melting slowly into a pool below. This scene of simple abundance wasn’t captured by a centuries old painterly stroke, but rather by someone’s iPhone and then posted to Instagram. That’s how I came across them, by doomscrolling my feed. It’s an aesthetic that more closely resembles a Renaissance painting than a typical amateur food photography scene taken in a restaurant.
Maybe it’s because sitting down in a restaurant, being served by a stranger, and eating things you didn’t prepare hasn’t been possible for the past year. Maybe it’s because even when there was a point in leaving the house, your bank account was still reeling from a long stint of unemployment. Or maybe, during the Great Migration of so many from metropolitan cities back to the suburban and rural homes of our parents--once we realized things were not going back to “normal” any time soon-- the type of food we ate, and the way it was served had changed so drastically that it would feel dishonest to post as our past selves would have.
During lockdown, the “cottagecore” aesthetic emerged. Born of the amalgamation of the desire for self-sufficiency, reconnection with the natural world and being in touch with your own creativity, it produced short videos depicting lush fields, fresh fruit, companions reading together, and of course, cooking beautiful yet simple food.
When I come across these images on Instagram, they cause me to stop scrolling. Though they’re just as carefully curated as any other food photo, they strike me as different and leave me feeling a different kind of longing for what’s pictured. Usually, I would try and see if the restaurant was tagged, if it was in my area, and immediately look up the menu. This kind of desire was frantic and could be satisfied through the tap of a bank card. These new feelings of want were not like this. It made me want to take action to escape the system instead of playing into it. I find myself day-dreaming about the kitchen that wasn’t pictured in the photos, and what my friends and I would cook if we all lived in a cottage in the country. How after visiting our chicken coop, we would prepare shirred eggs topped with herbs given to us by our friendly neighbour. How we would go out into the garden and pick strawberries together after dinner, while another whipped up cream by hand.
These images tickle deep aspirational desires that I didn’t realize lived in me, and everyone else who embraced this aesthetic, so strongly. To rid ourselves of the nine to five, to live off the land, to support our communities, and be supported by it in return. I want to coexist with the world rather than struggle to survive in it. These foods presented in these photos are so sensual because I want to be romanced by this life, full of simplicity. I want to break up with the world represented in the restaurant food pic snapshot. I no longer feel fulfilled by my relationship to industry, commerce, and individualism.
Though this aesthetic does remind us of the art from the Renaissance period, not everything needs to be imported from bygone eras. The meals that we’d share in the cottage garden are a safe and inclusive space. With nostalgia, the social advancements that have been made contemporarily exist too in this aesthetic. In fact, away from the oppressive society where we now feel alienated from a fast-paced life of earning wages, we’re able to flourish as ourselves. There is a seat at the table for everyone in this snapshot, and everybody eats. ◆