In­sta­gram­mers at the ta­ble don’t make a pretty pic­ture

The Weekend Australian - Travel - - Travel & Indulgence - SU­SAN KURO­SAWA

Food is a hit on Instagram — of that, there is no dis­pute. Some peo­ple’s feeds (what an apt name, when you think about it) are de­voted to what they are de­vour­ing, or about to, given that food needs to be pho­tographed th­ese days be­fore mak­ing it onto cut­lery or chop­sticks. At a restau­rant in Hong Kong last year the server who had just placed the first of many de­gus­ta­tion dishes on our ta­ble stood back and clapped his hands. “Be­fore I de­scribe what you are about to eat, I will give you one minute, tops, to pho­to­graph it. Ready, set, go!”

Oh dear. But at least none of our group stood on their chair to snap an aerial an­gle, which seems to be de rigueur with the more en­thu­si­as­tic food blog­gers and In­sta­gram­mers. The pro­to­cols are a mine­field. Should all those seated at ta­ble wait un­til the pho­tog­ra­phers have fin­ished or just hoe straight in lest hot food get cool or cold dishes start to con­geal? I reckon it is ev­ery diner for them­selves and hang the idea of good man­ners. If you wait for the snap­per to fin­ish, then fid­dle with apps and fil­ters, and post the pic to their ador­ing fol­low­ers (“Great catch!”; “Good cap­ture!”), then it could be time for break­fast. And for­get a con­ver­sa­tion dur­ing the repast, as said foodie will be in a mebub­ble and the meal will be spent count­ing likes and com­ments.

Many of this ilk don’t seem to like eat­ing, which is a shame, es­pe­cially where Tas­ma­nian oysters are con­cerned. Th­ese lit­tle shuck­ers were snapped last week at Saf­fire Fr­eycinet, the bril­liant lodge at Coles Bay on the Fr­eycinet Penin­sula. Saf­fire’s ex­ec­u­tive chef Hugh White­house and head chef Simon Pock­ran source the Pacifics from Fr­eycinet Marine Oys­ter Farm just down the coun­try road and guests can join an ex­cur­sion to don waders and get among the cages in a clear green es­tu­ary, learn about oys­ter lore and leg­end and, im­por­tantly, the agility in­volved in suc­cess­fully open­ing the shells.

Although I ate my ap­prox­i­mate body weight in oysters dur­ing my two-night stay, I was up for more. As I farewelled the ex­u­ber­ant White­house and pre­pared for the drive to Ho­bart, lit­tle did he know I had Bar­illa Bay in my sights. This oys­ter farm is next to the air­port and you can buy plane-ready packs to take home. The staff pop the oysters among frozen ice pil­lows and seal in a poly­styrene box. Voila, a dozen for $11.90, and so cheap that to buy less than two dozen seems im­po­lite. Five hours later and I served the de­li­cious mouth­fuls for last Fri­day night’s din­ner in front of telly. Pic­ture per­fect.

Fol­low on Instagram: su­sankuro­sawa.

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