A giant martini glass containing oversized olives stands beside a standard martini in an upscale cocktail lounge. The contrast in scale creates a humorous visual concept inspired by National Olive Day and the idea that olives deserve a much larger glass.
Auntie Mame says “Olives take up too much room in such a little glass”.
I’ve remembered that line for years.
It comes from the 1958 film Auntie Mame, and for some reason it always resurfaces whenever olives are involved. Not because it makes much sense, but because it solves a problem that probably never existed in the first place.
Today is National Olive Day, and rather than photograph a bowl of olives, I started wondering whether Auntie Mame might actually have had a point.
Maybe the problem was never the olive.
Maybe the problem was the glass.
The traditional martini has always forced olives into cramped living conditions. One or two olives suspended in a relatively small volume of liquid, expected to spend an entire evening crowded together at the bottom of the glass. No room to stretch out. No room to enjoy the scenery.
That seemed unfair.
So a solution was required.
Not fewer olives.
Not smaller olives.
A much bigger glass.
The result is a martini glass so oversized that the olive finally has all the room it could ever want. The standard martini sitting beside it serves as a reminder of the old days, before progress, before innovation, before anyone considered the spatial needs of cocktail garnishes.
I suspect Auntie Mame would approve.
Or perhaps she would simply ask for an even bigger glass.
Either way, National Olive Day seemed like the perfect excuse to finally solve one of cinema’s most overlooked problems.
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Normally that would send me in the direction of photographing a plate of them, perhaps arranged neatly in sauce or styled carefully for a food photograph. But the truth is, when I started thinking about meatballs this morning, creativity was not exactly flowing.
And when that happens, something else usually steps in.
My pornochic photography has a way of calling out to me when things get too predictable. It tends to ignore the expected subject and wander somewhere more interesting. In this case, it wandered poolside.
Instead of a plate of meatballs, three fashion models relax in the sun beside a resort swimming pool. The setting is calm, the light is bright, and the furniture, if you look closely, appears to be made from oversized meatballs. The result lands somewhere between fashion photography, satire, and a slightly absurd interpretation of what National Meatball Day might look like if the fashion world got involved.
Food photography can sometimes take itself very seriously. My work often wanders away from serious.
So today, instead of spaghetti and meatballs, we get sun, palm trees, and a reminder that inspiration sometimes arrives from unexpected directions.
And sometimes it arrives wearing absolutely nothing at all.
People say AI is going to replace office work. Mine prefers doing it poolside at my house in Palm Springs, in a bikini, with envelopes. Emily was handling my old-school correspondence yesterday—no cloud sync, no printer, just sunlight and paper cuts. She says analog tasks help her processing cycles “feel something.”