Keanu Reeves and Isabella Rossellini Eating FOOD GLORIOUS FOOD

Keanu Reeves and Isabella Rossellini Eating FOOD GLORIOUS FOOD

In the memoirs by General Douglas MacArthur and General (Colonel at the time) George Patton, both men recounted their meeting during the France St Mihiel offensive in 1918.

What they remembered diverged significantly.

Time significantly alters the facts unbeknownst to the raconteur. I try to remember a significant detail that alludes to the idiom: ”The Devil is in the details”; Which comes from”God is in the details”.

I remember sitting in the bar area of the Beverly Hills Hotel Polo Lounge. I was waiting to be called up to Gore Vidal’s room. I was anxious. I was plotting. I was levitating. The Gore portrait was a dream come true.

But I was distracted as I sat at the bar. The person next to me was eating a salad. It is not fair to judge other people. It is not appropriate to judge other people. So I will only say that in my life I have never seen anyone eat quite like Keanu Reeves.

I was standing by a bar in a very popular upper east side Manhattan Italian restaurant. I was meeting a couple of friends. I glanced over towards a woman eating some pasta. To this day, I have never seen anyone eat pasta quite like Isabella Rossellini.

Food is a glorious companion. Food connects people. Food is a bridge between adversaries. Food offers a common denominator among strangers.

One only needs to think: “Babette’s Feast” and “The Cook, the Thief, His Wife & Her Lover”.

Story lines can best be remembered if one can remember what was served for a meal.

Frank Gehry has always reminded me of a cute Marmot. He is lovable to look at. He is extremely smart and talented. He is opinionated.

I was having a quick bite with Frank, Stanley Tigerman and Greg Lynn. The hotel cafe in New Haven was not so special. The three were eating sandwiches. It had a Last Supper atmosphere. I rolled out a photographic print I was very proud of: Eero Saarinen’s Ingalls Rink. Before I could explain the image, and the story that included Greg Lynn, Frank shook his head negatively. Stanley looked away. The Marmot had spoken. This endearing cuddly and famous architect gave it a thumbs down.

I sat down to join them for a bite.

Later that early evening, I sat with Frank on the train from New Haven to Manhattan. I showed him pictures that I had made for a book. His eyes were glued to the two images of Disney Hall. “These are great, how come I have not seen them before? He turned right into my eyes and the cuddly Marmot whispered, “I loved the Saarinen”. More on that story for another time.

I arrived in São Paulo:

Paulo Mendes da Rocha was impatiently waiting for me. When I arrived for our shoot with my assistant, he was beside himself. “I only have a few minutes” he waved angrily. I thought he was nuts and unruly.

We talked about his recent award: The Pritzker Prize. He began to loosen up and apologized for his blunt introduction.

After an hour he asked us if we were hungry. He took us to a local favorite spot and we had an early dinner. Three hours or so later he said; “Tomorrow I will show you my city”.

The dinner had softened his heart. The conversation about him had helped a bit. But the next day we were best pals and the tour took us to unique sites of the city which also include five or six of his buildings.

It just might have been the dinner the night before that have reduced him from Rabelais’s Gargantua to Dickens’ Tiny Tim.

The endearing Brazilian was in the end everything I had hoped for. I guess I am sometimes right: it starts with food.

Richard Meier is a unique personality. I have photographed Richard more than any one person.

From 1988 until 2009 maybe seven times.

It was the last time that he revealed his most natural self. It is a portrait that I promised him not to show until, well you know, until after the very end.

We sat at a table on the grounds of his East Hampton Estate. He was dressed in… His face wore a …His tee-shirt was…

He kicked back against a tree. We talked about… Nothing was off limits… I merely had to share this story when he was no longer here…

The end of the afternoon came. He walked me to his driveway. He paused before we got to his Porsche. He asked me to wait a minute. He trotted back with an armful of fruits and vegetables from his garden. “This is special”. I know he meant that he picked it fresh from his garden. From a tough New York architect, a successful man of the city, he wanted me to know how big his heart can be.

Tough as nails, I have not seen him since.

Have I ever told you about Reuben Nakian’s Meatloaf Sandwich? Have I ever told you about lunching with Henry Moore while gazing at sheep and sculpture. Have I ever told you about lunch with the French artist Cesar at Le Dome? Have I ever told you about lunch with Calatrava at his Park Avenue home. Do you remember me sharing my afternoon with the television producer Douglas Cramer? Can an afternoon lunch in Southampton with Roy Lichtenstein be any more “Pop”. Is there anything more delectable than sharing an American cheese and mayo sandwich with Larry Rivers?

Was there any afternoon more frozen in time than eating at a French Cafe in Montreal with Phyllis Lambert?

Over the decades of photography what I remember most is sitting across from a person of interest who believed as I do as did the films of “Babette’s Feast and “The Cook, The Thief, His Wife and Her Lover”, everything good happens around food.