I visit the States at least once a year. It’ll be three times before 2018 comes to an end and if there’s one thing I can almost always count on during my visits, it’s the excellent dining experience I have at the vast majority of American restaurants I eat at. Especially in New York where over the years I’ve enjoyed hundreds of absolutely terrific meals from high-end to low-end.

But then Catch came along…

Taking the elevator from the dark, ground level entrance up to the restaurant’s dining room is in itself a clever means to retain customers. I don’t think it was a deliberate strategy when the owners opened the place, but regardless, once there, you feel like you’ve already made a commitment and kind of give in to whatever awaits once the elevator doors close behind you. Especially when you’re hungry.

Our party of five were seated reasonably fast on the lush terrace but then had to wait about 10 minutes before one of the half-dozen servers showed up at our table. In the meantime, a friendly busboy provided us with water but couldn’t offer us more than that – and an embarrassing smile as the wait prolonged. Such is the hierarchy at most a la carte restaurants and diners in the US.

Once the 30 something server did appear, he offered us only a smile and a promise to return »in just a minute« before rushing off again. We all looked at each other in sheer disbelief. Was he joking? The restaurant had only a few other lunch guests, so we didn’t understand why he kept us waiting – or why customers that had arrived after us were being taken care of before us. Was it perhaps because the maître d’ assumed we were European (i.e. poor tippers) and intentionally un-prioritized us?

After an additional five minutes, (yes, I was timing his promise), the server finally showed up to take our orders. I politely let him know we were a little disappointed about the 15-minute delay. But instead of apologizing, he unabashedly decided to contradict me by claiming that no, our wait had been less than 10 minutes. As if even 10 minutes wasn’t pushing it already. WTF?

We all chose the much-hyped vegan alternative, The Impossible Burger as well as a few batches of truffle fried fries.

Personally, I found the laboratory-derived burger to be surprisingly juicy and flavorful. My taste buds might have been way off due to high expectations, but I don’t think most people would be able to discern whether or not an Impossible Burger is made from plant-based ingredients or USDA Prime Ground Beef. I know I couldn’t. Insofar of taste, texture, and smell, I’d easily guess it was the real deal. Which is a little scary and for some reson reminded me of the 1970s Sci-Fi dystopia, Soylent Green.

Perhaps our server was just having a bad day. Maybe he was a little hungover. Who knows, right? In any case, we felt that for our $200 lunch at Catch we should have received much better service and less attitude.

There are plenty of really good alternative eateries in the Meatpacking District and several places on Manhattan that offer the Impossible Burger for much less than the $19 they charge at Catch.

We all felt that the restaurant’s poor service coupled with an ambitious positioning on New York’s culinary map was nothing short of a total mismatch.

Catch certainly needs to catch up with its prestige.

Back in Gotham. It’s been a couple of years…but it didn’t take more than a few minutes on the Williamsburg Bridge late last night for me to be in awe again. How can you not be? I’ve actually lost count of my visits to New York City. At least 20. Maybe even as many as 30. In addition to absorbing the art scene and an intention of revisiting the South Bronx and an artist friend in Washington Heights (where btw HBO’s The Deuce is filmed), I’m primarily here to shoot material for a travel story – and some b-roll for a music video I’ve been hired to produce next month.

More photos from New York City here.

Here’s the video from my assignment for Airline Staff Rates on Phuket at Kata Hot Yoga in southwestern Thailand. In what was literally one of the hottest projects I’ve had so far, I was both surprised and grateful that the cameras I used didn’t overheat. On the other hand, I was completely drenched in sweat after just a few minutes in the studio at 40C /40% humidity.

I shot the bulk of the footage with the Sony A7III using three primes; 18mm, 35mm and 85mm. A few of the scenes were captured with a GoPro Hero 6.

Thanks to Goovert at Kata Hot Yoga and gracious instructor Alexandra for  allowing me into their classes.

Here’s a shot of one of the three salad bowls I made for the family for dinner last night. I call this particular composition, Groove Salad – which is the namesake of my long-running, favorite Internet Radio Station. I’ve eating raw vegetables as far back as I can remember and it’s just about the only food I recall my mother ever making for my brother and myself. I mean, I’m sure she cooked other stuff, at least once in a while. I just seem to have lost the memories of what the other meals were. What I do recollect, however, is that for the most part, we ate frozen dinners (called, TV Dinners), take-away junk from a local fast-food restaurant or, just a very simple salad – but nothing as elaborate as the one pictured above. If I feel pretty sure that if I hadn’t eaten at school, I think my body might of suffered from nutrition deficiency. Not that any of the schools I went to served great food. Just better than most of what we ate at home.

It might sound like I’m touting my own horn here, but I’ve always make an effort to prepare healthy and tasty food for the family. I don’t understand parents that buy, nuke and then serve prefab dinners to their families. I get that frozen meals are relatively cheap and represent a time-saver. But look close enough at what they really contain, and it’s plain to see how little nourishment is provided inside. Which essentially makes them more expensive than what the attractive price-tag suggests. It’s a Ponzi scheme orchestrated by the food industry. You buy a prefab dinner with the hope it provides sustenance. But what you get is crappy, over-processed, texturizing ingredients that taste better than they should – thanks to being doused with sugar, salt and a slew of chemically fueled enhancers.

Here’s the what went into yesterday’s salad: chopped cabbage, sliced carrots, diced tomatoes, finely cut rruccola, sliced leek, oven-baked sweet potato and asparagus, sweet corn, roasted sunflower seeds and black sesame seeds. I topped our salad bowls with a thick, feta cheese and avocado dressing.

Not always, but often enough, it takes time for me to fully appreciate how good something is. I can’t explain it, but evidently, just like most other folks, I have a fear of the unknown, anxiety of the untried and an unwillingness to abandon my comfort zone. I’m fully aware of this and continuously try to overcome all of the above.

The older you get, I wager that it becomes even more important to quite literally force yourself into new experiences. Keeping the mind and intellect agile and fluid will fend off neurological decay and decrepitude.

I recently heard an interview with Adam Cohen, singer/songwriter Leonard Cohen’s son. I’ve never been a fan of the music, but as of recently, I started appreciating a level of soulfulness in his lyrics. In the interview, which you can listen to hear, Adam Cohen shared his admiration for his father’s strength and determination to continue writing new material, and, unlike many of his contemporaries, not just regurgitate his greatest hits.

Jokingly, I like to compare the enjoyment of sex with the taste of cilantro or coriander. Both are a little weird at first, but can eventually become an acquired taste – once you figure out the compatibility equation.

I made vegan burritos for dinner yesterday and served them with a deep bowl brimming with homemade salsa verde. The tidy bush of fresh cilantro, like the one above used for my salsa, wouldn’t have been part of anything I would cook when I was younger. Before I got a penchant for the herb, I thought coriander tasted and smelled strange – like a soap. But after a few really good cilantro laden dinners in Cancun and my native southern Cal

Not always, but often enough, it takes time for me to fully appreciate how good something is. I can’t explain it, but evidently, just like most other folks, I have a fear of the unknown, anxiety of the untried and an unwillingness to abandon my comfort zone. I’m fully aware of this and continuously try to overcome all of the above.

The older you get, I wager that it becomes even more important to quite literally force yourself into new experiences. Keeping the mind and intellect agile and fluid will fend off neurological decay and decrepitude.

I recently heard an interview with Adam Cohen, singer/songwriter Leonard Cohen’s son. I’ve never been a fan of the music, but as of recently, I started appreciating a level of soulfulness in his lyrics. In the interview, which you can listen to hear, Adam Cohen shared his admiration for his father’s strength and determination to continue writing new material, and, unlike many of his contemporaries, not just regurgitate his greatest hits.

Jokingly, I like to compare the enjoyment of sex with the taste of cilantro or coriander. Both are a little weird at first, but can eventually become an acquired taste – once you figure out the compatibility equation.

I made vegan burritos for dinner yesterday and served them with a deep bowl brimming with homemade salsa verde. The tidy bush of fresh cilantro, like the one above used for my salsa, wouldn’t have been part of anything I would cook when I was younger. Before I got a penchant for the herb, I thought coriander tasted and smelled strange – like a soap. But after a few really good cilantro laden dinners in Cancun and my native southern California, something happened and I started to dig how well it went with all kinds of other ingredients. Today, I would have no problem whatsoever muting down a salad bowl full of freshly cut cilantro. 

Read what Wikipedia has to say about Coriander/Cilantro/Chinese Parsley here.

ifornia, something happened and I started to dig how well it went with all kinds of other ingredients. Today, I would have no problem whatsoever muting down a salad bowl full of freshly cut cilantro. 

Read what Wikipedia has to say about Coriander/Cilantro/Chinese Parsley here.

It’s getting darker for every day here in northern Europe now. Temperatures are still relatively humane and I hope the colorful foliage on our garden’s trees and in Malmö’s parks last for a few more weeks. I’ve been shooting a lot in Slottsparken recently and have a neat little autumn film project in the works.

If you’re a Netflix subscriber like me, mid-autumn means it’s a great time to discover and binge-watch a couple of drama series – as means to sneakily ease yourself into accepting that we’ll all be spending more time indoors than outdoors for the next 5-6 months. 

A Brittish friend on our street recently recommended Broadchurch and I’m already halfway through the first of three seasons.

The plot isn’t spectacularly original or terribly riveting, the opposite is probably a more appropriate discription. Which is concurrently exactly what makes the show so intriguing. Like many Brittish dramas that unfold somewhere in the Brittish countryside, or, in this case along the southeast coast, near Dorset, it’s the amalgamation of mundanity coupled with the privilege of unbridled voyeurism that pulls you in to the town of Broadchurch and the well-played characters seemingly ordinary lives. Like a good Agatha Christie novel or film, the show spends a generous amount of time establishing the main characters and then allows for ample time so they can be self-implicated suspects in the ongoing murder case

Fans of the The Night Manager and The Crown will enjoy yet another wonderful performance by Olivia Colman in Broadchurch as tough but warm-hearted detective Ellie Miller. The image above is from a small lighthouse not far from where we live.

Mrs Raboff and I went for a wonderfully energizing 10k run this morning in what I think was the best possible weather; zero wind and 12 °C/53 °F with a little sunshine – just to add some color to our path along the beach. It was my first run in a while and though relatively slow paced, I feel good to have completed the challenge. Running with 6kg less around the waist seem to make it a little easier on my knees and ankles.  Could also be my imagination. We’ll see later today how sore they are

The beach run here in Malmö is nothing short of phenomenal. Especially on days like this when it’s so sublimely placid. After being utterly immersed in hyper-intense Bangkok – where over 8 million people dwell – an early morning run on an empty beach felt surreal. By the time we reached the halfway point, in Limhamn somewhere, and were on our way back to Västra Hamnen, we met dozens of colorfully dressed joggers of all ages and strides.

I ran with the new iPhone Xs Max in my pocket and took the above/below shots with it. The new dual camera’s larger sensors, new image signal processor and neural engine chip produce images with an astonishing amount of dynamic range. Face ID unlocks the phone seamlessly and though a whole different UX (user experience), I’m already up to speed navigating throughout iOS12 using the intuitive swiping gestures.