Das Frühstück Fest: Germany
I have filmed in Germany only once, for about a week. The shots were mostly establishing exteriors, so the days were quite short; therefore my only experience with German film catering was the breakfasts, and they were extraordinary. I have never seen such a selection of meats, spreads, cheeses, and breads anywhere except a farmers’ market at Christmastime, and all of them were delicious. Someone please employ me there again.
Un Petit Déjeuner en Camion: France
We know that the French, like the Italians, are very particular about their cuisine. However, unlike the Italians, as we have just learned, on film sets they retain their appreciation of food and its presentation. I have written about how a lunch hour can really slow down a day on set, if not just protract it. This is not so in France. A lunch hour is religiously observed, and the days seldom go over the allotted time. If they do, I have heard stories of crews just going home. It’s that simple. And frankly （no pun intended）， I raise my hat to them, because most film sets are exercises in disorganization, miscommunication, and inefficiency resulting in unnecessarily long days for everyone.
I spent a week observing Robert Altman （who was very efficient） direct Prêt-à-Porter in Paris many years ago. The location was a ritzy hotel in the center of Paris that was standing in for a ritzy hotel in the center of Paris. When lunch was called, everyone was directed down to the street, where a white eighteen-wheeler was parked. A steel stairway led into the back of the truck, which was outfitted with rows of tables on either side, creating an aisle in the middle. Each table could seat four to six people and was covered in a white tablecloth. On every table sat bottles of still and sparkling water, water glasses, wineglasses, salt and pepper shakers, cutlery, cloth napkins, and a bottle of red wine. A small team of waiters dressed in white shirts and vests welcomed us in, and a moment later one of them was at our table listing two or three options for that day’s lunch. Having made our decisions, the waiter poured red wine for those who wanted it and was off to get a bottle of cold white for the others.
I was flabbergasted as it was a distant scream from any catering I had experienced on any film set. I couldn’t help but stare in disbelief at the cast and crew eating together inside a truck so elegantly appointed, while gay Paree buzzed away around us. The whole thing was so wonderful, civilized, and strange that there is a part of me that thinks perhaps I may have just dreamed it all. If so, I’d like to dream it again on every film I make from now on.
Cold Comfort: Iceland
About six years ago, I was fortunate enough to film a British television show called Fortitude. I was very excited to be asked because I thought it was an interesting project; I knew I’d be working with two extraordinary actors, Michael Gambon and Sofie Gr?b?l; and I’d be able to shoot mostly at home in London but also in Iceland, a country I’d always wanted to visit. I don’t know why, but I have always been drawn to northern climes much more so than to warmer parts of the world. I find the redundant sunshine of Southern California mind numbing, the humidity of the American South loathsome, and the tropics make me want to curl up into a ball and die before I drown in my own sweat.
No, for some unknown reason, I feel more at home in the Italian Alps than I do in the brutal heat of Puglia. I like brisk autumns, snowy winters, rainy springs, and temperate summers. The change of seasons allows for a change in one’s wardrobe （I’m sartorially obsessed） and, most important, one’s diet. A boeuf carbonnade tastes a thousand times better in the last days of autumn than when it’s eighty degrees and the sun is shining. An Armagnac is the perfect complement to a snowy night by the fire but not to an August beach outing, just as a crisp Orvieto served with spaghetti con vongole is ideal “al fresco” on a sunny summer afternoon but not nearly as satisfying when eaten indoors on a cold winter’s night. One thing feeds the other. （Pun intended.） So a visit to Iceland to escape the gloom of what is known in London as “winter” was an exciting prospect. However, my greatest concern, as you can probably guess, if you’re still reading this, was the food.
We were to be staying about an hour’s flight away from Reykjavík in a little town of about 2,300 people called Egilsstaeir. As I’ve said, I don’t eat dairy and eat very little sugar, but at this point I had also cut gluten out of my diet, so I was rather nervous about just what exactly I’d be able to eat while I was there. Our hotel rooms had no kitchens, so I knew I’d be beholden to whatever was served in house or at the few restaurants in town. I was to be there for almost two weeks, so I brought a box of canned soups, gluten-free crackers, and a lot of other pathetic free-of-this and free-of-that foodstuffs.