I never intended to catch feelings for food photography — it all began with a sneaky bowl of beet hummus!

Now enters my bestie again — the creative lifesaver that she is.

She didn’t say a word. Just started cutting and adding things to the bowl while I stood there, fixated on the color, obsessing over getting the perfect shot. I honestly don’t even know what she tossed in. Oranges? Onions? Fairy dust? I was too locked in on what I was seeing… and what my camera wasn’t catching.
Whatever it was, she moved with ease, filling my big white bowl with color while I spiraled behind the lens.

Still… no magic. The camera wouldn’t cooperate. The light wasn’t hitting right. I moved the bowl again, and again, and again — near the window, on the table, countertop, and tile. I was chasing the light like it was running away from me. Rearranging, adjusting, begging the colors to show up as I saw them in my mind. But the magic? Still missing.

Then — she tossed the cut beets into my food processor and that’s when it happened!. That bright, earthy mash came alive in the bowl, a stunning magenta hue that finally looked as electric as it felt. And just like that, she picked up her Canon camera (with maybe just a little photographer flex), angled the bowl just right, adjusted the light, and worked the props like she was born doing it. Then she handed me her camera and said, “You do it!”

Me? Do what?

“Do what I just did,” she smiled.

Um… OK?!

Meanwhile, my husband — aka Mr. Squeeze — was in the kitchen with hungry eyes, getting just a tad annoyed. All he wanted to do was swirl some fresh veggies in that beautiful bowl and eat the thing. But instead, he was witnessing a full-blown beetball photo shoot. It was a tad torturous for him.

That burst of kitchen creativity — transforming awkward beet balls into a glowing bowl of hummus — shifted something deep in me.

That was the moment. The exact one where everything changed. I was all in. OK? I was ALL in.

At first, I had a string of disheartening tries with her camera. I was fumbling with settings, chasing focus, unsure if I was even pointing at the right thing — but I was convinced I could get it. Honestly, I don’t even think she would’ve let me quit. She kept guiding me gently, calmly — like a photo whisperer — and at times, she’d press the back of the camera and point: “Focus here. Right here. That’s how you get that creamy, dreamy feel.”

And sure enough, I started to get the hang of it. I could feel something click — not just in the lens, but in my brain. It was working.

All it took was a bestie with a Canon, a bowl of beets, and a little chaos to crack open something new in me — a love for food photography I never saw coming.

Of course, by then, I was fully convinced her Canon was magic. Her 50mm lens? Witchcraft. Her camera? Anointed. I already had a cart loaded with her exact gear. I was this close to purchasing — even though I knew my husband (aka Mr. Squeeze) would lose it. I was already rehearsing my “But it’s an investment!” speech.

My bestie knows me. If I see something I like? I immediately think I need it. And at that moment, her Canon was calling me. Loudly.

I was two seconds from clicking “Buy Now” when she looked me dead in the eyes, raised her voice just a smidge, and said:

“Your Sony is just as good. You do NOT need a new camera.”

It was part intervention, part pep talk — and exactly what I needed to hear.

And she was right.

I picked up my Sony a7R V and worked it like it had never been worked before — swapping lenses, climbing stools, balancing on ladders, doing anything to find the angle, the shape, the light. I was trying to capture the hummus through the eyes of my bestie, chasing the magic she seemed to create so effortlessly.

Every time I thought I got the shot, I’d scream with excitement and run down the hall to find her and show her. Sometimes I’d get a calm, “That’s good.” Other times, just an eye roll — which only made me more determined to get the shot.

And it was just a bowl of hummus.

A simple, stunning bowl of hummus.

It was one of the best moments of my creative life. I wasn’t just surprised I could take photos like that — I was lit up. Energized. It felt like something inside me had burst open in the best possible way. But underneath that spark was a deeper, fuller feeling: gratitude. Appreciation. That tiny push, that quiet moment of her sharing her artistic magic… cracked something open in me. This wasn’t just about beets anymore. It was about finding a new way to see — the beauty in food, the joy in light, and the creativity waiting in my camera.

And maybe most of all, it was about choosing to believe in myself — to stay curious, to keep adjusting, to let the mess be part of the magic. With a little patience, a little space, and just the right nudge from someone who saw what I couldn’t yet… something beautiful came to life.

That beet hummus recipe wasn’t just a snack — it became a story, a moment, a muse. And from that day forward, I never looked at my kitchen — or my camera — the same way again.

I’ve had cameras for years, with all the fancy lenses and gear, but I’d never used them like this before. Photographing food opened a creative window I didn’t know I had. I’ve always loved experimenting with root vegetable recipes, but this moment with the beets felt different. It’s about capturing warmth, color, nourishment, and the quiet beauty of ingredients as they transform. Every time I cook now, I feel that itch — the need to stage, style, and shoot. The way the light falls on a loaf of sourdough, or the glisten of steam on a bowl of soup — pulls me in. It’s become part of the ritual.

Once the photos were finally on my computer, Mr. Squeeze couldn’t help but laugh at the squealing sounds coming from my office.

I was shocked. I was obsessed — staring at thousands of images in Lightroom, all shining back at me like tiny trophies. Proof that I’d captured something real. Something beautiful.

As for Mr. Squeeze?
He didn’t miss a moment — quietly observing the beetball madness while growing increasingly hangry.

Needless to say, he endured the chaos — the beet juice on the counter, the random bowls, camera gear everywhere, and me standing on chairs in mid-photo panic.

“All he wanted was hummus. What he got was a full-on beet drama.” 😄

And once the shoot was officially over, he sat down in the middle of the glorious mess and devoured his serving of rooted radiance, giving it his classic quiet nod of approval:
“Mmmm… that’s wonderful.”

“What else can we dip in this or put it on?” he asked, already eyeing the fridge.

Without missing a beat, my bestie chimed in:
“Everything.” 😏

Within minutes, the fridge was stripped of every veggie, slice of bread, and even the emergency stash of homemade tortilla chips. Beet hummus was officially the house obsession.

And it all started with a bowl of bulls’ balls.
(A sentence I never thought I’d write.)