Dear Urban Diplomat,
My wife and I were enjoying our 35-year anniversary at Scaramouche, until the young couple at the table next to us started photographing their food, distracting us with flashes every time a new dish arrived. My son tells me that these food bloggers take their work very seriously. I don’t care—they ruined our night. I was tempted to lodge a complaint. Should I have?
Meal, Interrupted, Summerhill
No Toronto restaurant is safe from the macro lenses of hobby food pornographers. Whether you think their craft is the highest form of culinary appreciation or the crudest violation of etiquette, as long as it’s done discreetly—no light boxes, no standing on chairs, no flashes—a little dinnertime photography is fine. That goes for fancy dining institutions as well as down-market delis. But if those ground rules are breached, follow your impulse and let the floor manager rain down hushed, pristinely polished hell on their snap-happy heads.
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