When I’m in the food picture-taking mode, the fridge is filled with pretty stuff. Currants, blueberries, uncooked but filled wontons. Shrimp patties with salmon and cilantro. Fresh dill. Fresh mozzarella. Creme soda. There would be strawberries, but even in California, January is not such a great time. I know, because I shopped last night in vain.

Outside the fridge, there are wondrous-looking biscuits from Whole Foods. Sourdough rolls from Trader Joe’s. Avocados. Cara cara oranges. Baby yellow potatoes. An enormous assortment of Christmas hard candies.

Of course, it depends on what family members have been trained to recognize as ‘Don’t touch that open-faced sandwich’ or ‘The pudding has stuff that’s not food’. So far, no one has actually eaten anything destined for photographing. Maybe because the grub I usually dish up for meals looks nothing like what I take pictures of.

We were in the city during the holidays, got a glimpse of the spider at the Embarcadero. I’ve written about her before, and am very glad her works can be seen locally.

She is 95 years old.

Just in time for January’s weight loss attempt comes the latest in the M1-5 series, known in the UK as ‘Spooks’. I try to catch up on this kind of British viewing during supper, and lately, it has been the Monarch of the Glen shows, which are excellent for dining to.

But M1-5 is another animal entirely. Dinner tends to gets cold while I sit white-knuckled. It’s the best of its kind that I’ve ever seen, engaging characters, horribly intense situations, breakneck pace. I forget to breathe. Don’t make the mistake of watching the interviews too soon. Or even reading the Netflix descriptions too closely. The writers have no qualms about killing off key cast members.

After a long time away from the show, despairing that I’d ever find out what happens to the crew, now Vol. 5 is out. There’s a ‘long wait’ for the first disc at Netflix. I guess I’d better eat supper while I can.