The Couscous Salad I Didn’t Post — At First

This was meant to be a quick side recipe post. When I first shot it, I thought monochromatic — that’s fine, it’ll look clean and simple. I’d heard that style works. And it can — if done well. But sometimes you follow the advice, tick the boxes… and it still doesn’t feel right.
This is one of those behind-the-scenes moments where things just didn’t turn out the way I pictured.

The colours looked flat. Dull. I couldn’t figure out why at first — then it hit me. White on white, especially with the fabric I used, just made everything blend together. It looked rushed. I felt like I’d simply checked a to-do and moved on.

When I looked at the photos, they felt beige. Boring. Like someone else’s version of a couscous salad.

The ingredients had texture — chopped and sectioned like I would for someone in my family — but the setup flattened it all. The fabric, the bowls, the angle… it just didn’t show up the way I’d hoped.

There was no thought in the placement — Just whole ingredients scattered randomly — and while some people make that kind of effortless chaos look stunning, I don’t. Not this time.

I tried editing. Different filters, different crops. Still didn’t sit right.

So I paused.
Edited the photos again. Tried to convince myself they were fine.
But the truth was — I didn’t feel proud of them. And I knew I wouldn’t want to come back to this post.
That limbo lasted weeks. Should I just upload it? Should I reshoot? I couldn’t decide.

Eventually, I stopped wrestling with it and just… moved on. Wrote up the recipe, the rough steps. But I knew in my gut: this salad deserved better.
The way the photos looked didn’t match the way this dish made me feel. It’s something I actually love eating — fresh, colourful, satisfying. But the pictures didn’t tell that story.
It felt like a lazy-girl, family-style salad — casual, a bit thrown together. And that wasn’t fair to the food… or the story I wanted to tell.

So I started over.

I planned the shoot — sketched the layout out in a notepad, and bought a few new props (budget-friendly, of course). That night, I prepped everything, thinking about the best angles and how the morning light would hit the kitchen. The next day — it was hot, peak summer, and I was melting — but I got up early and just went for it.

Me, in my kitchen, sweating, finding the right angle for the chopping boards while balancing my phone, trying not to drop it or lose the light.

But this time… it worked.

The photos came out the way I’d imagined.

The textures showed. The colours popped.

And finally, I could stand behind what I’d created, a clear sign I’m making real strides. Because this is what the process actually looks like.

It’s messy. Imperfect. Sometimes underwhelming.

But with every post, you learn how to make your voice — and your visuals — match what’s in your head.
And here’s the truth:

“It finally looked the way I’d imagined — the style, the story, the feeling I wanted to tell. The version that belongs on my canvas, and one I’m sharing with you.”

The photo I almost uploaded.

The version I stood behind.

My food. My canvas. My chronicles.