Unicorns For Lunch

It’s not easy being an Instagram foodie. Baap ka paisa chahiye and restaurers ki galiya


“Hello.Food. Photography. Foodie. Food is life.”


“Me.Food Eat.Click Pictures. Upload Instagram. You Pay.”

“Get the fuck out”


“Get the fuck out”


“We’re listening”


That is to say you must be able to afford pretty much any overpriced piece of gastronomic debauchery and ineptitude, know how to look cool with a DSLR and a knack for finding the weirdest possible angle at a table for one.  We splay on it, climb under it and use every yogic posture in the book to click garbage with extra cheese on it from every possible vantage.

It’s no wonder then that only the cream makes it in the biz

The smartest Kashmere Gate monkeys


 Supreme Food Porn Monkey, He Who Must Not Be Tamed


Yes, all of us are monkeys from Kashmere Gate. We visit restaurants in pairs, standing on top of each other in trench coats, sporting shades and a pipe.

It’s not about the photographs. It’s about how you click them and what filter your monkey brain decides to choose.

New Doc 2017-05-28_3 plain color processed

‘Fix it in post’ suggests Supreme Food Porn Monkey in his best selling, heavily pirated and undeniably definitive guide to being a Instagram foodie:  ‘Do a Hollywood, and always fix your shit in post.’

Ergo, a connoisseur must knows his filters.

Yeah filters.

Pro tip: Never use Clarendon  for the veggies, go Mayfair on those buggers.

Pro tip: Use Juno for that tomato gravy and Valencia for all those Bengali dishes (the yellow really pops out).

The trick is to filter the fuck out of everything that is kept on your table till even the most reticent Fondue becomes a motherload of sickly rainbows.

Pro tip: Hash tags won’t cost you shit.

Pro tip: #foodporn is God.

Pro tip: Don’t forget to call it art while you’re at it

Pro tip: Stop clicking bananas.

These are Trade secrets fellow simians, from me, the Supreme food porn monkey; From the horse’s mouth, nay: The Monkey’s mouth.

Remember, this is your passion: This and swinging on banyan branches and snatching ice-creams from scared little girls.

Oh and don’t bother to taste the dish unless it’s a banana.

Leave the tasting to the losers who like to write blogposts on food for some unfathomable reason.

Humans, eh? Hey Hanuman, give those schmucks some brains.



Bipolar Monkey




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