The peculiarly delicious vision of Janice Poon
Courtesy Toronto Star
by Emily Cathcart
Having set the table for many film and television productions, acclaimed food stylist and writer Janice Poon is perhaps best known for the gory, gorgeous NBC series Hannibal. In getting to know Janice, ALHAUS uncovered stories of food fakery and fantasy on set, served up with an entertaining anecdote or two from her eclectic career. One thing is for sure; we’ll never look at the humble rasher of bacon the same way again.
We take you now on a journey into Janice’s strange and beautiful domain of culinary creativity…
Thank you for inviting me to speak to your readers about my adventures in food styling. It’s perceived as a little-known niche job requiring shadowy skills, but in reality, food styling is an occupation that uses precisely the same skills as many widely known occupations: communication skills, creative problem-solving and work ethic. And, because food is a universal language, it is a career that offers global exposure and can take you around the world—even into outer space (pretend ‘space’ for films, at least)!
From a restaurant-owning family, to a fine arts degree, to advertising and beyond: just how did we get here?
There’s nothing like growing up in a restaurant to put you right off the idea of a career in food. It’s such hard work with terribly long hours. So I decided to go to art college and pursue a career in design.
After graduating, I got a job as an art director in a big ad agency. I thought I was getting away from food, but all my clients were food accounts: Kraft, Maple Leaf and McDonald’s. And this is where I first learned about food styling. I had no idea this was an actual job, but every time we shot an ad, the photographer or director would bring in a stylist to prepare the food for camera. I watched with awe as they used glue, pins, skewers and spray lacquer to make the food look appetising.
The ‘Mad Men’ culture of advertising was not for me, so I left the agency to work on my own as an illustrator. Alas, I found I was not self-motivated enough to be a freelancer, so I opened a little interior design shop in the posh area of town. The shop next door to me was a gourmet shop (do you see a thread developing here?) and they asked me to design their advertising, which went so well I started designing food presentations for their catering jobs.
Meanwhile, back at my own store, a woman from Saudi Arabia had become a regular client and while I was decorating her home, she asked if I’d like to go into business with her creating ball gowns and wedding dresses for royals in Saudi Arabia. Of course, I leapt at the opportunity. It was challenging but exciting—doing presentations to princesses in London, shopping for fabric in Paris, doing fittings in Riyadh. In between making dresses for princesses, the catering next door was going unexpectedly well and I was asked to compile a cookbook based on the extravagant parties we had catered. Which got me into writing and I did a series of graphic novels for girls.
My publisher had asked me to write a novel based on my dresses-for-princesses adventure and I was struggling with my manuscript when the Hannibal people called and asked me if I was interested in food styling for a murderous cannibal. Great! This would be just what I needed to blow the cobwebs out of my writer’s brain; I could do a few scenes then get back to writing with a fresh mind. I didn’t know I was about to get swept away in a Hannibal tsunami that would change my life.
‘Flambéed Ortolan’ concept sketch and camera ready (complete with cruelty-free marzipan versions of the tiny songbird) // Courtesy of Janice Poon/Feeding Hannibal
So it all came together to inspire you as a food stylist, using your life experiences in unexpected ways?
Of course everything I learned in art school gave me a solid pad from which to launch. Even though I stray far from the basics, I still use all the design principles I learned there. Working in an ad agency showed me how to pitch ideas and work collaboratively, not just within a creative team but also with the ‘suits’ who spoke for the client. And that’s where I was first exposed to food styling and the unorthodoxy of the tools that food stylists use in their trade.
Being an illustrator helped me develop my skills in drawing and learn how to communicate in images rather than words. In catering, I learned how to tell stories using food, creating tablescapes evocative of the milestones our clients were celebrating. Designing ball gowns taught me how to use colour and texture but mostly how to let the material tell you how best to drape the dress. Writing a cookbook taught me how to simplify recipes without losing their essence. It also got me into writing. Which got me into writer’s block. Which made me available to take the Hannibal job when it was offered to me.
Food speaks in metaphor, and can provoke a strong reaction. What method do you use to tell a story through food; where does the creative process start?
First, I clarify the story I want to tell. I think about the relationship between the cook and the diners and their motives behind meeting for a meal. What are their respective goals? What do they want from each other? What is the power balance between them? Dinner is supposed to be a truce time: the guest trusts the host to not poison them; the host trusts the guest to not rob him; all agree they are not going to stab each other with the steak knives. They flourish their napkins like the white flag of surrender and begin to ask each other questions that would seem too personal in any other setting.
It is this moment of appetite and vulnerability I try to maximise. If it’s love then I want to make the food voluptuous; if it’s fear, then I want to make the food threatening; if it’s paranoia then the food must be challenging. But it must always look irresistibly delicious. It must awake hunger.
Concept sketch of the ‘Arm Ham Wing’, designed for Season Three of Hannibal.
Prosthetics and pork: the 'human arm' cured into a ham by Hannibal (left) and Janice’s arm ham wing brought to life on set (right) // Courtesy of Janice Poon/Feeding Hannibal
The food in Hannibal was nearly as much a star as the cast… was it a dream assignment? Did you get as much creative freedom as you wanted?
When we first started shooting, I used to state that the food was the one thing that differentiated Hannibal from the dozens of other serial killers on TV.
I was wrong. Everything about that show made it different. It was daring and cutting-edge. Now I see many shows that seem to have taken several themes from our Hannibal.
The food, of course, plays a key role in portraying Hannibal and it was my extraordinary luck to work under Bryan Fuller, our brilliant showrunner. He encouraged all of us not just by giving us unprecedented creative freedom, but by giving us that rarest thing—he totally understood. He would get on your wavelength and encourage you to go further. We worked so hard for him because he believed in us. The prevailing perception is that we had a big budget; we didn’t. It was embarrassingly small, but we wanted so much to deliver our best to Bryan because he saw us and he trusted us.
We loved how you captured the elegant horror of the food in Feeding Hannibal: A Connoisseur’s Cookbook. You share such memorable insider stories…
Shooting every episode of Hannibal was memorable! We laughed, we cried… mostly cried. There are many uniquely Hannibal moments but one of my favourites was in the first episode. It was in the first few days of filming when we were just getting to know each other and the show; we were all nervously trying to find our groove.
It was my second day on set and the script had Hannibal cooking a young woman’s lung. I was not sure of the look the director was going for so had brought several kinds of real animal lungs. Would they want the dark, bloody beef lungs that looked ominous if not poisonous, or the lamb lungs which were sorrowfully tiny—or would they choose the pork lungs which were plump, pink and pretty. I was relieved when David Slade, our director, chose the pink ones, agreeing with me that they looked girlish.
We also needed to choose a tool Hannibal would use to press the liquid out of the lungs, an important preparatory step in the recipe. Props had provided a rolling pin, which I said was too house-wifey for suave Hannibal, and a small silver mallet which Slade said was too toy-like. Slade, Mads Mikkelsen [Hannibal’s portrayer] and I huddled over the lungs, considering the options. Then Mikkelsen said, “Could I use my hands? Like this…” and thus began the torrent of Mads hand-porn now beloved by fans [aka Fannibals] of the show.
Slade and the Director of Photography discussed the lighting and camera angles and then we shot. I watched on the monitor as the camera crept up on Hannibal’s back as he worked at the butcher block, shadows of the sinewy movement beneath his white shirt suggesting who-knows-what to the viewer… then the camera peered over Mads’ shoulder to reveal he has been kneading a lung—a reveal that should have been repellant, but instead was so powerfully seductive that I knew at that moment this team was going to do a spectacular Hannibal.
‘Truite au Bleu Engastra’ concept sketch
Truite au Bleu from Feeding Hannibal: A Connoisseur’s Cookbook
Silkie Chicken Soup with Wolfberries from Feeding Hannibal: A Connoisseur’s Cookbook.
How about a peek behind the scenes on some of your work post-Hannibal?
Going to Ireland to create futuristic food for the AppleTV+ series Foundation was rich with funny incidents. It was difficult because we were coping with how to deal with Covid and still create a great show worthy of Asimov’s seminal novels, so we relished the funny moments even more. But because I’m feeling devilish, I’ll tell you a story about a space-based show that I should not name involving an actor I will not name.
As you might guess, a lot of my work involves making food that is pleasing for the actors to eat since they often have to do as many as 15 takes of a food scene. Many actors have dietary restrictions so I have to make vegan, non-gluten, non-allergen versions of the food. In this particular scene, the actor was eating copious amounts of bacon. So of course, I asked if he was OK with real bacon or wanted a substitute. He asked for turkey bacon. This scene had been rescheduled, so I had already purchased the bacon (too much of it, because I asked for “double-smoked bacon” and my assistant thought I meant double the amount). When the scene was pushed, I froze the 20 packets of bacon I had. Then when the request for turkey bacon came through I thought, ‘Oh well, bacon sandwiches for life.’
So I needed 120 slices of turkey bacon. Which sounds simple but isn’t, because store-bought turkey bacon doesn’t look anything like real bacon. I purchased large-sized deli turkey loaf sliced to the thickness of bacon, cut the slices to the size of bacon strips, then marinated it to taste bacon-y, then crimped and steamed each slice individually to make the turkey ripple like bacon, then painted red-brown striations on each strip (both sides) to mimic bacon. Then broiled them lightly to set the colour and to brown the edges. If you think it takes a long time for me to tell you about this method, imagine how long it took me to do it (three days.)
When it was time to go to set, I packed them in coolers but my baconator-brain had forgotten to freeze ice packs for the coolers. So I threw in all the frozen bacon instead to keep my precious bespoke turkey bacon fresh.
On set, as we were getting ready to shoot the scene. I decided to fry up a few packages of real bacon, just in case…
We dressed the set with the turkey bacon and when they were about to shoot, the props person pointed it out to the director. She asked him why we weren’t using real bacon, and he reminded her the actor had asked for turkey bacon. Whereupon the actor said, “Oh, did I? I don’t remember that. I’m OK with real bacon”. Whereupon my assistant and I had to launch into a frenzy of thawing, frying, greasy smoke dispersing, draining and browning to provide enough real bacon in time for them to seamlessly begin to roll camera—even though everyone knew that turkey bacon had been requested and it was just a fluke that I had brought enough real bacon to do the scene.
Foundation tablescape with ice sturgeon // Courtesy of Nigel Churcher/Foundation
But that is how it goes. Nothing is impossible and the show must go on. Every minute is so costly and the days are so long and tightly scheduled that you don’t want to be the one to cause even a few moments’ delay.
And all that turkey bacon? It had to go in the dumpster because it had been out of the coolers all day while we frantically substituted the real thing for the fake.
What are you working on at the moment?
I’ve been taking time away from the film set to work on two personal projects: miniatures and a graphic novel. The miniatures will be dioramas that capture moments in time on different dining tables of note. The graphic novel is a brief history of regional Chinese cuisine as told through the travels and travails of an unlikely pair fleeing a palace revolt.
You describe yourself as an avid omnivore—so it seems you might try anything once. But are there any foods you dislike?
I am having trouble getting with the ‘insect/worm as food’ revolution. Bad, I know—I would make a terrible Klingon but gagh [a wriggly delicacy Janice cooked up for Star Trek: Discovery] makes me gag.
A feast fit for a Klingon: gagh from Star Trek: Discovery // Courtesy of Janice Poon/Feeding Hannibal
On the other hand… your current favourites?
Peking duck, foie gras, hamachi sashimi, squash blossoms, paper dosa, Gâteau opéra, persimmons… everything, actually.
Finally—what’s for dinner?
Tonight, I’m going to an Asian Night Market in Vancouver, Canada and will be trying a lot of street food from different stalls—so who knows what dinner mysteries await?