We're only as strong as the people we work with, which is why we always look for collaborators who not only share our worldview but can expand it. Our artists always bring a new perspective to our work, helping us to tell richer stories and develop our own thinking. We thought it was time we share some of that process with you.
This season, we were looking for an artist who instinctively understood the feeling connection that comes from getting around a table together on a lazy summer’s afternoon. Scottish-born Emma Cantlay (known on Instagram as @mainlybreakfast) came to mind immediately. Her colourful wax pastel illustrations of food are full of character and warmth, with sketchy, expressive lines capturing culinary moments in time – whether it’s a glass of wine reflecting the sunshine, or a table halfway through a cheese course. The diners themselves never feature in her work, and yet you can always feel their presence.
You can see Emma's illustrations for our summer campaign across our bakeries now, or in the write up of our Summer Preview Event, where she created drawings live for our guests. To understand more about her thinking and approach, we sat down for a longer conversation: about her process, her Portugal awakening, and why she's always trying to photograph strangers' leftover tables.
Our brief for summer was a big one. How did you approach it?
My thinking was: how do you make all of these illustrations look different while also having something connecting them? I cleared my studio walls and started from scratch.
The most challenging part was imagining how the work would translate. I'm used to seeing my illustrations on paper in front of me, not up huge on an A-board or integrated into a menu. That was a new kind of thinking.
You also created a 40-foot illustrated table runner live at our summer preview event. How was that?
That was the biggest piece of work I've ever made. By quite some margin. The weather wasn't on our side – we kept having to dash back inside as the heavens opened, then unroll everything again when it passed – but honestly that was all part of the fun. The nice thing about one continuous 40-foot piece of paper is that you have to embrace whatever happens. You can't rub anything out. You just keep going.
And then doing the live illustration at the event itself was wonderful. When you're working alone in a studio, you never really get real-time feedback. Suddenly I was talking to hundreds of people about the work, about what they'd eaten, about the process. That was genuinely lovely.
What were people requesting at the live illustration station?
There was a blue line drawing of a wine bottle and glasses that was by far the most popular. And tomatoes, always the tomatoes.
Has food always been part of your creative world?
Not at all, actually. It only really clicked when I moved to Portugal for six months to do an internship. It was the first time I'd lived away from home, and I grew up in a small village north of Aberdeen. Big Tesco or nothing, and no farmers' markets. So arriving in Portugal and going to the market before work, suddenly being surrounded by incredible produce... I was far more excited about that than the internship itself.
Do you remember what you were cooking during those early days?
Mostly breakfast food, which is actually where my Instagram account came from.
One of the other interns suggested I start an account dedicated to food. I thought it was a ridiculous idea at first, but he suggested names like "Mostly Breakfast" or "Mainly Breakfast" and eventually I gave in.
This was around 2016, so there were lots of smoothie bowls, granola, pancakes and brunch spreads. One of the girls I lived with also loved cooking, so at weekends we'd make these elaborate breakfasts and invite all our friends over. Four hours later we'd still be sitting around the table eating pancakes and yoghurt. It was such a special time, and I think it was the beginning of everything that followed.
At what point did the food and the illustration side of things merge?
It was lockdown, really. I'd left my job in early 2020 knowing I wanted to move into food, without being entirely sure what that meant. Then a month later we went into lockdown, and suddenly I had a lot of time to figure it out. I started drawing again for the first time in years – my housemates and I were making collages, just playing around – and I picked up some wax pastels.
The early stuff was genuinely terrible. I was so used to working with fine liner pens, very small and precise, and the pastels were messy and wouldn't do what I wanted. But I stuck with it, and something clicked. I also spent a lot of that time cooking and writing recipes and teaching myself food styling. The two things just gradually merged, and then suddenly they were both my job. It was never the plan.
Food styling and illustration seem like they'd feed into each other a lot. Is that the case?
Hugely. Composition and colour are the main pillars of both. When you're setting up a shot, you're asking the same questions as when you're illustrating a scene: does this make sense? Is there balance? Is there a narrative? I also worked as a visual merchandiser – a window dresser – before all of this, and I think that trained my brain to think in exactly the same way.
How did you develop your distinctive style?
Lots and lots of playing. I'd previously been working almost exclusively in fine liner: neat, precise and heavily digital in terms of colouring. But for the kind of subject matter I was drawing – fruit, vegetables, natural things – it felt too cold, too clinical. I knew I needed something with more warmth and play in it. The wax pastels gave me that. They feel a bit childlike, which I love. I come home with multicoloured hands most days. I think the style is still evolving too. The work I'm making now feels worlds away from five years ago, and I have no idea what it'll look like in another five. Which is a nice feeling, actually.
How did you come to care so much about seasonality?
I think once you become genuinely interested in food, seasonality follows naturally. You can't really separate them. But beyond that, I actually find the constraints exciting. When apricots are in season, you want to make the absolute most of them. I ate them roasted with pork and mustard yesterday at Little Duck the Picklery, and had them in my porridge this morning. Very different vibes. There's something really fun about that question of: how many of these can I physically eat before the season ends?
Your illustrations feel very tactile and handmade. Can you walk us through your process?
I draw on paper with wax pastels, scan them in, and there's very minimal digital intervention – really just removing backgrounds in Photoshop. I quite like the imperfections that creates: sometimes you get a slightly jagged edge where the background was removed, or you can see a thick bit of crayon in the scan. I love that. I think it's what makes them feel hand-drawn even when they're in a digital file, and even when they're printed at scale. They still feel like they've just come off someone's desk.
This summer we’re celebrating the way a shared table can bring people together. How does that sense of community play a role in your designs?
I love a table at the end of a meal. I'm that person in a restaurant who, when a table clears, wants to quickly photograph it before the front of house gets there. The candle burned down, the empty glasses, the napkins, maybe a wine stain on the tablecloth – it's a scene of people coming together and having a really lovely time. There's a human element in it even without having any people in it. And I think it leaves something open for the viewer too: who was here? What did they eat? What were they talking about? I love that it asks the question without answering it.
And finally, when you're cooking for people you love, what's your signature dish?
Roast chicken, chips, and a very vinegary green salad. Every time. No thinking required, and it's exactly what I want to eat.
Words Kate Hollowood