By Gary Plotkin
Congratulations. You've discovered charcuterie. Not the centuries-old French tradition of cured meats born from practical necessity and peasant ingenuity — no, no. Your charcuterie. The kind that lives on a 36-inch slate slab you bought at HomeGoods and exists for approximately eleven minutes before returning to the void from which it came.
The modern charcuterie board is not food. Let's be very clear about that. It is a two-dimensional art installation that happens to be made of prosciutto. It is a mood board you can theoretically eat but absolutely will not. It is $80 worth of brie and candied walnuts that will be photographed from seventeen angles, run through four Lightroom presets, and thrown directly into the bin beside your kitchen island.
In service of this noble tradition, we present the ten most stunning arrangements you can construct, post, and immediately destroy.
1. The 'Effortless Abundance' Board
This is your entry-level piece. Fold six slices of salami into identical roses. Nestle them between clusters of red and green grapes — critically, both colors, because contrast is content. Add a small jar of honey with the wooden dipper resting just so across the rim. Scatter exactly nine cashews in a diagonal line. Take the photo. Eat none of it. The grapes were decorative. You know this.
2. The Seasonal Transition Board
It is either late September or early October. You know this because you have placed a miniature pumpkin on the board. Not to eat. To communicate autumn. Surround it with orange cheddar, fig jam, and a single cinnamon stick that serves no culinary purpose whatsoever. Caption: "cozy szn 🍂." Discard. Next.
3. The 'We're Having People Over' Board That Is Ready Two Hours Before Anyone Arrives
This board is assembled at 3:47 PM for a gathering that begins at 6. By 5:30, the brie has achieved full room-temperature sentience and the prosciutto has begun to curl at the edges like a Victorian novel's protagonist in emotional distress. You take the photo at 3:52. The board is never served. You order pizza. You tell no one.
4. The Monochromatic Board
Everything is white or cream. White cheddar. White grapes. Jicama slices. Cauliflower florets. A single white peony stolen from the centerpiece arrangement and placed, without shame, directly on the food. This board communicates sophistication and restraint and the fact that you have read at least four interior design accounts this week. It photographs beautifully. It tastes like a spa waiting room. Into the trash it goes.
5. The Grazing Table (A Board That Has Achieved Sentience)
At a certain point, the board becomes a table. You've rented a six-foot folding table and covered it in butcher paper. There is a full wheel of gouda. There are seventeen different mustards. There is a loaf of sourdough that you have not sliced but have instead torn artfully and arranged as though it fell that way naturally, which took forty-five minutes. This is no longer a snack. This is an installation. A docent should be present. The guests take photos of it and then migrate to the hot appetizers in the kitchen. The table is composted at 11 PM.
6. The 'Breakfast Charcuterie' Board
This is a plate of breakfast foods arranged on a board and called charcuterie. Mini pancakes. Bacon strips fanned like a deck of cards. A small ramekin of maple syrup. Berries in a gradient from darkest to lightest because you have a problem. This board exists because someone realized that the word "charcuterie" makes any food grouping sound intentional. You could arrange a bag of gas station snacks on a wooden plank and call it charcuterie and someone would pin it. You have considered doing this. You will do this.
7. The Dessert Board
Technically charcuterie means preserved meat. This board contains brownies, macarons, chocolate bark, gummy bears arranged by color, and a small mountain of cotton candy that will collapse within four minutes of assembly, which is fine because the photo takes three. There is a single strawberry dipped in chocolate placed at the exact center of the frame like it's the subject of a Renaissance painting. It is the subject of a Renaissance painting. It has 847 likes.
8. The Board With a Candle on It
Someone put a candle on the board. A lit candle. Among the food. The candle is not for light. The room is fully lit. The candle is for ambiance, specifically the ambiance of a photo. There is now wax on the prosciutto. The prosciutto was never going to be eaten anyway. This changes nothing. The candle stays. The photo is gorgeous.
9. The Holiday Board That Required a Stencil
Using a leaf-shaped cookie cutter, you have cut the sliced gouda into fall foliage. Each piece took forty seconds. There are thirty pieces. You do not think about this. You have also arranged the crackers in a wreath formation and placed a sprig of fresh rosemary in the center as though it is a Christmas tree, because it is November 4th and you are already in the holiday content cycle. Your followers expect this from you. You have created a monster and the monster wants cheese wreaths. The wreath is photographed. The wreath is dismantled. No one eats the rosemary.
10. The Board You Made for Yourself, Alone, on a Tuesday
This is the one. This is the pinnacle. There is no gathering. There are no guests. It is 7 PM on a weeknight and you have spent $65 at Whole Foods and ninety minutes arranging a board for an audience of zero — except, of course, your 14,200 Instagram followers, for whom you have lit the kitchen with a ring light and cleared the counter of all evidence of your actual life. The photo is perfect. The caption reads: "treating myself 💕." You eat four crackers directly off the board while standing over the sink, then wrap the whole thing in plastic wrap, put it in the fridge, and forget about it until Thursday, when you throw it away.
This is the dream. This is the content. This is us.
Gary Plotkin is a food writer and recovering tablescape enthusiast. He owns four slate boards and has never once eaten off any of them.
