Word Play

Can I pass you the what?
You need the huh?
This was made how?
I have to what with this thing-a-ma-jig?

Not a week goes by when I don't look at my chef with a perplexed and dazed expression and ask "what did you just say"? I may have married a chef but that certainly does not make me one by proxy. I am still clueless, even after years together.

Don't get me wrong though, I have learned some tricks. I have a best friend who shares her knowledge freely, her name is "Google". And then there is the bible, LaRousse Gastronomique. This giant encyclopedia contains words that even the chef doesn't know. It also comes in handy when you can't figure out how to spell the word for a google search.

To ease the learning curve for anyone with a chef in their life, I have noted some of my favorite translations below:

Bain Marie = A water bath for keeping cooked food or dishes warm or without allowing them to continue cooking. OR fancy term for a metal container.

Mirepoix = a culinary preparation of diced vegetables. Uh, OR you could just call it a mixture of carrot, onion and celery.

Roux = a cooked mixture of equal amounts of flour and butter used to thicken sauces. I like to think of it as the awesome mix that makes awesome mixes more awesome.

What words stumped you? Which ones would you share?
Let's start the chef wife dictionary!
Take that Chef Smarty Pants.....

-BK

Don't Hate the Player

As the outdated saying goes, "don't hate the player, hate the game". So should we be upset with our husbands for their personalities that drive them to be hard working night owls or hate the profession itself? It's really pretty obvious, we love our husbands or else we have walked a while ago. But in the heat of the moment who gets yelled at? Although I've cursed the industry from time to time, it just doesn't have the same effect as riling up my husband. Just something to think about.

Food is Love,
Hilary

Status Update

After reading my post about being super lonely I realize how depressed I seemed. Funny too, since that wasn't even the lowest point of the last few weeks. I felt as if Erik and I trudged through one of the toughest times in our relationship (excluding highly hormonal high school fights). The extra days and hours that he's been gone really built up seemed to drag me down. After talking about it, yelling and crying about it we both finally saw each other's perspectives. I admitted as well to driving him away- wanting him to feel as miserable and lonely as I did. I'm only human. It still sucks not seeing Erik as much as I'd like and even worse- knowing Maverik only gets half an hour with his dad in the morning. These trying times will make us all stronger. 

Food is Love, 

Hilary

The Big D

And I'm not talking about cup size here- The big D-divorce. We are long past the days of after school specials and sit-coms preaching to us that its never the fault of the kids and all that stuff. Is it just me or was the concept of divorce more talked about in the 80s? Nonetheless, divorce still happens. All the time. Both Erik and I are the children of divorced parents, but so what to me. All the family drama I have has nothing to do with the fact that my parents aren't married. I'm sure things would be intolerable if they had, in fact, remained wed.

In high stress marriages such as being married to a chef I would imagine that the idea of divorce comes up often. Not often as in every month, but often as in many of these types of relationships must be strained. I'll be honest and say the idea has floated through my mind in the heat of arguments, but I've never considered it an option. I love my husband and  although the pain of being without him most days and nights does exist, it certainly doesn't weigh enough on me to call it quits. But I'd be the first person to understand that these types of relationships don't always work.

Has anyone considered divorce? Been through it yourself? Maybe your relationship with your chef is your second marriage....or his? Of course-your comments are encouraged to be as anonymous as you like.

I suppose my purpose in writing this is to see if there is anyone out there who is contemplating the big D and is in need of an ear and an audience to give constructive advice and encouragement.

Food is Love,
Hilary

http://photos.parents.com/category/vote/id/10/w/30/y/2010?page=63&esrc=nwphotofaves4

Vote for Maverik!

I promise not to flood this blog with my baby's pictures, but just this once...I need your help!

I entered this picture of Maverik in a photo contest and it ends tomorrow. There are over 1500 entries and Maverik debuted at number 6! But over the week he's dropped a bit. Please vote for him on any and all computers you can get ahold of!

Here is the link: Maverik!


By the way, the prize is $250-not bad, right? Remember, the voting ends tomorrow!

Thanks in advance!

Food is Love,

Hilary

This Lonely Life

Today, and this whole week really, is one of those times when I feel as if I've been kidding myself every time I say that I'm used to being married to a chef. Who am I trying to convince anyway? Yes, I have come a long way from a whinny, complaining, glass-half-empty person, but I'm not living in some deranged stepford wife bubble. I'm lonely and I'm bored.

Erik has been working 6 or 7 day weeks putting in nearly 90 hours a week to open a new restaurant in the Financial District. I was lucky enough to get out of the house yesterday, sans Baby, and treat my friend to a "friends and family" lunch at the restaurant. But that was really just a sliver of normalcy.

I got back from visiting my family in Ohio a couple weeks ago. I spent two weeks there, and it was great. I was able to introduce Maverik to most of my family and enjoy all the benefits of grandparents. My mom put him down for his naps everyday and watched him so I could go to the gym with my sisters, lay out and otherwise not be tethered to the baby. It was fantastic. But now I'm home again and due to the heat wave here I haven't even been able to get Maverik out of the house much. Erik leaves for work before the baby and I get up and he's home much later than we've gone to bed. I'm still on maternity leave, so I don't even have the stress and responsibilities of work to distract me from my absent husband. I secretly wish he would come home one day and say that he's taken a job working nine to five as an All-Clad cookware tester or something. He'd scoop up Maverik in his arms, grab me close and say that he'd never open a restaurant again, that he'd never travel again and that being close to his family means more to him than anything else in the world....

As reality has it though- I married a chef. A chef who loves what he does. A chef who usually works Monday to Friday, so I really can't complain. I hope I don't seem ungrateful, although I know I do. I just needed to vent about how rough the last two weeks were.

Food is Love,
Hilary 

My Version of...

The Chef and I met years ago and food brought us together. I had never met anyone as interested in all things culinary like myself, as my future husband. This mutual passion has been a constant in our relationship and I must admit I feel a little trashy.

You see, the chef became a professional gourmet but I just remained obsessed.

One might use the term “foodie” to describe my pursuits. I now shake my head in disapproval, as I have always shied away from the term, “foodie”. Somehow I associate it with the whore at the rock show who rolls up on the band just hopping to get a piece. A groupie, who can't play an instrument but loves to going to the show.

Food might as well be the sexy lead singer and wine, the shirt less drummer because I throw myself at them each and every time I get the chance. No reserve, just smutty abandon. It is out of control. I want to know the details - the how, the who, the what and why. And like any good groupie, I don't stop until I get what I want.
Maybe one day I'll write about my lecherous escapades and late night romps with the dynamic duo. A seedy memoir of sorts. Until then I’ll simply continue to ponder my own perverse psychology, wondering why I can never say no and why I always want more….

 -BK

Living in a Laboratory

From my friend, BK:

The chef and I moved into Brooklyn for more space. We knew this would be an easy task considering our first apartment was no larger than a furniture display at IKEA. Before moving, I dreamed of small dinner parties at an actual kitchen table and room on the counter top for things like a coffee maker.

I know, I know it’s the little things that make me happy….

The chef, however, had different plans. Room for the chef meant he could start a new food inspired hobby. I now live in a beta test kitchen for the chef’s microbrewery. My quirky yet adorable apartment smells like an unclean sports bar after a Big Ten football game. I spend my mornings tiptoeing around copper coils, bags of grain and carboys.

This might not be a problem for most people, but I am not graceful. I am not the girl that glides beautifully across the room. I am a100 pound bull in a china shop, smacking into everything on the floor.

Typically, I am overwhelmed by the chef’s enthusiasm for his career and his activities. Most of the time, I am a pretty awesome wife. However, the laboratory he has created now dominates my once clean kitchen. I love beer as much as the chef does but It’s difficult to throw a dinner party when the IPA is fermenting on the table. The process ends up looking like a dirty snow globe….exactly. Try and picture that.

Is it too much to ask for certain chef hobbies to be left at work? Do most chefs test their skills in their personal space? I need to know if this behavior is normal because I am about a 12oz. bottle of beer away from losing. my. mind.

Fresh Look On Things

As you know I'm in the process of giving CPR to my blog that is in need of some new life . I've teamed up with a fabulous chef wife who will be helping me keep it fresh and fabulous here. Before you read some great posts by my co-host, here is her introduction. Like I did in the infancy of this blog- she'll remain anonymous- you know how those chefs can be about their name being out there.

Meet my new pal:

I have been an avid reader of Desperate Chef Wives for some time now. I discovered Hilary and her blog shortly after she began writing. At the time, I had just moved across country with my husband in order for him to begin his professional career as a chef. Needless to say there were moments of loneliness. However, when I began to read Hilary's posts, that feeling dissipated.
Two years later and another move back across the country, I have learned an exceptional amount about the industry - for all it's faults and wonder. Now, Hilary is gracious enough to give me the opportunity to provide comfort, humor and fortitude in the same manner she provided me.
But who am I? Well first and foremost, I'm terrible at introductions. So rather than attempt to complete a clever and well-written description, I thought it would be best to unload a list of labels that give you a brief glimpse into my crazy little world....

Designer. City Dweller. Cocktail lover. Useless furniture collector. Lousy dinner cook. Wanna-be baker. Makeup obsessed. Beer advocator. Morning hater. High heel accumulator. Flea market shopper. Workout dodger. Roof top gardener. Wisecracker. Poor spelling skilled. Food captivated. Chef wife.

Again, I'm thrilled for the chance Hilary is giving all of us to connect and support one another. It takes a unique individual to live a life less ordinary and us wives, girlfriends and partners in this industry have quite a perspective. It's exciting to have a place to share the stories and anecdotes of our everyday experiences....all thanks to the first Desperate Chef Wife and happy new mother.....