My husband and his place du emploi

So, Courtney asked where my husband works.  I’ve wrestled over the past few days over whether to keep this blog anonymous.  I’ve decided to continue with the anonymity to a point.  The point at which I need to fear Googling and Doocing.  (Dooceing?).

So, I’ll say this much.  My name is Vicki, my husband is Jack and my kids are Melissa, Ben and Susanna (from oldest to youngest).  My ex husband is Dave and his wife is Inez.  My best friends are known as Tea and Krumpet (not their real names, but that is one level of anonymity I’m keeping).  I work for a financial services company based out of Columbia although I actually work from my home which is the best thing ever.  We live in Fells Point

Jack is the chef at a beer bar in Canton (which is a neighborhood in Baltimore).  (I’m not naming the bar but if you’re familiar with Canton, and especially if you’re a beer aficionado, you can probably figure it out).  Before that, he had stints at a crab house in Canton (and I typo’d stinks for stints, which tells you how much he loved that job) and well a respected seafood restaurant in the Inner Harbor.  Prior to that, he was Chef de Cuisine at Kiss Cafe for three years.

I’m choosing not to name the bar where he works because once that particular barn door has been opened, it’s impossible to close again.  He loves it there and I love the place as well, but I reserve the right to one day write bad things about them if they piss me off….so that’s why I’m not naming the joint.

And onward to another topic, briefly before I head to bed.

Tonight I made the tuna burgers I read about here.  They were delish.  I had to tweak the recipe a bit because I had no lemon zest and instead used lemon juice.  Also, cooking for two minutes per side resulted in a burger that was all the way cooked – not mid-rare.  Normally I prefer my tuna as rare as can be but in this case, they worked out fine.  I did serve them with the cole slaw (unlike the original poster) because I love me some cole slaw, and it worked out well.  For my veg, I just served some quick cooked snap peas, sauteed very briefly in butter with some salt and pep.

Jack was happy.  He’s said many times that I’m a better cook than he is.  I don’t 100% agree with this, but I do feel I’m a more organized and methodical cook….but I’d never make it in a restaurant kitchen.

Anyway.  Off to bed.  Ta!

Marriage to a chef

I first met my husband on MySpace.  Yes, yes, I know.  Hush. 

At that time, I was usually getting 10-20 messages a week from random menfolk – some illiterate, some skanky, other proclaiming undying love.  Very very rarely did I write back to any, and even more rarely were they worth my time when I did.

But when I got that first message from Jack, my now husband, there were two things that piqued my interest and caused me to respond.  First, he went to the same high school as my brother and judging from his age, probably graduated around the same time.  Second….he said he was a chef.

Um?  Score!

We wrote back and forth for about a month before finally meeting in person for our first date.  (Dinner at Henniger’s on Bank Street in Baltimore – a restaurant I highly recommend!).  For our second date, he made me dinner.  And as time went on, and we got more and more serious, I thought I was the luckiest girl around.

But……life with a chef isn’t all caviar and foie gras (not that foie gras is all it’s cracked up to be).  I remember the first time I was in his apartment by myself, the first thing I did was open all his kitchen cabinets, his cupboards, refrigerator….and discover he had NO food…..and very little in the way of cookware and equpment.  The man lived off of Beef-a-Roni, eaten straight from the can.  Blech.

This should have been a warning.  But still, I loved being able to go to the grocery store, pick up whatever looked good and be able to bring it home and have him create something.  It reminded me of that old show on Food Network, remember that?  Ready, Set Cook!  Guest competing chefs were each given five items to work with.  Something like that.

But as time went by, he pretty much stopped cooking at home.  He cooked his heart out at work and never had the energy at the end of the day.  I don’t complain too much because I enjoy cooking and whenever I go into his restaurant he’ll make whatever I want, even if it isn’t on the menu.  So there are perks.

But the other downside is that he’s worked with so many chefs here in Baltimore and there are a few that he just can not stand.  To the point that he will not go to their restaurants.  And one of them, Cindy Wolf, is one of the best chefs working in Baltimore today, with one of the best restaurants, Charleston.  And I’d love to visit Nancy Longo’s tapas joint.  But, just not happening, not with him. 

Gonna have to rally my girlfriends, that’s all.

Three kids and the Fourth

One of the best things about having children is having someone to help with the minutiae of cooking.  I made my world famous chicken tetrazinni tonight, you know, the one I was convinced would serve as my entrance exam to culinary school one day.

I had water simmering for pasta and was quartering mushrooms while keeping on eye on the chicken breasts I had poaching in some vegetable stock when Eldest Child entered the kitchen.  “Here,” I said, handing her the knife (she’s 13!).  “Can you finish quartering these for me please while I check the chicken?”

So she did.  Score!

Five minutes later, I’m sauteeing the mushrooms and green onions in butter (LOTS of butter).  I stir in flour to start my roux and turn to the cutting board to start dicing the cooked chicken.  Middle Child comes in so I ask HIM to finish cutting up the chicken for me as I start stirring in more vegetable stock and evaporated milk (when I first learned how to make this dish, the recipe used all shelf stable ingredients.  Onions, canned chicken, canned mushrooms…..evaporated milk instead of cream.  I’ve changed it a lot over the years but for some reason, I’ve always kept the evaporated milk).

In goes the sherry and a big handful of parmesan.  MC stirs in the chicken, I grind in some pepper and we’re done.  THIS is comfort food to me.

Later, we walked down to the water to watch the fireworks over the Inner Harbor.  The kids oohed and ahhed….and pouted because I wouldn’t let them play with sparklers.  Seriously?  What type of parental adult says to children, other than his own, “Hey, want to play with sparklers?” before checking with said children’s actual parent?  Because that happened tonight.  I mean, I’m sure the guy was really nice and all but just….thoughtless.  I told the kids no, they could not play with sparklers because Youngest Child burnt herself with them last year (or maybe the year before, as she insists) and I knew that if they got hurt and I brought them home to ex-husband and the step-mother, I’d never hear the end of it.  So I had to listen to YC begging and pleading for the rest of the evening to please please PLEASE let her flame with giant sticks of flame.  FLAME STICKS OF DOOOOOOM!

Walking back home after the fireworks was pretty cool because all the tourists scurried like rats back to their cars and the kids and I just strutted back to our house.  I was all, “That’s right.  I’m a local.  Recognize!”

Anyway, once back home, for dessert I made the Banana Chocolate Bars I found here.  They were absolutely wonderful.  The only hard part was waiting for them to cool off so we could eat ‘em.  YC didn’t have any though.  She claims to not like coconut.  How this is possible I have no idea…..but I gave her some fudge that we got from Candy Kitchen last weekend so everyone was happy.

That’s it.  Happy Fourth, y’all.  I’m off to go watch iCarly with the kids before bedtime!

This post, like most, begins with a “So”

So the husband called me yesterday and asked me whether I wanted to do something “special” today.  His weekend helper needed some extra hours and asked whether he could work for my husband today.  At first, I didn’t know what we could do since I work until 10pm and by the time I’m off work, there really isn’t anywhere to go.

I mean, we could go to a bar, but we do that anyway, heh.

But then I remembered that Jack’s Bistro serves food until 1am and there food is GOOD.  And super-inventive and cool and stuff.  I wrote a review of them in my old blog.  You should read it. 

So I had my tastebuds all set for something neato nifty peachy keen.  Thai coconut curry mussels or something like that.  We walked all the way down there (a good half hour walk)….only to find out they’re closed for the week.  Vacation! 

Much pouting ensued.  Plus, consternation.  It was 11pm and we needed food, badly.  And there just isn’t much open……plus, there was the issue of my demanding tastebuds.

I quickly evaluated our options.  We could walk back home and I could try to come up with something for dinner on the fly.  But I really did not feel like cooking.

Or.  We could go to the Sip ‘n’ Bite.

Yeah.  So I hit the reset switch on ye olde tastebuds and told them they wanted a pizza burger sub and they protested mightily but we had a good half hour walk back to the diner where I was able to wrestle them into submission and by the time they got their sub they were very happy and made “Mm-mm” noises.

Except, when it came time to pay the tab, we found out that we couldn’t put the tip on our card.  And neither of us had any cash.  I don’t get that at all.  What type of restaurant doesn’t let you put a tip on your card?  Have any of you ever heard of such a thing?

But, we are not the sorts to walk out without tipping so I sent the husband scurrying down to Canton Market to get some cash while I tried to avoid finishing the rest of my french fries because really, who needs an ENTIRE side order of fries?  Why did I even order fries?  It’s not like their fries are particularly spectacular. 

So that was my night.  I wanted a tuna sashimi martini, I got a pizza burger and I was happy to have it. 

Happy Fourth, y’all.