Life of the Chef's Wife

That doesn't live here any more

2011-11-22T18:21:00.000-05:00

About ~~a million years ago~~ a year and a half ago, I left my residential job of ~~a million years~~ 8 years. Residential means that I worked in a house that was not mine, taking care of kids that were not mine. Often when people say "residential" it refers to a group home or a foster home. I worked at several foster homes over the 8 years but I worked at one home the most and often worked several days at a time. During these "shifts" I would live at the home with the ~~soul sucking female aliens~~ teen girls. Often the girls knew, when I was home I was in the kitchen baking and cooking yummy things to ~~keep them home and off the street~~ nourish their spirits.

After working at the house for a while I started to forget which dishes, cooking utensils, food, and pans were at my house or the foster home. Often I would be searching my cabinets for food that I had seen at the other house, or pans that I used at home I would try and find only to realize that they were at my house and not the foster home. Once I left that job this ~~memory problem~~ trait slowly waned and I no longer searched for items that were not in my home. That is until tonight.

You see I wanted to make apple crisp. It is something that makes the house smell amazing, tastes great, doesn't take a lot of time and I don't need a recipe for. It's also something I made frequently for the girls on cold night and early mornings.

So I peeled the apples and started to cut them off the core and slice them up. All I kept wishing was that I had that little dodad that cored and sliced the apples at the same time, just like at the foster home. But knowing that I don't own one, I carried on chopping and slicing. Once the apples were in the baking dish it was time for ~~sex in dessert form~~ the crumble topping. In went the butter, sugar, flour, oats and cinnamon. Now, I am not a big fan of using my fingers to mix the ~~sugary, buttery heavenly~~ crumble because ~~it feels weird~~ the butter gets to warm. So I started to look for my pastry blender. In order to find it I had to search through this....

No problem right? RIGHT! I mean how difficult would it be to find a pastry blender that has a worn black wood handle and crooked wires? Can't be that difficult. So I began the "dig". 4 spatulas, 8 (!) whisks, 3 pizza cutters, 3 one cup measuring cups, 6 wooden spoons and 4 unidentified kitchen objects later and I still couldn't find the blender. I continued to dig and dig, placing objects ~~neatly on the counter so I could organize them when I put them away~~ on the floor ~~allowing the cat to play with them,~~ ~~promising to wash them when I was done,~~ in a huge heap. As I got down to the last few things I suddenly remembered. My pastry blender was metal and new ~~and sitting under the cat~~ and the black one was at the foster home.

So I quickly ~~organized everything in the drawer~~ rifled through the pile finding my blender and mixing up the ~~million calorie goodness~~ crumble, placing it on the apples and thew it in the over (I mean, how much longer should I be forced to wait!). When I did start to ~~shovel~~ put everything back, just as I was nearing the end of the pile I found this....

So I walked over to the counter by the microwave, opened the bottle of Burbon and ~~took a chug~~ poured some in the apples because after all that I think I deserved it.

Oh well, maybe ~~the bourbon~~ soon will remember what house I REALLY live in.

Gourmet eating with the wife

2011-11-18T09:49:00.000-05:00

Usually when I am in the kitchen I am ~~creating a disaster~~ cooking, or feeding the cats. But most of the time I am riffling through the cabinets trying to find that ONE SMALL THING that I am craving at 3 am. Most times, I can never find it and I end up ~~chugging red wine to fall back asleep~~ leaving the kitchen disheartened and hungry.

Last night I was on the hunt for something sweet, rich and chocolaty. Did I find it? Of course I did I ate ~~gourmet brownies with rich chocolate sauce~~ 3 tablespoons of hot chocolate powder and chugged some milk out of the carton.

Last week I was dying for some crunchy, salty, sour pickles. Did we have any? Nope. Did I go to the store ~~in my pink pajama pants~~ and buy some? No... I did eat several finger fulls of dill pickle dip we had in the fridge before I noticed it was expired. Then I ~~threw it in the garbage~~ ate a few more, because it tasted ok. (Yes I know, I sound like a person off of Hoarders)

The reason I am posting this is because ~~I want to be held accountable for my terrible eating habits~~ I need to debunk the myth that living with a chef is about eating good quality food all the time.

For example, last Saturday it was early and I was starving. Did I reach for the bacon and pancakes? The rich Ontario maple syrup? The delicious soft cheese and fruit preserves? (yeah we never have that in the house, I just made that up). No, I ate 4 freezer burnt chicken fingers and some Kraft dinner and I ~~dipped them in gourmet ketchup~~ piled on the hot sauce.

Many people ask how a wife of a chef eats things such as KD, chicken fingers, spoonfulls of chocolate power mix. The truth is...

Because I want to. But dont worry, not all is lost.
When I am feeling all fancy pants I just drizzle some of this

on to my french fries and all is right in the world.

Caking

2011-11-16T12:21:00.001-05:00

Did I ever tell you that I cake? and by "cake" I mean made and decorate cakes? Don't get all excited, I am not a professional baker or even a bakers assistant. I am simply a person with too much time on their hands who liked to bake and decorate cakes.

I have a lot of fun when I am doing these cakes. I find that they allow me to ~~swear for a good reason~~ problem solve, ~~eat a ton of icing and batter~~ using my baking skills, ~~make a mess and blame it on the cats~~ use the kitchen to the fullest extent, and be memorized my by Kitchen Aid.

But its not all ~~shits and giggles~~ there is a lot to learn when ~~totally screwing up~~ making a cake.. take for example..

I loved this cake, in my head. Then it was lopsided, then it didnt look like roses. Then it started to melt. This cake sucked.

But, I ~~threw a fit and never wanted to pipe flowers again~~ persevered ~~drank to heal my bruised ego~~ and ended up with

See, much better. You can tell they are roses and not just lopsided swirls.

Beautiful Rose Cake. Photo by Melissa Barth

I also enjoy eating cake. I enjoy eating icing, and filling. This may be the reason why many of my cakes end up being bigger then expected, because I am an over achiever, ~~I get to eat the scraps and dip them in icing.~~

I look forward to the weekends when I get to "cake". I also like the weekends when the cake works out. Like this one

I have learned that baking a cake is a lot like sex...

You WILL get sticky.
The outcome desired may not be achieved
You and the recipient may have VERY DIFFERENT ideas
The more accessories you have the more you can do.
The bigger the better

Does anyone else "cake"? Any tips or tricks you want to share?

Lest we forget...

2011-11-11T12:20:00.000-05:00

I come from a blended family, of two countries. My dad, who is American, born and raised, Vietnam Vet, with many generations serving their country in WWI & WWI. And my mom, who was born in Canada who's father, uncle, and grandfather all served in Her Majesties Navy.

This is a difficult day for my dad. After Vietnam he had eggs thrown at him at his Welcome Home Parade, couldn't find a job because no one wanted to hire a former Marine from a "political war", and was still struggling with the loss of friends as well as overcoming the effects of on-going Malaria outbreaks. He then came to Canada, where he found shelter from the stigma of being drafted into a path that was not his choosing. So today, on "Veterans Day" it's a difficult day for him and I acknowledge this. After meeting many of my dad's friends and fellow Vets, I know this is a difficult day for all of them.

On the other hand, living in Canada, I wear my poppy, take my moment of silence and feel grateful today and every day to selfless men, women and their families serving today and yesterday. I feel pride that my family had a part in helping others around the world. I just with ALL of my family was appreciated as much as my Canadian family is.

So,

Thank you for your bravery and commitment to our country and to the worlds people. Thank you for trying to initiate peace and eliminate injustice. Thank you, a million times over.

In Flanders Fields

By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
      Between the crosses, row on row,
   That mark our place; and in the sky
   The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
   Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
         In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
   The torch; be yours to hold it high.
   If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
         In Flanders fields.

Split in the tookus

2011-11-09T12:34:00.000-05:00

My mom and I are also very different creatures. She has never worn makeup, fancy clothes or ~~cared at all~~ gave in to the fashion world. She is ~~stubborn~~ strong and open minded and has a laugh that ~~is so loud it will wake a slumbering bear~~ lights up a room. I am pretty close with my mom. We like to share a lot of laughs and talk on the phone several times a week. I wouldn't say that we are BFFs but I take comfort in knowing that she is only ~~10 very quick minutes~~ close by.

One night after finishing dinner at a local joint ~~i begged and pleaded~~ we decided to check out some of the shops that were still open. Now these were not my Mom's type of places. They were not ~~discount, end of the line, slightly defective~~ stores that have great deals or super sales, they were more my kind of stores. You know ~~shoes, makeup and clothing all very over priced~~ fashionable, trendy and selling some of the most beautiful (and deadly high) shoes I have ever seen.

In between my Mom's ~~comments about over priced items~~ chit chat, I was walking slowly behind her staring at all the ~~things I could never afford, items I was drooling over, items I would gladly go into major credit card debt for~~ beautiful shoes since I was wearing ~~very warn skinny healed slingbacks~~ cute little high heals I picked up ~~from a store that was giving them away~~ for a good price.

As we were walking on the sidewalk my Mom and getting further and further ahead of me. And knowing my mom the fact that I was ~~slacking behind drooling at shoes~~ not engaging in her conversation would be a problem. So I picked up the pace and ~~did the high heal shuffle~~ walked quickly towards my Mom.

In my way there the heal from my shoe got stuck in the space between the sidewalk bricks and I was stuck. As I watched my Mom walk up a head I tried to ~~free myself from the shoe eating sidewalk~~ pull my heal out of the crack. As I pulled and pulled I realized that I had to ~~call my mommy to rescue me~~ call to my mom to help me out of the crack.

As my Mom turned around to see what I was yelling about I gave one last pull to my foot and was met with a very loud and noticeable RIIIIIIIIP. It was instant, my mom started to laugh ~~loud enough to wake a slumbering bear~~ and within ~~a millisecond~~ no time had people turning to look at ~~me being swallowd by the sidewalk, or embarrassment~~. My Mom then very loudly between fits of laughter shouted to me..... "Did you just rip your pants!? DID YOU JUST SPLIT YOUR TOOKUS!?"

People were now staring at ~~my butt~~ me ~~hoping to get a glimps of my tighty whities~~ waiting for my reply. As I turned every share of red known to man I looked down and shook my head no. My mom asked me "Are you sure? What was that noise?" I then looked behind me and pointed to my shoe. I ripped the leather right in half.

After taking my foot out of my shoe and attempting several times to free the shoe from the crack, I ~~took the walk of shame~~ walked away leaving my shoe (and my pride). I then walked in to an over priced shoe store with one bare foot and one high heal shoe and bought ~~the nicest, most expensive pair~~ the exact same pair I had just ruined. Only this time I paid for them.

NO SOUP FOR YOU!!!

2011-11-07T16:24:00.000-05:00

Go ahead, ask me where I have been.....I'll wait.

Nope, try again. Nope, not there either. The truth is I have been here all along. And I have been wanting to write to you, I really have, but I have not had the time. I have, however, made up several blog posts in my head (all which I have forgotten) and plan to start posting again.

Have I ever told you how much I HATE sharing recipes? I do. I HATE IT. When I make something good I want to be the only one to make it so everyone will flock to my house ~~begging and pleading~~ asking me to make that totally delicious thing that only I can make. I don't even like sharing things with The Chef. I mean, he is a CHEF he should be able to make ~~everything I have ever craved~~ everything I make because I am ~~just a simple social worker~~ not a chef. I dislike, despise, 100% HATE sharing recipes with OTHER CHEFS. I mean, if you are trying to jack ~~a simple social worker~~ my recipe for something then ~~you can no longer call yourself a chef~~ you need some serious cookbook salvation.

Over the summer we had our annual BBQ where we invite a whole bunch of people over to eat BBQ and play corn hole (totally not some weird sex game, ~~like my mother thought it was~~ I promise). I made delicious and wonderful pies. Blueberry, peach, and buttermilk (seriously, look it up, its like crack in pie form). Everyone swooned over my pies, even the chefs that were invited.

I was beaming ~~they like me they really like me!~~ because its always great to make something that CHEFS (other then my Chef because he NEEDS to say he likes everything I make, its like some sort of married rule or something), fall in love with and can't get enough of and ~~beg, and plead~~ request the recipe for.

Here is my problem. Its MY PIE, and my RECIPE. No, buttermilk pie was not INVENTED by me but I took a basic recipe and made it ~~so freaking awesome~~ better, to the point where it was now AMAZING buttermilk pie. And they want the recipe.

Do you SEE THE PROBLEM? No chef in their right mind is ever, EVER going to say that they got the recipe from someone else. That would be against the "Chef Code". You ALWAYS take credit for the dishes you make. It would be morally wrong if a chef said something like... "Oh you like the pie, that's great. You know, I didn't come up with it some ~~simple social worker~~ strange woman who I just happen to know through a third party gave me the recipe and I used it and put it on my menu and called it my own. I am so GLAD you like it." So, knowing that nothing in the chef world ever works out like this, I try my best never to give out my recipes (even to The Chef).

But at this BBQ the General Manager of the new place The Chef will be working was there and the problem in that HE fell in love with my buttermilk pie too. So, there was the problem. How could I deny the potential boss a recipe? Easy. I yelled "NO SOUP FOR YOU!" and stole my recipe box from the kitchen and fled undercover to an undisclosed destination (which would explain where I have been.) Although that would have been cool, its not what happened. I put on my ~~fake~~ happy smile and said I would share the recipe (and then I have to give it to EVERYONE at the party ~~as I sobbed in the corner).~~ The manager saw my hesitation and did not push the topic any further, but just said thanks.

So even though a handful of chefs now have a delicious buttermilk pie recipe which will eventually be pawned off as their own, it was to my surprise when The Chef came home with a draft of the menu (after one of his fancy "business dinners") for the new place and this was on it...

"Tabitha's Buttermilk Pie"

I am going to be famous, and no, I won't give you the recipe.

30 Pounds

2011-10-24T16:19:00.000-04:00

I am so lucky that I live with a chef. I means once a week, I get to come home to ~~a gourmet~~ cooked food that was not cooked by me. It also means that I come home to large amounts of food, say, enough to feel several dozen people. Last Monday was no exception.

I was so excited when the Chef said he wanted to cook dinner and work on his ever evolving Mac & Cheese recipe. Who does not love cheesey noodles baked in more cheese? Well, lactose intolerant people, and people who are allergic to wheat, but everyone else loves it, except for me. I think Mac & Cheese is a side dish and although I enjoy it, its not something that I swoon over. Its not like its a turkey, or roasted pork, or some duck. Its not like its chocolate cake or coffee. Its Mac & cheese. Its just, OK.

That night when I got home and walked in the door I smelt wonderful, bubbling cheese and grilling meat, and my mouth started to water. I couldn't wait to see what the Chef had made. After ~~throwing my bag and coat on the floor~~ putting away my work stuff and ~~tripping over my shoes~~ walking carefully around to the kitchen I noticed that my large turkey roasting pan was sitting on top of the stove. My mouth instantly began to water. What ever meat he was roasting, was in that pan. I started to dream about all the wonderful things that could be in the roasting pan.... Turkey, roast pork, roast beef, a honey ham, a stuffed chicken, roasted duck...what ever it was, it was ~~one shove of a cat away~~ just a few more steps before I could open the lid and get a morsel of delicious roasted meat.

As I got closer I noticed that the Chef was not even in the kitchen, he was outside at the BBQ. For the briefest of moments I thought I saw him grilling meat but I dismissed that thought so quickly because what I truly wanted what was in that roasting pan.

As I took a step closer the Chef came in to the house and gave me a quick hello.
Chef "Hi babe, how are you?"
Me "Good" *reaching for the pan*
Chef "I am just finishing up the pork and then dinner will be ready"*Walks outside to the BBQ*
Me "Then what is in the roasting pan??" *lifts lids*

And there it was, a whole turkey roasting pan of Mac & Cheese. He used 2 pounds of pasta, and almost 3 pounds of cheese, a liter of milk and half a liter of cream. I was staring at ~~5 pounds~~ 30 pounds of mac and cheese. I had never felt so heart broken as I did in that moment.

We have been eating mac & cheese for 7 days. Send veggies. Thanks.

Giveaway WINNER!!!

2011-10-19T19:22:00.000-04:00

I wanted to thank everyone that came by and entered in the little giveaway. And I know there was only 8 people that entered, but I only have 1 bottle of vanilla and 1 pack of beans. If I would have brought in any more vanilla I would have had to leave my ~~tequila~~ other souvenirs.

SO! take a look below for the winner.

Thats right, it is comment number 5!! Colleen at Forty Something Bride

So Colleen, drop me a line at chefswife7@gmail.com and I will get you prize in the mail! You better dust off that mixer and start some major baking!

I will try to have another giveaway soon. Thanks again everyone for dropping by!

Driving 101

2011-10-19T06:40:00.000-04:00

I know I have posted about my driving ~~rage~~ experiences, however, I failed to tell you that I have this extreme fear of driving down town. Its full of one way streets, don't turn signs and congestion. On top of all of the busy traffic, I don't know my way around (unless I am walking or taking public transit) and I have a fear of getting lost (on top of my fear of driving down town).

But today, I NEEDED to get down town and back to my office as quick as possible. I NEEDED to.... drive. So I found directions, went over them with a co worker, read them several times over, recited them in my head as I drove down the highway, wrote them on a sticky note and put them on my dash, had them programed into my iphone maps, and found several places I could pull over in case I needed to puke. After all of the planning, I set off on my way ~~to the abyss~~ down town.

When I got off the highway, I was not far from my house ~~and I almost turned onto my street to cry~~ and as I drove by I went over the directions again. I continued driving along to one of the busiest street in all of down town to where I had to make a left hand turn. As soon as I made the turn I was in "down town"

I would like to recount the rest of the drive, however, I was too focused to retain any events or streets names or things I saw. What I do know is that once I got out of the car all I felt was pain.

Pain in my hands from holding the wheel to tight.
Pain in my stomach from clenching my abs so tight.
Pain in my jaw from grinding my teeth.
Pain in my head from squinting and focusing too much.
Pain in my butt from falling in the parking garage after doing my happy dance that I ~~didn't die~~ drove down town.

Thats right, I did a ~~victory~~ little jig in high heals and fell flat on my butt in a parking garage in down town Toronto. But thats ok because I ~~didn't die~~ did it. Which means I never, ~~ever~~ need to do it again.

I like big Butts

2011-10-17T10:00:00.000-04:00

I have no shame in telling people that I am a plus size. When it comes to clothing my size 18, XXL body makes me proud. No low self esteem here. You wont find any self pity as I eat my chocolate bar, or brownie or cheese and crackers. No feeling bad the day after from eating french fries, chips or rice. Nope, nothing. I just refuse to sub come to socially constructed ideas of beauty and weight. However, not everyone thinks I am hot stuff.

taken from http://operationbeautiful.com/

Example A.

I was meeting a very dear friend at a local market down town. We go quite early in the morning to ensure that we ~~don't get run over by strollers and rude people~~ get to enjoy the quiet hum of the market and get the best produce before it gets picked over. To get to this market I need to take the subway from my house to down town Toronto. This is no big deal. I have taken it my whole life and I find it enjoyable, most of the time.

Saturday morning 7:23 am. I am standing on a deserted subway platform with only a handful of other travelers. One women is standing about 3 meters away from me. I am playing on my iPhone.

taken from google images

Woman: Excuse me. You look like the type of person that needs some help.

Me: *looks around to make sure I am the person she is speaking to* *Cautiously looks up* Me? I don't need any help.

Woman: Well you see I am a fitness trainer and I am currently taking on new clients. You seem like just the person who could use my help. I could help you loose some weight. You know, be healthy.

Me: Oh, no, I am ok thanks. I am fine just the way I am. I am actually happy with the way I look and how much a weigh, but thanks. *goes back to my iPhone game and starts to inch away*

Woman: *Takes several steps closer* You think your happy now, but just wait. You could feel so much better once you lost some of that weight. You would look normal.

Me: *blood pressure rising. teeth clenching. trying to hold back my 220LBS body from pushing her onto the tracks* Normal? I look pretty normal now thanks. Really, I am not interested.

Woman: But I could help you lose your big butt or help stop your thighs from jiggling when you walk. Let me just leave you with my card and when you go home take a look in the mirror and think about it.

Me: *mouth wide open* You know, if I wasn't such a nice person, I would sit on you right now and snap your...." And at just that moment the subway came and all the ~~wonderful, nice, kind,~~ explosive expressions I said were lost in the sound of the subway.

So, I took her advice. I went home. Looked in the mirror and I decided that I like big butts. Then I ate some full fat yoghurt and turned on the music and did a little dance!

Meet Miss getthehellouttamyway

2011-10-14T09:29:00.002-04:00

Hi, my name is Miss getthehellouttamyway. Not excusemeIneedover, not Iampatientandunderstandingtopeopletakingdrivingschool, but Miss getthehellouttamyway, as in if you don't drive the speed limit, won't mover over to let me pass, hesitate too long at a green light, or just piss me off I will honk at you. Yes, I am ashamed to admit that I am "that" driver.

See, I have a ton of road rage. Tons. I ~~know it comes from my father~~ have no idea where it comes from. My mother, has never driven in her life. My father is an excellent driver ~~who will chase you off the road~~ who only got his first ticket when he was 62. When I was learning to drive, all I wanted was for my father to tell me that I was a good and safe driver. So, I drive with two hands on the wheel, I always use my turn signals, and ~~I will fuck you up if you cut me off~~ always say thank you when someone lets me in their lane. I try hard to always be courteous, even if I am yelling at you from inside my car.

For example...

This is a picture of the car I own, see... Small, cute, named it Mindy.

One day I was driving down my street trying to get to my parking space in front of my house. See, we live in the city and don't have a driveway. My street was unusually busy with cars driving north as I was driving south. Because we live in a very old neighborhood, the streets are very narrow but when there is no snow piled up 2 cars can easily pass each other. On this busy day, I was driving down my street when a HUGE cream coloured SUV was coming up. All of the sudden, she stops in the middle of the road and waves me to pass. Normally I would be full of smiles and polite Canadian "thank yous" however, she was taking up the whole road and there was no way I could pass her.


The woman's HUGE SUV... this is not an exact representation of her car. If you own this car I hope you live on a wide street	.

I waved her on telling her to go ~~hurry up and GO!~~ She then honked her horn at me signaling me to advance and pass her. There was no way that my small hatchback was going to be able to drive around her without hopping the curb, taking out a few garbage cans, as well as the kids hockey nets on the sidewalk. It was at this point, that I could feel the rage, pure angry rage, building inside. I honked back. A LOUD AND LONG honk, to show her ~~that she was being an idiot~~ that she needed to pass because she was taking up the whole road.

Just as the woman in the cream SUV started to advance, she stopped dead. HONK HONK HONK! as she waved me to pass. This was the final straw. I parked my car, got out and walked up to here window.

Me: Hi there, you know you are in the middle of the road

Lady: I have been waving you to pass by me. So go already.

Me: Listen lady, I have no problem passing you, however, it means that I would have to scrape your SUV and take out its nice paint job with my little blue car, because, YOU ARE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD. But, if you would like me to do that and pass by, I don't mind. You see, my car is a piece of shit and if I get a bit of cream coloured paint on it, it will only be improved. We can do it that way, or, YOU CAN TURN YOUR STEERING WHEEL AND MOVE BACK ON TO YOUR SIDE OF THE ROAD!

Lady: *rolls up winder very quickly muttering something about psychotic something or other*

As the woman managed to turn her wheel and ~~get back on her side of the road~~ pass by me, I said a huge Thank you (with a smile!) and a wave. See, I told you I was courteous.

Also, I have a giveaway going on RIGHT NOW! To enter, click here and leave a comment or send me a tweet @thechefs_wife .

Home again

2011-10-12T20:45:00.002-04:00

***Update*** Comments are now closed. Thank you to everyone that entered. I will post the winner shortly!!!

So we are home from Mexico. To be honest we have been home for a few days but it took me a while to get caught up on ~~sleep and cat cuddles~~ laundry and grocery shopping.

Also while we were away some teenagers moved into our house and when we got back it was ~~gleaming and clean~~ like a bomb went off in my bathroom. But it's not a very funny story. Its more of a bathroom tragedy where a bottle of conditioner was sacrificed to hair of three teen girls and my bathtub drain is feeling the repercussions of all that cream rinse. Our freezer is also empty. But, they didn't touch my the booze. So I think it was a success.

So I wanted to share a few pictures of our trip. Not the typical ocean/beach pictures but some of the other beautiful things Mexico has to offer. Also, at the end of the post there is a giveaway!!!

Sunrise

Agouti. Its a cross between a squirrel and a rat who burros I think.

White nosed Coati

This little guy was living in the light in the hallway.

So over all we had a wonderful time. It was super eventful. On Sunday we woke up and went to the beach, had a few drinks, had some good food and read a book. Then we returned to our room and got ready for the night, dinner and drinks.
On Monday things got REALLY EXCITING! We got up, went to the beach, had some drinks, had some food and read a book. Then we returned to our room and got ready for the night.
On Tuesday We got up, went to the beach... KIDDING! It rained so we went to the bar and hogged a table and pretty much drank most of the day. I don't remember much of Tuesday.
On Wend... Well. Not much changed (Yes I hear you, WHERE THE HELL IS THE GIVEAWAY!)

So here is this blogs very. first. giveaway.
I have one bottle of pure Mexican Vanilla as well as a vile of 3 Mexican vanilla beans to send to you. Mexican vanilla is my favorite vanilla flavor. There are many different types of vanilla each with different notes, some are musky, some are floral, but Mexican vanilla is a strong and spicy, with a hint of honey and lots of vanilla flavor. It adds tons of great taste to what ever you bake with it. I really want to send this to you!!
So, in order to enter leave a comment on this post letting me know what you like to bake. I will keep the contest open for one week (until October 19th 2011). You can enter once a day. ALSO, if you want an extra entry send me a tweet @thechefs_wife . Also, to The Chef, you are NOT ELIGIBLE TO ENTER, so don't even try it...I'm watching you.
I will pick the winner at random and announce the winner on October 20th. Good luck to everyone!!! I will return to regular posting ASAP. Just as soon as I finish cleaning out the bathroom drain.

Crotch face

2011-10-03T07:46:00.000-04:00

I have crotch face.

Whats this? You don't know what crotch face is?!?!

Well. Let me tell you.

I am going to Mexico in just a few days. Actually by the time this posts is published, I will be there. On the sand, with a drink, in the sun, in my flubber covering swim suit and with my crotch face.

This started with my friend. My wonderful best friend who I have known since we were about 3 or 4. She took me to get "it" waxed. Thats right, a full out cootchie waxing so I could look all clean and smooth. No razor burn for me. This was a while ago, and I have been addicted to them since.

Last night I went to get my pubic hair forcibly removed from my body by a very kind woman using a method of torture called "extremely hot wax". Just when you think the pain could not get any worse, the hot wax (as well as hair and the first layer of skin) is ripped from your body leaving you smooth and full of watering eyes and just slightly dumbfounded on why in the world you would ever put yourself through this....again.

So, last night after I had this wonderful procedure done on my cooter, I asked the lady if she could also wax my eye brows since it was starting to look like I had two fuzzy caterpillars crawling across my face. I was told "Absolutely, my pleasure dear". Then she came at me with the orange stick. And just like that she was touching my face. With the same hands she had touched my "parts" with. It all happened so fast that I didn't have time to ~~yell~~ ask her to wash her hands, or use a wet nap, or a baby wipe or some anti bacterial hand sanitizer.
This is not to imply that I am dirty ~~ho bag~~, but lets just say that I like to follow proper hygienic methods of stopping cross contamination. Simply put, that woman got mighty close to my ass hole and was now touching my face.

As I walked out of the room slightly in awe of what happened I realized that I now had crotch face. Let just say, there was no amount of exfoliate left in our house last night. None.

Apples and Oranges

2011-09-29T09:29:00.000-04:00

When the Chef and I were younger and going to college we used to take public transit together in the mornings to our first class. The Chef would pick me up in his old beat up brown car and we would drive to the subway station and grab the train down town.

Every morning once we got off the train and got onto the streetcar the Chef would pull out a green apple and we would share it. He would always take the first bite because I hated the feeling of the skin getting stuck in my teeth. We would eat the apple down to the core. And once we got to school we would walk on campus holding hands. Most mornings the Chef would wear a jacket, be too hot, and give it to me who was always cold. This went on for most of our college life.

Later on, when we were no longer taking classes, and no longer taking the subway together things started to change. There were no more shared green apples and fewer times holding hands. But we always had oranges. On the few nights we would eat dinner together, the Chef would always bring an orange with him. He would always peel it, because I hate the feeling of the skin under my nails. Then he would break it in half and let me pick which half I wanted. We would sit there, eating our shared orange watching TV.

Later on, after we moved in together and we started seeing less and less of each other because of different work schedules, there were no apples or oranges. It wasn't the fruit that made these times so special, it was the fact that we were sharing something that we both enjoyed. We have been lucky to replace the apples and oranges with other things such as traveling, our home, eating out, and having a good laugh. We went from a young couple of only 17, to an adult couple of now 28. So this week coming, we are sharing in an adventure to Mexico. We are going to be sharing many laughs and smiles, a few squabbles, and share in some wonderful memories.

I have a post or two that ~~should~~ will post automatically, but I wont be here to reply to comments or fix last minute spelling mistakes. I will be too busy sharing a week of my life with my best friend. I will be back by Canadian Thanksgiving and then will share with you our Mexico trip. Have a wonderful week everyone!

Grey Matter

2011-09-28T09:54:00.000-04:00

One day a few months back, I was washing my hands in the washroom sink at work when something bright silver caught my eye. At first I thought I was seeing things, or some sort of reflection from my silver chair, or some silvery spirit lurking behind me, but no. It was what I knew it all along to be; my first grey hair.

This is something that I always dreaded since my dad by the time he was 32 was completely grey. I mean 100 percent, no doubt, sporting the silver, grey. I, of course, look like my dad and inherited his blonde (now greying hair). In case I forget to say it, thanks a lot Dad. That was really kind of you to donate that ONE PARTICULAR GENE out of all of the other ones. Super, thanks.

After I stared in the mirror for ~~several minutes until the shock wore off~~ and came to terms with my aging, I quickly plucked that sucker from my head and silently convinced myself that ~~I was not an old hag~~ it was just a really bright blonde hair. So blonde it looked ~~almost~~ white. Now as you know I am a blonde, I am a natural dark blonde (I never say ``dirty` unless there is ho bag attached to it) but I do dye my hair lighter. So as my darker roots come in the ~~grey~~ bright-blonde-almost-white hair was visable.

I of course didn`t tell anyone that I found this. I walked back into my office with a smile on my face and when I sat at my desk I started to panic. So, I called my mom.

I told her that at 28 I was way too young to get grey hair so it must have been a mistake. But she also reminded me about my dad and his ``grey matter`` at the age of 32, and how him and I shared a lot of similarities, and how it was quite possibly a grey hair and to not to panic because I wasnt THAT OLD.
(Thanks, Mom, for you know, the age complex).

Thinking that my Mom would know that this was a ~~traumatizing~~ impotant moment in my life I knew that she wouldn`t make a big fuss about it. Then my email alert chimed. It was my Dad congratulating me on my first grey hair. He also mentioned how I was a lot like him at his age. Then another email, a close family friend giving me the name of the best grey covering hair dye. Then a co worker who over heard me on the phone coming in to say that she got her first one at 35, so wasn`t I a bit early?

It was at this moment I considered pulling a full out Brittney and shaving it all off and joining a monastary and taking a vow of "no looking in a mirror ever again". I started to sweat, I started to breath heavy, I started to panic that I was becoming old before I actually was old. Then I remembered one small thing.

The Chef, has been greying since we was in his early twenties and has way more grey hair then I do. So as long as I am standing beside him I will always look younger. Crisis adverted.

When the beds a'rockin

2011-09-26T08:49:00.000-04:00

When the beds a'rockin I am sleeping in the other room on the futon (I actually don't mind it after I move all the towels, laundry I have not folded, and cat toys off of it). I am sleeping there because the Chef won't stop making the bed shake. You see he does this "thing" in his sleep. I have been told that it's quite natural for men to do this in their sleep, especially when they are on their feet all day and just need to get rid of some tension after a long day of work. Many men do it on a regular basis, some suggest that it starts in adolescents. The main point being is that it's ok that he does it, and I need to learn that the leg twitching while he is asleep is normal (HA! you thought I was going to talk about something naughty didn't you? Well...maybe next time). However, it unfortunately it ROCKS THE WHOLE BED.

Here is the thing. I go to bed quite a bit earlier then the Chef since ~~I work typical human hours~~ I work a 9 to 5 job. Around 4 in the morning I exit my REM sleep and and enter the "light sleeping phase" (technical, I know) until my alarm goes off at 6 am. It is around this time that the Chef's leg starts to ~~shake the bed violently like the Earth is going to open and swallow us whole~~ twitch every few minutes. Its not just the twitching and the shaking that drives me crazy, its the noise. The little "shuffle shuffle" ever few seconds that drives me crazy.

I have tried everything. From pushing, kicking, slapping and going full out wrestling style to hold his leg still, to waking him up and ~~demanding~~ asking that he stand up and walk around a bit, squirting him with water, ~~attempting to smother him with a pillow~~ to sending him to the doctor, who in the end, said he didn't know why either.

So now, when the bed starts to shake and I have confirmed that it is not an earthquake, alien invasion, or some sort spook from the Paranormal Activity movies, I get up out of bed, take my pillow ~~and all of the blankets in a passive-aggressive move~~ and a cat and move to the other room to finish my nights rest.

Thank goodness for spare beds. Maybe we should buy a spare blanket.

Excuse me, is that your under-wire?

2011-09-22T16:45:00.000-04:00

So, I am not some high class business person that dresses in suits and blazers and wears panty hose every day. I am lucky if I wear ~~underwear~~ socks when it snows or ~~deodorant~~ make up when its hot out. But every once in a while I need to pull myself together, put on some nice clothes and attend a meeting with other professionals to advocate for services or support a kid in school or ~~beg for funding~~ discuss highly professional things with other professionals (yes, I have a Masters Degree...you may judge me now, I'll wait).

This one day I got all dressed up (this consisted of underwear AND dress pants) and went off to the child welfare office to be a part of a planning meeting which included many people from many departments in an agency that I have been trying to get a job with for a long time. It was a special day when I was on my "A" game and wore a special pushup bra because ~~i needed my boobs to be up to my chin~~ I was wearing a shirt that required a bit of extra "volume".

I took the subway downtown since ~~I am too chicken to drive anywhere in the downtown core~~ parking costs a lot. The subway, of course, had delays and I was suddenly running quite late. Once I emerged from the subway I started to ~~shuffle in my high heals~~ run down the street trying to get there on time.

By the time I reached the office I was a hot mess. I was sweating, panting, and pretty much gripping the wall to catch my breath. As I removed my jacket the person who was holding the meeting noticed me in the lobby and came by to escort me into the office. There was a bit of small talk between us when I noticed her eyes darting back and forth towards my boobs. Too afraid to look down, I ignored her glances until she ~~blurted out in a loud booming voice that echoed down the lobby and into the ears of every single person working there~~ whispered that something was sticking out of my shirt. I quickly glanced down and saw that the under-wire of my bra had poked its was out and was sicking out the top of my shirt.

Yes, the dreaded under-wire

I quickly ~~turned every shade of red possible~~ pulled the wire out of my shirt and stuffed it in my purse giving a small smile and a "thanks". As if this was not embarrassing enough, my right boob then sank significantly lower then my left boob due to the lack of wire.

I went to the meeting lopsided, and never wore a bra again. KIDDING!!! Just not THAT bra. I threw that bra ~~into a fiery pit of burning hate~~ out.

Well, cough it up, what is the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to you? I think if we are lucky the Chef might chime in since he is now reading this regularly. I think his might have something to do with an rotten oyster and a famous hockey player.

Yes, I eat that.

2011-09-21T19:56:00.000-04:00

So I thought I would just post a few weird things that you would not expect a "chefs wife" or a chef to eat. Here are some of the secrets of our ~~refined palates~~ fat induced processed diets.

Cheez Wiz - I LOVE THIS STUFF. Anything that is one step away from plastic and I am all over it. Just like instant mashed potatoes. I love the thick mushy non-potato like substance. I just ate some today and it was great. Now mix the two together and instant cheesy potatoes. I told you I knew how to cook!!

I also love cheez wiz on toast topped with jam. (Do you see the cheez wiz trend here?) Now, I can see through this screen your nose getting all scrunched up and making that "I just smelt something gross" face. But its good. Its sweet and salty and full of chemicals. Common, you know you want to.

Kraft dinner, I eat this a few times a month and the chef eats it a few times a week. He will eat Kraft dinner but not Chocolate. Not THAT is weird. Right?

Also, I only use butter (yes, thank you for pointing out that this may be the reason my butt jiggles. But just so you know, my thighs jiggle too. HA!) It must be unsalted butter. I mean I am SOMEWHAT health conscious.

I am pretty sure that I got this from my mother who used to eat peanut butter and red onion sandwiches. Thanks mom, for my refined palate. Its a wonderful gift to want to mix cheez wiz and jam.

I am so laaz.... Whats that Smell?

2011-09-20T18:52:00.000-04:00

So here I was going to post about how I have been ~~lazy~~ procrastinating with posts. I think I am at a point where I realize that ~~my life~~ life with the chef is not as interesting as I thought it was. We truly lead dull lives here.
As I sat down to write this ~~boring and mundane~~ apologetic post about not blogging as often as I should (or as often as i told myself i would), I noticed a smell. And not just any smell....... I smelt poop.
Of course a cat was sitting beside me look all ~~demonic~~ cute and innocent. I instantly thought, Hey... its the cat. I bet he has taken a dump somewhere in the crack of the couch.

So I ~~pushed the cat off the couch~~ gently place the cat on the blanket on the loveseat and proceeded to check ever. single. crevice. And guess what I found? Three dimes a penny and a used toothpick. Awesome. But no poop.

I then pulled the couch from the wall. I found dust bunnies, cat fur and a sock. Amazing. (Obviously I am giving you the impression that I dont clean, and you would be right... I dont). Still no poop.

As i turned around in circles ~~muttering to my self as I started to pull at my hair~~ looking for places the smell could be hiding I found a small little area where sometimes the cats hide. That must be it. It MUST be.

I pulled out everything.. Papers, boxes, swords (yes we have weapons in our house, sharp pointy weapons and no we dont fence) books, lip gloss but guess what? NO POOP. Its almost like the smell is only in my nose and does not exists in the "real world". But that SMELL WAS STILL THERE.

All of the sudden, I knew exactly where it was. It was the placed I dreaded the most. The place that would cause me the most physical pain to clean, the most difficult place to get to, the place that was currently touching me... The cats ass.

Today I got smeared by my cat. Super. Let this be a lesson from the universe that I should follow through on my commitments. I SMELL YOU UNIVERSE, No need to continue to send that message. I get it, thanks.

Issues

2011-09-17T13:31:00.000-04:00

It seems like some of my posts are taking WAY too long to show up. I am posting this at 1 30 pm est on Sept 17th. Can someone let me know if and when they can see this.
Its possible that I am not posting at all and its all the drugs that I did as a teenager catching up with my brain and I just THINK I am posting.
Either way, I should get this checked out, both my brain and the blog.
Happy weekend!

Dirty Dishes

2011-09-16T17:58:00.000-04:00

I have decided that every time I want to bitch I am going to name it dirty dishes with the hope that once I get it off my chest it wont be there any more. Just like washing the dishes, once you do them then your sink is clean and its a fresh start.

Sometimes, being a chef's wife sucks. Welcome to my pity party. Come in, I made dip.

I have a pretty active social life. I have great friends who enjoy many of the same things I do. I am so lucky to have them in my life. There may not be many of them, but the ones I have are amazing and I love them. They also have partners of their very own; husbands, boyfriends, dates and some even have children. They, for the most part, have company, and can make plans to go on date nights as well as hang out with other couples.

This weekend I was lucky enough to be invited to a friends place to celebrate another friend's birthday. I am super excited and can not wait for the party. However, I will be the only person without their "partner". This is the "dirty dishes" part and it is because it happens, ALL. THE. TIME.

Some people start to wonder if the Chef even exists, or if he is like Polkaroo from Polk A Dot Door, (yes I am dating myself),and is only around when others are not. This is a terrible feeling because tomorrow when I am surrounded by a bunch of couples, laughing and joking and sharing in stories and memories I will be there, looking to my left to once again find that I am alone, without my "other half".

It's not just in social situations that this bothers me. Sometimes at night when I am sitting in an empty house eating dinner alone again, I wonder if I will ever be lucky enough to come home to another human being and be able to share my day, share a meal and share a laugh.

I do love the Chef very much. I know deep down that these feelings will pass, that my friends never mind me being a third wheel and that this is just one of those things that comes with the territory. Tomorrow I will be fine but for right now I just want to say that loneliness sucks and I am lonely.

Tomato sauce, A La Wife

2011-09-09T07:18:00.000-04:00

Don't worry, I am NOT going to turn this into a cooking blog. There are tons out there that ~~actually can cook~~ I could never compete with.
But I did make tomato sauce and I needed to share it with you. Because, I MADE TOMATO SAUCE FROM TOMATOES! (Yes I see some of you rolling your eyes out there, but just because I live with a chef does not mean I AM a chef). I got the recipe from Smitten Kitchen who I adore. I also stabbed myself in the hand with the knife while making this sauce. Don't worry, its red from the TOMATOES not from my blood, promise.

So, what started this little adventure? The Chef had some tomatoes ~~rotting~~ ripening on ~~top of the microwave~~ in the windowsill and I thought it would be a perfect ~~kitchen disaster~~ experiment.

First peeled the tomatoes. Yes, blanching them would have been easier, so don't even mention it.

Then I cut them and scooped out the seeds. This is the part where I stabbed myself in the hand. Not, cut my finger, not cut a nail, but STABBED my hand. HOW did I do that. ~~easy!~~ I was not using a cutting board since I ~~didnt want to do more dishes because I am lazy~~ ok, I dont have an excuse for this one other then laziness. Go ahead, judge me.. I'll wait......

I put all the tomato guts in the strainer and let the tomato ~~blood~~ juice drip into the bowl.

Then I ~~took out all my anger~~ mashed them carefully until they were ~~pulverized to a bloody pulp~~ mushy and saucy. I used a potato masher because I don't own any other equipment mentioned. I live with a Chef, we have a soft fruit peeler and 11 wooden spoons (3 slotted spoons, 3 large serving spoons, 2 potato mashers, one hard boiled egg cutter, a lettuce knife, a several twirly straws) but no hand blender or food mill.... go figure.

I then ~~boiled the hell outta it~~ cooked it down into a nice tomato sauce ~~which I later discovered is just overly cooked tomatoes, and I thought it was magic~~ with a slightly chunky texture and a fresh sweet flavor

THEN

I ADDED

ITALIAN OLIVE OIL!!!!!

From Italy. Its part of the Chefs hoard of special fancy food he is "saving" for the ~~Apocalypse~~ a special occasion.

Then I added this spice stuff

we bought in Tuscany but didn't know how to use it so I had to ~~Google Translate~~ use my amazing Italian to follow the direction on the package (which turned out to be the ingredient list, not the directions).

Then I ate it. It was fantastic. It was even more amazing because ~~I made it without burning the house down~~, ~~I made it without the help of the Chef~~, The Chef ate it and like it too.

Watch out Chef, now that I know how to ~~boil the hell outta tomatoes~~ make tomato sauce you are going to be eating a lot of it.

NOT makin bacon

2011-09-07T07:02:00.001-04:00

So, I was going to post about the second part of making bacon, the fire making, the wood burning and the wonderful end product of sweet salty sliced bacon. HOWEVER, some MUCH BIGGER happened early that Monday morning.

I lost the cat. Thats right. I. Lost. The. Cat.

Well, to be honest, HE ran away from ME. But being a "pet parent" I am the one that feels the guilt and shame.
Here is what happened.

I was in and out of the house, getting the fire ready, getting the bacon ready and every time I went in or out this is what I saw.

Please can I go outside?

Please can I come with you?

If you don't let me out I will sit in your way.

So I did. I let him out. We walked the yard, we talked, we had a beer. Ok we didn't have a beer ~~since it was 8:30 am~~ since he is a cat but we did enjoy the crisp autumn morning. And then this happened.....
I looked here....

The fire on the smoker

And when I looked back, the yard was empty. No cat. No birds, no squirrels, NOTHING.
I took a walk to the back of the yard ~~yelling, screaming freaking out~~ calling Magoo (I am sure my neighbours appreciated me yelling for my cat at 8:30 am on a long weekend. I owe you all ~~a beer~~ my thanks for not reporting me ~~to the local mental hospital~~ local police department).

Because I could not find the cat behind the shed, in the neighbours yard, at the front of the house, in the shed I proceeded to ~~scream at the Chef~~ wake the Chef up so he could help.
I ran back outside to see if I could locate ~~my fur baby~~ the cat and the Chef came out to help IN HIS BATHROBE. Now, I have no issues on strutting my stuff in my pink pajama bottoms throughout the whole neighbourhood, but this is not a good look for the Chef. So I ~~ordered, demanded and swore a bit~~ asked the Chef to please get dressed and help me find ~~my lost baby boy~~ the cat.
I ran around the house and into the neighbours yard looking for the cat. I looked in the garden, under their deck while ~~screaming like a banshee~~ calling for the cat. All of the sudden I heard *meow* and there he was, on the other side of the gate.
I ~~ran faster then an Olympic sprinter~~ walked carefully towards him and ~~grabbed him in my death hold~~ scooped him in my arms and walked home. I then ~~went into the ugly cry~~ shed a few tears of relief that the cat was found and ended the morning like this.....

Sorry buddy, not a chance. EVER AGAIN

And with bacon. Its was a win-win day.

***YES that is duct tape on the floor and door frame. You can judge me for my poor pest control methods, but it works and it was cheep which means I had more money for ~~wine, clothes, french fries~~ savings, like to remove the wasps nest at the top of our house. Home ownership is fun. ***

Makin Bacon

2011-09-02T07:15:00.001-04:00

The Chef enjoy smoking and BBQing meats. Its no secret, its his passion. One day as I was ~~surfing the web~~ ~~at work~~ looking through cookbooks, I came across a recipe for home made bacon. Now I am not a pork fanatic. To be honest, its only been in the last year that I have started to eat meat again, but this looked like so much fun that I texted the Chef and asked him if we could make bacon. His reply was "I love you".

That weekend we made bacon and have never turned back.

Enter the.... SECRET BLACK BOOK

Bacon recipe in "secret book"

OK its not a secret, but it is a black book. Its the place the Chef writes down all of his ~~experiments~~ recipes. Now normally I would be concerned that ~~someone would break in to our house and steal the magic black book~~ other cooks would take his recipes but to be honest ~~no one will ever be able to read his writing~~ most of the time we ~~can't find the book~~ don't need it because I we have great memories.

Salt mixture with maple, brown sugar and pepper

So last night the Chef was bringing home the (pre)bacon and asked me to get the curing mix ready. So, I did. First I had to ~~find the damn book~~ carefully open the secret black book, then I ~~tried to decipher the curing mixture~~ read the recipe several times to ensure I knew what I was doing. You see, curing bacon is an art form and I needed to ~~throw everything in the bowl as quickly as I could before the cat knocked it over~~ to follow the recipe very closely to ensure maximum flavor. Once it was all mixed up, I left it on the counter ~~and prayed to the bacon gods the cat would not eat it/knock it over/play in it and track it through the house like he did the BBQ sauce~~ for the Chef to finish up when he got home.

After the pre-bacon is rubbed with the salts and stuff, the Chef puts it into a ziplock bag
and then it ~~leaks all over~~ sits in the fridge for a week until the curing salt has cured it. What ever that means.

Pre bacon in zip lock bag

Then, it gets cooked or smoked and sliced and eaten and given away. You would think that 20 pounds of bacon would last a long time, but when the Chef ~~adds it to everything he eats~~ give it away to friends and family, it does not last as long as you think it would. Which is really ~~a blessing in disguise as my house will reek of greasy bacon until its gone~~ great because I love sharing with friends ~~seriously your doing me a favor.~~

Communication with the Chef

2011-08-31T06:09:00.001-04:00

Since I don't get to speak to the Chef a lot in person or over the phone this is how we communicate during the week.

The White Board on the fridge.

Some of the messages we have left on the fridge.....

Me - Can you please pick up oil? Thanks.
Chef - I don't have to go into work until 1, dont call me
Me - food in oven
Chef - We need *something written in chicken scratch that I can not understand*

Paper towel, ccn foms? and svndry tovms?

Messages on Facebook.

ME - Hope dinner was ok when you go home.
Chef - Dinner was great, I got home late. Going to be busy.
Me - I am on the road all day tomorrow dont call
Chef - Will do dishes later.

Messages over text

ME - What do you want for dinner?
Chef - What ever
Me - So nothing?
Chef - I want something, how about shake and bake
Me - *sigh* ok CHEF