Yes chef! 

After 2 very long years I finally finished my program for dietetics and nutrition. However I did not graduate with the degree, but you know what that’s okay with me. I can go back and finish up any time I want. In the mean time I have been cooking my ass off, creating fabulous desserts every weekend, running my expo line like a boss, and being the best manager I can possibly be, on top of planning a wedding. 

Something kind of interesting happened a few weeks ago. We were busy as hell, I have no room for more tickets on my rail, we are on a 50 minute wait, but as usual my crew is breezing through it. Honestly they could run that line in their sleep. I recall shouting out to the back line “good job boys, keep rocking! You guys good back there?” And the answer I revived was “yes chef!” It actually startled me for a fraction of a second. Yes chef? Oh wait that’s me. I had been so absorbed with school, and everything else in life I sort of lost an essential part of my personality. In that moment, in that single reply I was reminded of how far in the culinary world I have really come. 

I earned that title, but I forgot all of the little glorious moments that I have experienced leading up to it. I’m 25 years old, I hold an AAS, a certificate in culinary arts, a certificate of completion in dietetics and nutrition, I have been on talk radio numerous times, I run a blog (even if my posts are far between and barely anyone reads it), I hold a chefs award for my work in teaching baking and pastry voluntarily (LOVED doing that), I am a kitchen manager, and have made some pretty fantastic dishes. But I always try to be humble, I don’t wear my name on my coat, and only bust those out on very special occasions. But to hear someone else refer to me as chef really just allowed me to put one more feather in my cap. 

Dream big ladies and gentleman, you can achieve anything you put your mind to. No obstical is too great to climb if you really give it your all and really devote the time and effort to accomplishing what you set out to do. It might take YEARS of hard work, blood, sweat, and tears. But take a page from my book, never stop believing in yourself and in your goals. Here is to the next goal, the next dream, the next feather in the cap. 

Keep dreaming,

Chef B

Red wine poached pears served with vanilla ice cream and wine reduction syrup. 

From the moment I was given creative license to come up with dessert specials at work, my brain has been just in an uproar with ideas. I recall when boss man said “go” I literally ran to my car that very second, grabbed a notebook and pen and began sketching out these wonderfully sweet ideas. My brain has not stopped and it’s been almost 3 weeks. This was the very first dessert special we ran, and without giving away any of my trade secrets I wanted to share this proud first with you. 

Red wine poached pears 

4 slightly under ripe pears, skins removed

1bottle dry red wine 

1 3/4C sugar

1 1/2C water

1 cinnamon stick

1/2c orange juice

Zest of 1 orange

1tbsp vanilla

1. Bring all ingredients except for pears to a boil making sure sugar is completely dissolved.

2. Turn down to a low simmer and add pears, place a sturdy lid or small plate over the pears to submerge completely 

3. Simmer for 45 minutes to 1 hour, pears should pierce easily with a sharp paring knife. Remove the pears and set aside. 

4. Simmer the poaching liquid for about an hour or until reduced by half, testing by dipping in a spoon and when the liquid cools it should be a thick syrup. Chill the syrup when finished.

5. Cut the pears in half and using a melon baller or spoon remove the core. 

6. Plate the pears by placing them on a dish core side out and placing a big scoop of vanilla bean ice cream inside, then drizzle with reduction syrup. Or you could fan the pear out and serve next to vanilla ice cream. 

Delicious. Especially if you want to impress someone. 

Here is to firsts,

Chef bee  

 

Let’s call this one “shit that keeps me up at night” 

Fair warning, this post is not in any way pleasant. So if you don’t want to feel any feelings I suggest passing this by. You have been warned. 

Today I had to stop by my mothers house to deliver some delicious Girl Scout cookies. My darling dear nephew was home from school and sitting at the kitchen table. I was then informed of an interesting problem that my nephew was having at school. “Aunt Bee, my best friend is a girl and all the other kids are mean and make fun of me. Like the whole second grade! What am I suppose to do?!” My heart sank. My nephew was being bullied because his best friend is a girl. How do you explain bullying to a second grader? I told him that my very best friend in second grade was a boy and that the very same thing happened to me. As the old saying goes “sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.” I explained that they just wanted to feel powerful and that they felt good seeing him feel bad. He should turn and walk away when they start being mean, it was their loss if they didn’t want to be his friend. But if they got very mean he needs to go to his teacher or the principal for help. Adults are there to help you, never be afraid to ask for help from a grown up that’s why they were there. He seemed to understand, but I could still see that my little dude was hurt inside. A wound that is invisible to others, but I know that wound all to well.

The old saying really should be “sticks and stones can break my bones but words can leave permanent damage and take years of therapy to for them to scar over.” I’m angry, it made me remember what it was like to be a victim of bulling. I’m not talking the kind of bullying where kids called me a few names and then it was over we all grew up and out of it. I am talking about YEARS of emotional torture, this was all before anti-bullying laws and what not. The following stories are the reason this post is titled “shit that keeps me up at night.”

Second grade. My best friend was a boy (we remain good friends to this very day) and we were really into digimon and Pokemon at the time and we would go outside at recess and reanact our favorite episiodes. Kids would all gather together and shout things like “weirdo” “freak show” “loser” “fags” things like that. I got so mad once that I pushed a kid down because he called my friend fat. I had to stand on the wall for the rest of recess. Nobody would listen to my side of the story. 

Forth grade. At this point always picked last for the team, got labeled the weirdo. Kid on the playground called me a “bitch” didn’t even know how he heard that word but I got mad and stated to cry, he kept saying it over and over. So I punched him in the face, and pushed him down. I got in trouble, nobody would listen to my side of the story, he insisted he kept calling me a “bass” (the fish). They fucking believed that little shit bag. That’s when I stopped trusting adults, and stopped trying to make friends or be social in general. I became withdrawn, angry, and sad. But most dangerously of all, I became quiet. 

Fifth grade. I was a bit disorganized at school, I usually just stuffed papers in my desk and used the empty desk next to me for books. Nobody seemed to mind. Until my teacher asked me to clean out my desk, which I did. But in my tiny fifth grade mind she never said both desks and I wanted to go outside and play with the few friends I had. I came back inside to see a group of girls (who were vicious bullies to me even then) cleaning my desk, going through my papers, my private things, my belongings. I was horrified, embarrassed, and angry. I just stood there in tears while they read through my notebooks (I wrote short stories or poems), and most embarrassingly of all they read about my crush. They just sneered and snickered at me with their bitchy little faces, relishing their power over me, I was a peon to them, they were queens. The teacher didn’t understand why I was so upset. All I could do was stand there like an idiot and take it when all I wanted to do was tear their hair out and claw out their eyes. That’s a lot of rage for a 5th grader mind you. 

Sixth grade. New school, new start right? Wrong. We had lockers with locks, but sometimes I would leave some of my books in front of the locker because I had to run across the building for my classes. That was stupid. I came back one day to find my books scattered across the school and pages of my journal (which I had forgotten sitting on top of the stack when I went to luch) scattered all across the hallway. It took me 15 minutes to find everything. 

I wore a shawl to class one day, someone shouted “you look like an old lady!” I never wore it again. 

I was in choir and the girl behind me always called me “Marsha” from the Brady bunch. On account I had very long blonde hair. She would pull my hair when I would sit down. I snapped after a few weeks of “just ignore it dear” and said “stop pulling my fucking hair, you are already on my shit list”. I was called down to the office because they thought I had made a hit list, and she felt threatened by me. Nobody listened to my side of the story. Again. So I stopped talking. Eyes to the ground, mouth shut, just get through the day. That was when I started therapy and was diagnosed with severe anxiety and depression. In the 6th fucking grade. Where was 13abc to share my story? 

I had a bully who was in several of my classes. Him and his friends would follow me around and sing “brass money” scream it in my ear, and they would always find ways to make me look like an idiot. I hated giving class presentations because they always found a clever way to make me sound stupid. He was on my bus and they would all just jeer and laugh “why are you so fat?” “Your so ugly” “you should just kill yourself it would make a lot of people really happy” “your so retarted” “everyone hates you you know”. Well one day I snapped. I grabbed that little shit by his backpack threw him against the brick wall, held him off the ground and said very loudly “I swear to Christ if you don’t leave me the hell alone I will fucking kill you!” In case you are wondering I got in trouble again, by the bus driver this time. I was over defending my actions and went home once again in tears. But everyone reassured me “he is just mean to you because he likes you” okay sure. That makes me feel awesome. 

7th grade. My attendance was spotty, I wore baggy clothes and hoodies every day. I had a few friends, but not many. I had a girl at luch throw her chocolate milk at me. That was cool. 

There was a school dance. I wasn’t going to go, but I got a phone call that very night from a boy who would like to meet me there. I was so excited! Someone liked me! So I did my hair, and I even put on makeup and a sparkly belt. Cute shoes and even a cute top. I felt so pretty. My mom dropped me off and drove away. I waited in front of the building for almost an hour, watching couples file in. Maybe he was just running late, yes that was it. It was cold so I finally went inside, maybe he was waiting in there for me. The group of guys that burst out laughing when I walked in gave me the answer. Nobody was waiting for me. Nobody liked me. I was humiliated, completely and utterly devistated. I called my mom and we drove home in silence. To this day I still wonder who called me that night, but I guess I will never know. 

8th grade. I was always trying to find ways to get out of school. I hated going. I spent almost my whole time reading, it was my escape. I loved books. 

I gathered up the courage to wear a dress one day. High neck black silk, almost kimono style. It came down just to my knee caps. I wore tights and black boots. Right before art class I got a huge run in my tights so I took them off, I figured since the dress was long enough nobody would notice. I walk into art class and within 5 seconds someone said “Jesus she took her tights off.” Then pointed and laughed. I never wore that dress again. 

I wanted to keep taking art class but the teacher recommended choir instead for high school. I guess I wasn’t good enough. 

Freshman year. I was quiet, had a few more friends. Made a few really good friends who stuck up for me. I had a friend who was all fire, loved to read just like me, and would put a bitch in her place if need be. She was my best friend, but then she moved away down south and I was alone again. 

Sophomore year. I joined flag corps, I became a part of a team. People liked me, I had friends. Still picked last for every team and every group project. But I didn’t care. I stopped caring what other people thought because fuck em right? If people were actually mean to my face I would just flip them the bird and keep going. People grew up a little bit by then I guess. 

Junior year. I smiled again, I laughed and joked with my friends, I joined clubs and activities. I had a car and went places, I went to dances with dates. The flag corps would compete in states. I was in choir, alto 2 section. Life was pretty okay. 

There was this annoying kid who played drums. Kid never shut up, mean little thing. He wouldn’t stop talking at a train stop so I told him to knock it off. I found his parents and asked them politely to talk to him about it (considering he was a freshman). A few games later his mother comes rushing at me like a bull and starts full blown screaming in my face “you fucking bitch! How dare you tell me how to talk to my son! Who the hell do you think you are!? You stay the fuck away from him if you know what’s good for you!!” I was knocked to the ground. I was terrified. Nobody came to my aid. I told my mom later and she ended up chewing out the principal who cited the whole thing as “personality differences” my mom wasn’t having it and had her banned from all future football games. Well her kids decided that they should enact revenge and tailgated me home from school. Then they made up this story about how I ran into their car in the parking lot. Well my dad measured my bumper and their dent then proceeded to call them on their bull shit. My car could not have possibly made that dent. Plus it was on the wrong side of their car (I parked next to her in the school lot). They were told not to come within 20 yards of me from then on or face suspension. 

Senior year. I graduated. Peace out bitches. 

So yea I get a little fired up when I find out someone has been bullying my nephew. I would rather die then have him go through what I went through over the years. Fucking teach your kids to be nice, it’s not hard. That and call them on their bull shit every single time. Don’t tolerate that shit in your house. Don’t be a bad parent. Period. 

And now I’m 25 and getting married to the love of my life. Who would have thought. 

Sleep tight 

Chef bee

I’m going to bitch about being sick. 

Because nothing pisses me off more then being sick. Nothing is more inconvenient, annoying, and uncomfortable. I have a life I have to live and nobody got time for being sick, especially me!!! 

It started as a tickle on Saturday night, just a little tickle in the back of my throat. I chalked it up to yelling “where my food runners at?!?!” all night long. Fast forward to waking up at 5am coughing my lungs and boiling inside my own skin. Thank God for Sunday’s, which is my permanent day off. So I sweated it out, took some ibuprofen had a hot shower and tried to walk it off like a champ. Ended up sleeping a good 18 hours of that day off, what a waste. 

Monday rolls around, sleep until about an hour before my shift starts. For the record that means I slept until 3pm. A friggin cold is no excuse to miss work, chugged some tea, grabbed a box of DayQuil, and was on my way. The night was uneventful, though I was cranky to the point of bitchy all night. Ended up skipping out on inventory because I was half dead on my feet. Sleep didn’t happen like I hoped, I was up all night with the cough from hell. Obviously my DayQuil had worn off, so I dosed again, and slept for 2 hours. 7am…. I had class to go to. 

Hahahaha on 1 hour of sleep? I have gone to school and work with broken bones before this was a fucking cold. Apparently when a person is running a fever and takes a hot shower it is possible to get dizzy and have to sit down in the tub for a minute until the feeling passes. That’s it. I’m calling the doctor this shit is for the birds. I actually felt terrible not showing up for school, I’m in a group project and really REALLY didn’t want to screw my partner over. I know what that feels like and did not want to be “that partner”. What could I do? So I texted my partner first…… Then my instructor. Pretty sure my instructor doesn’t like me anyway and probably called bullshit. But I have a magical doctors note PROVING that I was indeed sick today. 11:30 appointment, arrive 20 minutes early, seen right away, that never happens. Ever. In the history of doctors appointments have I ever been seen within 5 minutes of showing up. Weird. 

20 minutes later, upper respiratory infection. Antibiotics, steroids, and cough syrup. So much for my bridal appointment today…. Needless to say I was devistated… Today was supposed to be the perfect day, instead this was hell. I suppose there is always next time, I mean we do have a year, you know when I can actually breathe. My fiancé has taken good care of me and made sure I have everything I ever need. He’s the best man I could ever ask for. 

They weren’t lying when the bottle says “take with food”… Apparently my dumb ass can’t read and suddenly a new symptom appears… Crippling nausea… I can’t fucking win. 

In conclusion, being sick as an adult fucking sucks. So take care of yourself, wash your hands often, cover your mouth when you cough or sneeze (with your arm and not your hand), get plenty of rest, eat a well balanced diet, and fresh air. Basically do the opposite of everything that I do. 

Peace bitches,

Chef Bee    

This is a public service announcement, don’t be a bad parent in a restaurant. 

*gasp!* what?!? My perfect little angel muffin did something wrong?! That’s impossible because he/she is perfect in every single way, I mean just look at my little cherub! That’s right folks, there is such a thing as being a bad parent in a restaurant. It happens more often then people think, most of the time us service industry warriors (aka badasses) don’t really give a shit if your kid is crying, we get it, life happens. Your kid doesn’t like their food or takes two bites, we aren’t offended in the least. Baby spills chocolate milk, don’t be embarrassed we have seen worse and hey, you can’t control everything.

With that said….

It’s the shit you CAN control but choose not to is what pisses us off to a special extent. Before I go into stuff and things let me tell you all a little story. 

Once upon a time on a busy Thursday night at the pub, I looked beyond my expo station and saw a blur of pink run by about the height of my knees. I stepped out and lo and behold there were two children IN THE KITCHEN! So I used the special voice I reserve for servers who don’t run their food and said “YOU CANT BE BACK HERE ITS VERY DANGEROUS AND YOU COULD GET HURT, GET OUT OF HERE!” Now before everyone thinks I am this terrible child hating demon know this, I will always smile at a child, encourage them to be their best selves, admire doodle drawings, and I will ALWAYS answer a toy telephone if it is handed to me. Anyway, so the children run away in terror. But instead of learning a lesson and going back to wherever-the-hell mom and dad might be, they decide to RUN around the restaurant, almost knocking several servers over in the process. SCREAMING AND SCREECHING the whole time, I had several dirty looks in my direction. Problem was I could not figure out who these children belonged to. One poor family trying to have a nice family dinner out with their own child (kid might have been 5 tops) I thought was just going to get up and leave. Their poor little boy who  (without judgement) appeared to be autistic (Noise cancelling headphones, rocking, repetitive motions) became very overstimulated because of the disruption and had a meltdown. It wasn’t pretty and I felt terrible, and prayed that these children would. Just. Leave. Thankfully they did and all was right with the world. The end. 

Now, let’s break it down. 

1. Your child should not leave the table for any reason unattended. Period. Do you realize how dangerous a restaurant can actually be? Your kid runs into a servers legs and they drop a heavy tray of hot food? What happens then? Who’s responsible? You do the math. 

2. See above 1. It’s disruptive to other patrons who are also paying to be here. They did not come to listen to your little superstar sing “let it go” at the top of her lungs. Might be cute to you but trust me, everyone else is secretly trying to contain their fury. Children have very high pitched squeaky voices, save the karaoke for the car ride home. 

3. Your child should NEVER EVER end up in the kitchen. I am not looking for tiny humans, especially if they are shorter then hip hight. Sharp knives, boiling water, gas stoves, scalding hot food, wet floors, naughty language. Not the place for a child. Jesus why do I even have to explain this?!? WHY IS THIS EVEN A THING!? 

Bottom line, if your kids butt can’t stay on the seat and feet remain on the floor they should not be with you, get a sitter. WE ARE NOT FUCKING BABYSITTERS! I get it, everyone deserves a night out with the family. But if you can’t control your children, don’t take them to a place where they could get hurt. Go somewhere kid friendly, somewhere with a play place where they can burn off that energy. 

Why the fuck do I even have to explain this concept? Guarantee the people who are going to get pissed about this are people who have never worked in a restaurant before. Kids can be kids, just not in a restaurant, shits dangerous folks. Trust me even adults get hurt.

The demon 

Chef bee  

Surviving the Saturday shift, tales from behind the expo line. 

Phones buzzing, it’s the alarm again, I have to get up I have hit snooze twice already! Christ. I glance at the time, if I get up right now that means I have 15 minutes to get ready, out the door, grab a cup of liquid energy large enough to get me through the day. Wait. What day is it anyway? Oh. Shit. It’s Saturday. This realization suddenly causes my heart to skip a beat, I’m wide awake now! I pull on my good old beat up chef pants lace my pink sneakers and I’m out the door. 

Some time later I arrive at the pub, grande coffee with a splash of half and half plus a double shot of espresso. I need to be on my A game tonight, no time to be tired. I brace myself, if tonight was anything like Friday night, we are going to get smoked hard. I force the back door open (damn thing is always sticking) and make my way into the lovely inferno which is both my heaven and my hell. The moment I am through the door I am greeted by boisterous hellos and good mornings, smiles all around. It’s good to be home. The lunch rush hasn’t quite started so I settle in, apron tied and 3 towels hanging off (Saturday’s are always 3 towel days), grab my favorite pink “clicky” marker, stick it in my hat and wait for the sound of the ticket machine. It’s the sound that haunts me every waking minute of every day and somehow even finds me in my dreams at night. 

I find the boss man and give him the run down of the night before. The front played flip the restaurant on us all night so ticket times were a little long, only one re-fire, but a little more on the waste list then I would have liked. Boss man is a good guy, this restaurant is his baby, but he knows deep down my boys and I have it. We had a rough close, but that’s about all he had to say. I look out over the dining room, it’s almost full but we have no tickets, maybe I should………. Before I can finish the thought both printers start spitting orders at full capacity. Battle stations the lunch rush has begun. My morning call guy Kram and Shrek begin firing off orders on the back line while Brohommad, and Boss man begin firing off the pie orders. Then there is me, right in the middle of it all, on expo line. I snatch up tickets as fast as they come in and sort them out between two rails, one for back sauté/grill/fry and the other for pies, this system keeps me sane, it might look like more work then it should be but trust me, I have a system. Hot food starts hitting the windows, gloved hands at the ready I make the plates presentable and throw them up into my expo window and mark what I have so far with my favorite clicky pink marker. I call for runners, and to my surprise I only had to call once. Good, this means we have enough servers on the floor and they are about making money tonight. Hopefully I can make their tips increase a bit by shooting out these orders as quickly as possible. Back line starts to get backed up, but with a little help from the prep crew we are back to full speed in no time flat. The lunch rush begins to taper off a little bit and I find myself enough time to do the log book, temps, re-stock expo line, grab extra dishes, make a note of the soup of the day on a piece of tape and stick it up in the server alley, smoke my e-cigg, small talk with some of my favorite lunch servers, and prep cooks. We still had a few tickets that would come in every few minutes, but it was so steady that the ship kind of steered itself. I checked the schedule and made a mental note that my boys would be rolling in around 4 to get ready for the dinner rush. It was nearly 3:30 already so not much longer now. 

My morning crew packed up for the day and took off just around the time my boys were getting in. Of course there was me, everyone’s favorite expo/night manager, Shrek (who was pulling a double with me)on sauté, boss man, BJ who was night call/ grill guy, Dennis on my fry/salad, Stretch on…well stretch, Pops on oven, and Farquad on topping. My boys. My crew. Our weird little family. It was relatively quiet, which was scary, silence on a Saturday night does not bode well. Everyone stocked up, and prepared for battle against the hunger of our patrons. 

4:30pm we are informed of the nights reservations for parties. 16 at 6:30, 10 at 7, and 8 at 7:30 (monologue inside my head: why the fuck did we take a reservation for a party of under 10? AHHHHHHHH they are probably going to drop all of those tickets on us at once and it’s going to be hell. I wonder how long we are going to be on a wait for tonight. Okay back to reality now.) oh look! The servers are rolling in! Oh thank you sweet baby Jesus my favorite servers are all working tonight! Saves me from screaming for food runners all night long. 

My girl Tiffy has a surprise for me, OMG A NEW PINK CLICKY MARKER!!!!! Mine was running out of ink, I have had it since opening night and now it was time to retire the old one to the expo drawer of wonders. Everyone is full of smiles, jokes, and even the occasional song off-key. It’s like filling up the gas tank before a long drive. 

5:00pm. The dining room fills up quickly and tickets seem to be pouring in even faster. The sound of wood popping in the oven, wine igniting a hot pan, and of course the ticket machine fill my ears drowning out the sounds in the dining room. We are steady and pushing through like champions, no re fires, nobody forgot to ring anything in (yet) no on-the-flys, food looks great everything is fine, still smiles and jokes (so far).

6:30pm total hell breaks loose. 1 hour wait at the door, 16 top drops, then an 8, 10, another 8, a 5, a few random 1 or 2’s, another 10…. Damn it I’m out of room on the rails, “just let the tickets hang in the printer boys! One order at a time, don’t get lost.” I’m elbow deep in the weeds, and for some reason orders are ringing in with a lot of extra special prep on them. 

Gluten free? (Internally screaming) you can get a salad, burger with no bun, risotto, potatoes, applesauce, and water. God damn it! I just told you what the soup was! Check the note in the expo window! Fuck! Where are my food runners?! I just pulled your ticket out of the printer why the fuck are you asking on an ETA? Get the hell off my line? Yes I can run back to the cooler? READ YOUR GOD DAMN TICKETS I HAND YOU BFORE YOU RUN OFF WITH FOOD THAT ISNT YOURS!!!! NO YOU CANT HAVE THAT ON THE FLY! WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY WANTED SAUCE ON THE SIDE WHY DIDNT YOU SAY SOMETHING EARLIER!!!! (My feet hurt, I’m hungry, do I have homework due today? God what time is it anyway?) 

5 hours later…… 

Okay boys, good job tonight, do your outs. Yea, see everyone on monday. Have a nice day off. 

*gets in car* glad that’s over.

Until next time

Chef bee 

Holy s**t I’m getting married!? 

That’s right folks, the girl who lives out of chef pants and sweat pants, can’t be bothered to fix her hair (it’s going under a ball cap anyway!), has no idea how to keep the house clean for more then 5.7 seconds is *gasp* going to become a bride! 

From the moment we got engaged, there was a flurry of questions. Who? What? Where? When? What time? How many bridesmaids will you have? What flowers are you going to want? OMG THE DRESS WHAT ABOUT THE DRESS?!? Then there is me…. “I wonder what kind of food I’m going to serve, beef wellingtons? Lobster?  Should I do a 6 course meal? Or an 8 course meal? What can I do for my vegetarian friends so they don’t miss out?” And then there is always “well of course I am making my own cake!!! Are you out of your gourd?!” that’s right ladies and gentlemen when everyone else is worried about everything else, my mind is focused on the food. As well as the fact I get to register at Willams-Sonoma. 

But the fact remains, I get to marry my best friend and how cool is that! The person who makes me laugh the most, laughs at my dumb jokes, has nerf gun fights with me, and makes me feel like a princess even after I have worked a double and come home smelling like onions and hate. I think I could really get used to this. 

My mother, God bless her, is taking the front with the important planning. She understands how my brain works and can make the fantasy in my head come alive. Without giving away the few details we have managed to put together since setting the date, all I can say to you is it is going to be magical. Pull your jaws up off the floor because I will be wearing the prettiest wedding dress ever (eventually, when I find it of course). Hey even lady chefs need to feel pretty sometimes! 

But until the day comes when it’s all figured out I am happy and content dreaming up 8 course meals, a beautiful cake that’s so delicious it would bring a tear to the eyes of any michalan star chef, and of course figuring out the difference between taffita and silk. What? I have to make save the dates? Wait, I need to figure out a seating arrangement? No my guest list hasn’t been finialized? Marriage certificates? Name changes? Insurance? Okay, so this might be a little harder than I thought. 

Ahem. Excuse me I think I smell something burning, and I have to get ready for restaurant week sooooo we will come back to all of this later. 

Soon to be 

Mrs. Chef bee