Since you've asked...

Sometimes I find life gets in the way and the things you want to speak and put words to can be too much. It is easier to keep busy and distracted. "You can make plans, but plan on being surprised."

The last time I wrote was way back in early June. I was still living with James, my husband. Shortly after that post, our marriage fell apart, and so did my world for a little while. I put all my time and breath into the business and the girls. It was easier somehow, than dealing with the grief and disappointment of yet another failed relationship. Especially one that became so public. Seems like most of Port Townsend was at our wedding, for goodness sake! But as they say, time heals. James and I have been working at a friendship. He still continues to shop for the restaurant, which I am truly grateful for. That is true friendship to me. Even though our relationship did not work out as a marriage partnership, it has taken another form which works for both of us.

This past week, it being Valentine's, and I was feeling a little sad for myself. Julie, our terrific front end manager & waitress  wanted us to cook Valentine's dinner for everyone this past Tuesday, and there is no doubt in my mind that we would have been fully packed, but my heart just couldn't get behind all the giddy and loving couples we would be feeding and serving. It would just make me feel sadder than I already was.

And then today an "old flame" walked in the door and a mysterious Valentine came in the mail from a secret admirer. Wow, nothing like hitting the jackpot in one day for the old ego!
As flattered as I am by the kind words from the "old flame" I realized that I have so much fear and trepidation around dating and with men in general, let alone being in a relationship anytime soon. There have been days when owning and working in my restaurant has quite literally saved me.

Some of the fear is grounded in "oh shit, single in this town in my 50's!" For those of you who have suddenly become single in your 40's, 50's, or 60's, you know what I am talking about. We love our little town, but sometimes you do not want to live the quote "just wait your turn." Meaning, before long you will have dated everybody, just as everybody else has done. You also want some semblance of autonomy and anonymity. Not gonna happen here. Oh yeah, I tried the Internet and "dating out of town" sort of thing a few years back. Suffice it to say, it was a disaster.

I still think the dog idea is my best bet. A dog will love you loyally and unconditionally. They will be okay with you not being perfect, they will put up with your bitchiness as well as your sometimes neglectfulness. They will just love you because that is what they do best.

So, for those of you wondering what is going on, this post is to set the record straight. Many thanks to Oscar who wanted to know why I wasn't blogging anymore. Honestly, I did not know you all were reading! I also needed to get unstuck from my angst over men, so sometimes, I just need to write it all out, take a deep breathe and begin again.

I promise to write more...

the best job in the world

My daughters. They are teenagers and we are in the thick of it! For as much as this is a blog primarily about food and the restaurant, it is also about my life journey and about the people in my life who teach me. Being a mother is the greatest joy in my life. It is way better than beef short ribs and peach pie! I have 18 years of delicious experiences of the becoming of a mother and the pitfalls, frustrations, and deep love of sharing that role with so many wonderful role models. It is not a job I take lightly, even though at times, I have been a distracted and a busy mother of two bright and lovely daughters.

This being a pivotal year for me; having just lost my own mother, and now, preparing for my eldest, soon to be 18, journeying forth on her own, to become an independent adult. It has been a time of uncomfortable change, for all of us. This transitioning of our souls has been a stretching of the boundaries and our love for each other. And it is time to let the girl fly on her own, but not without some trepedation. It has been challenging raising them in two households. Then add two new stepparents to their lives, add a pinch of resentment, a tablespoon of sorrow, and sometimes the end result is not often what you had hoped for!
I am trying to teach them about showing up to do the work, for being grateful, especially in a time in history when so many have so little, and respecting their elders, teachers, employers, friends, family . . .

The truth can sometimes be heartbreaking. Parental disappointment can either be humbling, or a reason to rebel and hold a position. Either way, change and growth is inevitable when we are all being asked, even demanded, to show up: for ourselves, each other, our community, our world. A hard thing to ask a 15 & 17 year old, but important and necessary.

I cannot predict their future, I can only hope that I have given them great values, common sense wisdom and instilled in them the importance of integrity. They will have their issues as adults. They will probably need some therapy when the sorrow of the divorce conflicts with the relationships they are in. I hope that they will do the work that will heal their spirits. It is a life long journey.

the soul of a chef

I started out in the food business at a very early age. My father owned a burger joint near the high school. I was 8, and it was a fun and exciting part of my life. Picking up donuts early on weekend mornings with my brother and Dad, and off to the restaurant to "help out" on a busy Saturday. I remember being doted on by the high school girls after school, eating french fries at the counter, and spending any quarter I had from my allowance on the jukebox that played all my favorite Mo-town 33's. I bet I was the only 8 year old white girl on the south side of Chicago who could lip-sinc Diana Ross and the Supreme's, word for word!

I can't say that this was my culinary turning point, that came much later, but there was something about my Dad owning a restaurant, even if it was mostly burger and fries, that was somehow very romantic. I suppose if I really knew then, what I know now about the business, I would have fled in the other direction, and never looked back. My ideal fantasy career at 8 was becoming a nurse or a nun. (O.k, I was raised Catholic!) It was quite a circuitous route to the food business, one that has lasted close to 30 years.

When I look back on my resume from the 80's, I think to myself, "where didn't I work?" Never having the opportunity to go to chef school, I went from job to job, chef to chef, and learned as much as I could under some great teachers. And as I learned, I tried to infuse what they taught me into my own style of cooking and teaching. The wonderful gift you get back is what you end up learning from the staff that you think you are teaching. And it is not always the thing that you would expect. Often times the lessons have been in humility and trust. I have been grateful to have had extraordinary folks work side by side with me. And the folks who didn't get the lessons in respect and humility, weeded themselves out the door, sometimes with a not so gentle kick on my part!

But I digress. This story is about finding your soul; what is it that feeds you, in every sense of the word, body, mind and spirit.

Recently, I started cooking dinners again, just on Friday and Saturday nights. That is where I started out almost 30 years ago! It has been like coming home for my soul! Like finding a part of myself that I thought that I had lost, or grown too old for. It has been a creatively fulfilling challenge, and I could not have done it without Laura Forest. She is a bright spirit in the food world, who is already blazing her own trail. She spends most of Thursdays prepping most everything that we will be serving on the menu for dinner. And then on Friday & Saturday nights, she is cooking with me. On most weekend nights, after the dinner service has died down, I am usually decorating cakes for the weekend orders, while Laura is putting every thing away, breaking down the line and cleaning up. Uncomplaining, diligent, and thorough, Laura makes it possible for us to have dinners, even if it is only 2 nights a week, and she and I are putting out some delicious meals straight from our heart and soul. It is folks like Laura who make folks like me appreciate the continual process of creativity and striving for a dream. Someday Laura wants to own her own restaurant, nothing fancy, just small and funky, with really good homemade food, made with love from Laura's hands. I hope that I can help her make that dream a reality, and I hope she does not wait as long as I did!

on mothers and rhubarb

The rhubarb is in season and I am missing my mother. This first Spring without her and her strawberry rhubarb pie. When someone you love dies, there are so many regrets. My regrets are all the recipes of Mom's that I didn't write down, like her pies, her banana bread, and her pound cake. And that is just the sweet stuff. I must have been paying attention since I became a chef and restaurant owner, and I am infused with the love of cooking and baking that my mother gave me.

It has been a cool and damp Spring here in the Northwest. Last Saturday I nearly froze myself at our wonderful farmers market. What made the trip worthwhile was the big pile of rhubarb for sale at Pete & Mary's booth. They own Wildwood Farms and I have been buying great produce from them for years. If fact, there are so many great farmers I want to write about, but that will come later, and especially as the summer hits and I am buying two times a week from the farmers for the restaurant and home.

Anyway, back to the rhubarb! The Husband, bless his heart, carried my two very full bags all through the market. One bag had various greens, handmade cheeses, and free range eggs. The other was stuffed with about 20 pounds of rhubarb. I brought the goodies back to the restaurant. A couple of days later on my day off, I loaded up my milk crate with rhubarb & strawberries from the walk-in. I have been dreaming about Mom's strawberry-rhubarb pie all week. Last night I lovingly cut up the rhubarb and the berries, taking photos so that I could record the step by step process of making a pie. But this is a deeply emotional ritual for me right now. 

So the pie will happen tomorrow. For now I am remembering and stewing on a lifetime of experiences involving rhubarb. Like the foggy image of being a little girl in my grandparents garden, playing & hiding in the rhubarb. This was the Midwest, so the leaves get quite enormous, probably big enough to bundle a big baby in. My grandmother taught me to eat the rhubarb raw, dipping it in sugar. What a great early taste-bud memory; the puckering tartness of rhubarb mixed with the gritty sweetness of sugar! And then there were the pies, every early summer, Mom's unbeatable crust, surrounded by the sweetness of fresh strawberries, intermingled with the sublime contrast of the rhubarb. And sometimes just the rhubarb from the garden turned into a warm compote and spooned over vanilla ice cream! Mmmmm.

Last May 5th, The Husband's mother Anne turned 90 years, and loved rhubarb as much as me and my Mom. For Anne's birthday dinner, my Mom made the last rhubarb strawberry pie she would ever make. We lost both of our Mother's a month apart this past summer. They say the first year is always the hardest when you lose someone. So this is my first Spring without my Mother, and her pies.


So when I make that pie this week, it is a tribute to her, Regina, my Mom. The bitterness and the sweet, the loss and the love for her, the strawberries and the rhubarb.

eaters who write, people who eat

I received the dearest letter today; dropped off in person at my restaurant door. The bearer of said letter had been in the week earlier for dinner with his wife, celebrating their anniversary. It was not one of those usual charming thank you notes, but a type written letter on what was probably an old electric Smith typewriter, long before spell checker was invented. The letter reminds me of Hemingway, that stark bravado style of writing, clipped sentences, packing a punch with each word. I have to say, the letter made my day. It was fierce food writing at it's best and simplest, with a nod and wink from an older gentleman.

I have to admit, this man could be the next big food blogger! He describes my food in the most "oh so sexy" terminology. There were phrases that almost made me blush. When describing the server who waited on them, he used the word "legs-a-plenty." I was giggling in the car when I read the letter, actually worried that it was one of those "constructive criticisms" letters from a disgruntled eater. And, it's not that I get a plethora of those letters. Mostly I receive the nice gushing notes of appreciation, but I really do try and learn from those letters that aim at hitting at the heart of the disturbance for the eater/writer. It takes guts to write a letter voicing your less than perfect dining experience, and I appreciate the writer's courage when they can give me some insight in how we can do a better job. This is the humbling side of being a restaurant owner; when you own your faults and mistakes, and learn from them, and do a better job the next time.

So to all you avid letter writers, note senders, and yelp bloggers out there, a humble thank you for keeping me on my toes, for acknowledging us when we are hitting the mark, and for coming back and giving us another chance when we sometimes stumble. Amen.

the spiritual and culinary journey of a restaurant owner

On April 2nd I celebrated ten years of owning my restaurant/bakery. It was a momentous day, many people showed up at the cafe to give me hugs, flowers, sing happy birthday, and receive yummy birthday cake from me. It was quite moving and humbling. It is about damn time I am putting this down on, err, paper, so to speak. I have so much to say! What a journey and crazy ride I have been on.

So now it is time to honor all that I have learned and continue to learn and have some fun with it.

Here's the deal . . . I love to make food, I love to grow food, and I love to eat food!

Since I have been obsessed with food my whole life, being raised by my mother and grandmother, two wonderful cooks, it is no wonder that I have made it my business for the past many years. No, I will not tell you how old I am. Suffice it to say that I am on my 3rd marriage, raising two teenage daughters, and still run and cook in the only restaurant I have ever owned. Enough said. What really feeds me, excites me, and fulfills me is cooking for my community, whether it is giving little Fin and Rennie, the neighbor kids, a chocolate dipped shortbread cookie, and relishing the looks on their little faces, or cooking an elegant bistro dinner for a table of 8 on a busy Saturday night, I am living my passion!

I am lucky. No, I am really fortunate and blessed. I live in this small town where I pretty much know at least half of the folks who live here on a first name basis. It is quaint, creative, quiet (come by at 9 at night during the week!), and provencial in a lovely way. I am surrounded by sea and can see two mountain ranges when I stand in the middle of Lawrence St. It is a lovely place to raise daughters and live a more simpler life, even if I often work 60 hours a week. At least I can walk home from work at 11:30 at night, look up and see a million stars and listen to the coyotes. It is not Paris, it is not Chicago (where I grew up), and it is not Lincoln Nebraska. It is a sweet corner of nirvana in the great northwest, turn right and go to the end of the road, and that is where heaven is.