Adventures in Dining - The Stories of a Private Chef

Well, hello there. Thanks for stopping in.

Let me tell you what this is all about. I am a private chef in Chicago, and have been in business with my husband for the last 3 years. We have experienced so many funny, sad, amazing and crazy things in people's homes that we simply have to share them. We have often joked about writing a book in about 20 years, when we are officially retired, however, technology these days begs to be a tool to share our escapades.

We specialize in private restaurant -style experiences in the privacy of the client's home. And it is those dinners for two, four, even sixteen that are some of the most interesting events. However, don't discredit the larger cocktail parties, which are more a study in odd and often alchohol-influenced human behavior.

But, I will also share recipes, photos, and weblogs when I can!

So, stay tuned...

We live in a 1920's Chicago bungalow...a dwelling not particularly known for a large kitchen. Ours is maybe 12 feet by 14 feet and packed with as many major appliances to make our culinary lives as easy as possible. I am always walking into client's kitchens without every really knowing what I am walking into...I am often told "my kitchen is small". Small equals what our kitchen at home is.

Until the day we walked into the smallest kitchen in the world.

I booked a private dinner for two with " Mary" - (you should know that the real names of clients are altered to protect them...and me...) as a surprise birthday present for her husband. She and I spent weeks putting together the perfect menu that incorporated his likes and steered clear of his dislikes. Finally, the day came.

We loaded up the china, silver, linen, glassware. We had selected a perfect bottle of wine to complement the dinner, and we arrived to Mary's home. She was as giddy as a school girl - I think because she had pulled one over on her husband, or maybe because I gave her a great deal on the event. Hard to tell.

So, we walk into the home, and are directed to the kitchen - the room of doom. I have honestly never seen anything so small in my life - to include the kitchen of the sailboat I lived on for 4 weeks. The kitchen was about eight feet by six feet. Seriously. (I didn't think that was even possible) There was a stove, fridge, single sink and about 3 feet of counter space on which sat the biggest microwave I have ever seen. Thusly, my 3 feet of counter space was severly reduced to about 13 inches. No problem, I say (whilst I am thinking "you must be freaking kidding me!" In the kitchen was the dining room table and 6 chairs.

Mary had asked my if this kitchen would be okay, "after all, it is a bit small". No, really? I hadn't noticedI looked at my husband and whispered "they can't eat here...I need the table for prep and plating" My husband dutifully sought out another location for their private dinner - at the suggestion of Mary, it ended up being outside on the picnic table.

Meanwhile, I am getting to work - as Mary's daughter is following my every move in the kitchen. Now, picture this, if you will...in this confined space the size of a bathroom, being followed so closely by a 16 year old that you can feel her breath on your neck. She just wanted to video tape everything that I was doing. When my husband came in from tablescaping the picnic table, he did his best to remove the teen from my area. She, however, kept coming back...until I just fed her.

The dinner went as well as it could - not one of my better evenings, for sure. I was just grateful that my husband packed a bottle of wine for us to drink during the evening...

Mary disappeared after that dinner...apparently she and her family were planning to move to Georgia or something. Not really sure. Just one of those "one hit wonders", I guess... not that I would embrace the opportunity to return to the room of doom anytime soon.

.

Yikes...my favorite <not> client... EVER. Let's call her Desiree, and her husband, Grant.

Desiree entered my culinary life shortly after we began the business. A realtor, albeit apparently not a very good one, she was wanting to "try us out" since we had mailed flyers to her office (I had worked with mortgage brokers and realtors in Miami, and was happy with the relationships I had - those Miami realtors made so much money when I lived there, they were more than happy to hire me as often as possible)

So, Desiree wanted to do a romantic dinner for two as a surprise for her husband for their first anniversary. She insisted on a bottle of Dom Perignon - no problem - and wanted to ensure that all his favorites were properly represented...lobster, catfish, chocolate. Okay, easy. Desiree and I worked on the final menu, back and forth, until it was right. Then, she wanted to meet us in person to "make sure we were acceptable" What the heck does that mean, anyway?? Regardless, we went to her office to meet her, and within 1 minute were back in the car on the way home. We had arrived to her office with licensing, certificates, essentially able to show her anything she needed to verify that we were a legit company. However, she didn't want to see any of that...she just wanted to see US. It was very weird to say the least.

The day of her dinner comes, and we arrive to her townhouse on the southwest side of the city and are greeted by her babysitter. My husband and I unloaded our wares, climbed the stairs to the second floor of the townhouse to the kitchen. I prepped, as he tablescaped. Desiree comes home, changes into something more celebratory, and then Grant arrives. He takes one look at my husband, who is standing by the front door with a glass of Dom, and is genuinely confused - moreso by the fact that a 6 foot tall bald stranger offering him alchohol is standing in his doorway. Grant comes upstairs, and its "Baby, you got me good...real good" as Desiree yells "Happy Anniversary"

Is this the only thing Grant says all night?

Yes.

All through dinner.

After each course. After each sip of champagne. After every 4 bites of food. "Baby you got me good" The man apparently was incapable of speaking other than those 5 words. All. Night. Long.

Once dinner was finished, and we had cleaned up, Desiree than decided that she needed to inspect the kitchen to ensure that it was cleaned to her satisfaction. I couldn't believe it, yet I was strangely amused. Meanwhile, Grant finally stops with the "baby you got me good" crap and actually asks us questions about how we got started and such. He seemed genuinely interested, though Desiree seemed bored with us at that point. (I think she was just looking to relive her wedding night all over again, if you know what I mean)

Eventually, the evening was over... was that the last we heard of Desiree? oh, no...no, no no...

Baby, you got me good.