Who We Are

My wife and I began our story together on an odd first date that took a winding path down Houston streets and eventually ended up where most first dates start: with food. It was far from fancy, and far from good (the now defunct Champps Sports Bar on Westheimer near Kirkwood). The food was predictably unmemorable, but the date certainly was not. It went well enough that there was a second one arranged for the next day, and with what should have been a sign of things to come, it involved the baking of a chocolate cake.

The chocolate cake from our first date, baked again later (and many times since).

The culinary part of our courtship, however, was an evolution. She a college student and I a semi-lost soul in a blue collar job, neither of us had the budget for high end dining, nor were either of our palates ready for anything more "adventurous" than a Pappas restaurant. As we grew up (and, coincidentally, so did the Houston food scene), we developed an appreciation for what food could be. My passion for cuisine had grown so much that I decided to attend culinary school. It was a rewarding experience that grew my knowledge and respect for all types of cultures and cuisine and, most importantly, the people who produce what goes on to a plate. The one thing it didn't do, though, was lead me to a career in the kitchen.

Perhaps the best evidence of our food evolution: These are the "golden tickets" for our dinner at é by Jose Andres in Las Vegas. The meal was Andres' version of Willy Wonka (review coming soon). We had this dinner exactly six years to the day of the aforementioned first date.

I got a glimpse of the lives chefs live, and it just wasn't for me. Too much booze, too little sleep, and too little time for anything else is often what it takes to really excel at this career. I don't intend for this statement to demean chefs: quite the contrary. It speaks volumes to how much passion and sacrifice goes into a truly great dish. These people often give up family and what most people would see as "the American dream" to provide patrons with a memory. To me, that's what a truly great meal is: a memory. Something you can reflect on, think of who you were with and what was discussed, and look fondly back on the plates that set the scene for that moment in your life. I know this may seem overly poetic for something most of us do every day, and believe me I'm not above eating fast food or grabbing a frozen dinner at the grocery store. But those special moments when a restaurant you think will be great delivers, or a restaurant you had no expectation of surprises you, are magical to me. Having said that mouthful, this brings me to where I am now in my culinary odyssey: writing about it. Maybe this is what my education was meant to do. Perhaps it was meant to help me understand some of the intricacy of how the finished products that arrive at a table are conceived and share my perspective. And as my wife will tell you, I've never been one to skimp on the words when a subject interests me, and thus is the case with the food in my life. But, to be fair to the reader, I think it's important to give a bit of a background on my food upbringing.

While I grew up in a household of simple meals, my mother cooked pretty often. I was a picky child, refusing all things vegetable for much of my childhood. I spent my early years on the East Coast and developed a love of seafood at an early age. My parents, sister and I would catch Maryland blue crabs in the summer. Some of my happiest memories are sitting at the newspaper draped table, picking apart crab after crab. Unfortunately this tradition is completely lost on my wife, who has to leave the room whenever The Chronicle gets spread out on our dining room table.

Our dining room table, Fall 2011

As I grew up and invited more vegetables in my life (still no broccoli, please) and more types of cuisine (Thai? Yes please! Indian? Mmm hmm), it broadened my horizons on what food could and should be. I'm willing to open myself up to the unconventional, and this has lead to some great, and....interesting, results. My father is your classic meat and potatoes. He and my sister have taken to (affectionately?) referring to me as Chef Snooty because, unlike my father, I am still open to what things could be. Don't get me wrong, my father is an exemplary role model on most things, but I can look at a menu and pick exactly what he will order before we get to the restaurant.
Anyhow, think of me as Chef Snooty if you wish, but I like to think I appreciate good food in all forms.  I've been fortunate enough to eat food from Michelin-starred chefs (Keller, Ducasse), Top Chefs (Blais, Gillespie), celebrity chefs (Flay, Lagasse), James Beard winners (Andres, Tyson Cole) and New York institutions (Peter Luger's). But I am just as happy chasing a food truck (hello Bernie, wise fries please Coreanos) or making what I see as the Texas version of a religious pilgrimage to the new temple of barbecue being produced by Aaron Franklin. Shoot, give me a slice of that brisket any day over what I've eaten from Colicchio.

Franklin Barbecue, July 2011

The one constant in my food evolution has been my wife. We've taken this path together, and almost all of my food memories include her. This is why we're starting this blog. Food is a passion, and I think we're in the right city at the right time to be treated to some unique dining experiences. As for her, well...I'll let her tell you.