a butcher, a baker, a candle stick maker

I feel very lucky to have a partner that pursues his passions with fervor.  Barbeque? Got the smoker, got the cookbook, it has been perfected.  Pasta making? Multiple cookbooks and six hours later and we have 42 servings of homemade pasta in the freezer.  Going wine tasting? We've got the names, the map, and the printout of all wine prices before leaving.  Okay, that one might have been me. 

Latest obsession of Chris? Bread making.  Ahh, bread making.  Who doesn't love fresh baked bread? The smell, that first warm bite.  Chris REALLY loves bread, and more than that the challenge of bread making. 

Round 1:  Late August.  As all foodie challenges begin, Chris was watching a bread making episode of America's Test Kitchen.  Crusty white bread.  As kids who grew up on wheat bread, we love love love some farm style white bread.  It was great.  We proclaimed, "THE BEST BREAD EVER MADE!" 

Round 2-3: Attempts to make the previously mentioned bread lighter.   Still tasty, however not lighter.  Following these two loaves I thought perhaps I was gluten intolerant.  Then I realized I should probably include something besides bread in my diet.  Cured.

Round 4: We discovered an amazing blog...foodwishes.blogspot.com wear the Chef provides video recipes.  Viola! We made REAL, LIGHT, WONDERFUL Ciabatta bread! BEST BREAD EVER MADE! We decided to include some vegetables in our diet this time around with bruschetta from our garden tomatoes and basil. 

And then I lost track.  Since this time, we've had at least 6 loaves of bread including light farm style white bread that was not dense  (Again-best bread ever made!), oatmeal bread, and more ciabatta bread.  Today is his first attempt at multi-grain bread.  I'm sure it will also be the best bread ever made. 

Did I mention we had to buy the 50 lbs. bag of bread flour from Costco?

Mambo Italiano

I am lucky to have an occasional day off in the middle of the week.  I would be really lucky if that meant I didn't have to work the weekend as well but whatever. 

Quite often, Chris comes home from work to find me covered in flour, unshowered,  and probably sweaty after cooking all day.  Lucky guy, my husband. 

Most recently, I decided to make lots of food, Italian food.  Homemade gnocchi, butternut squash ravioli, and veal ravioli.  I'm not sure what the hell I was thinking, but it was fabulous. 

And I promise I did take a shower that day, I just didn't look like it by the time Chris got home. 

chez ambrose

Conversation at our house tonight:
Me: So let me get this straight. As your wife, I'm in charge of buying the birthday cards, making all the appointments, paying the bills....What are you in charge of?

Chris: Finding the deals.

Ah, my husband. Just keep him away from the coupons.

Adventures in Camping...

I am lucky I have a husband that loves camping and knows how to do it. I am also really lucky my parents never forced us to camp a day in our lives. Beach cottages and hotels were more our style.

Early in our relationship, camping came up. It's cheap, you get to enjoy the great outdoors, you're out of cell phone range. It's good in theory, right?

Somehow we never made our first camping trip until this weekend (almost 3 years since the first discussion). And it's probably a good thing that Chris didn't experience me in the wilderness pre-marriage, otherwise I can't guarantee he'd have met me at the altar. When we decided to venture to the Idaho/Montana border this weekend, I had one stipulation...we would be eating hotdogs and poptarts. Chris also had one stipulation-we would only go for one night. We shook on it.

Our trip involved moving campgrounds once (thanks to bear warnings and no tent camping) and lots of whining. It was really cold. And the ground is surprisingly uncomfortable. I probably slept three hours and must have looked quite the princess with my ear plugs and sleep mask. Needless to say, camping was not my favorite activity.

Ah, the silver lining...the first thing Chris said to me this morning, "I'm too old for this sh*t."

addiction

I'm embarassed to comment on my recent addiction. I wish I could say it was my first, alas-I cannot.

I'm addicted to the history of the British Monarcy.

It all began with instant streaming of the showtime series "The Tudors", which explores the life of Henry VIII and his reign as king. This is not my first rodeo with the Tudor family, with whom I became intrigued following the reading of the "The Other Boleyn Girl".

I spent last evening reading the official website of the British Monarchy for at least two hours. Unfortunately for my husband, I am blessed with a photographic memory and I spent the rest of the evening reciting British trivia.

I've been consistently dreaming of 16th century court. I've set up 8 hours worth of recordings following Prince William and Kate Middleton's marriage. I keep telling Chris that this is a healthy obsession. I could be smoking crack for God's sake.

Tonight, he became a co-dependent by setting up several movies surrounding the British Monarchy into our Netflix queue. When I asked if we should watch another episode of the Tudors (Anne Boleyn is close to death afterall), he replied, "As you wish, my lady."

Uh-oh. We're all in trouble now.

What day is it anyway?

It's winter in Spokane. Just when I thought spring was peeking her nose out, we got a foot of snow. I'm ready to strangle that damn groundhog. The days go like this: Wake up. There's a little bit of sun. Feeling good, all I need is a fleece. Lunch time: One of my patients comments on the weather. I look outside for the first time all day. It's surprisingly overcast. Approximately 2.3 seconds later there are snow flurries. Afternoon: Leaving work, heading to the gym. Snow showers. The parking lot at the gym is like a snow marsh, and consequently my feet are wet and I'm unhappy. Heading home: It's now rain/snow mix. My yummy taco dinner originally panned sounds terrible and all I want is beef stew.

The days are running together. I literally have no idea what day it is.

Hawaii T-19 days.

Haha. We're even.

This week, Chris and I marked yet another adventure in married life-the combining of the cell phone plans. We have now combined bank accounts, I have changed my name on nearly everything (except my email, which I'm never giving up), and jointly filed our taxes (well, Chris did that. I provided moral support). When we strolled into AT&T at 4:30 Monday afternoon we had no idea it would be so emotionally exhausting. (Duhn-duhn-DUHN).

Chris decided he wanted some super fancy phone that we had to order ahead of time. We had discussed that he would keep his phone number, which he'd had for a few years and still involved a Bellingham, WA area code. Great, I thought. I never want to change my phone number. I am the only person I know who has had the same phone number since 1999. My phone number also bore the badge of the 775....that of northern Nevada, my home sweet home.

After at least 20 minutes discussion of discounts, phone plans, and a little bartering on Chris's part (I just walk away--can't handle the pressure), the lovely associate informed us that Chris can't keep his phone number. What-what-Whaaat? Um, not what we discussed. Apparently, because I am the name on the account, and this account was opened in Nevada, it is considered a different market. Consequently, either Chris needed to switch to a Nevada number, or we both had to switch to Spokane numbers (and close and re-open the account to do this).

Chris casually mentions how it makes sense for us both to switch our numbers, since we live in Spokane. I comment that I've had the same phone number for 12 years. He says it makes no sense for him to change to a Nevada number. I nearly shout, "I changed my name!" And I'm pretty sure every person in that store mumbled under his breath, "Mmhmm, that's true." I looked at Chris's face and noticed the sweet expression of defeat.

He is now a (not so)proud member of the 775. I know it's a big step for him. But at least he didn't have to go to the DMV.