It started with a dropped steak, a good cry, and a night finished with a good sandwich
Five years ago, I was a sous chef working seventy-hour weeks at a restaurant in downtown Phoenix. I loved the heat and the pace and the way a perfect plate could change someone's whole night. But I was tired of cooking for strangers. I wanted to cook for people who mattered.
Then came the anniversary. I bought the good wine, lit the candles, and proceeded to destroy dinner. The steak slipped off the grill into the dirt. My sauce separated. I was crying into a dish towel when my partner walked in.
They looked at the mess, looked at me, and smiled. "Hey bae," they said. "Let's just get a good deli sandwich." A good deli sandwich is my ultimate favorite thing, anytime, any day, and they knew it.
We ate by candlelight, still in the nice clothes I'd insisted we wear, with the good wine and a sandwich that tasted better than anything I'd planned. Somewhere between the first bite and the second glass, I realized the magic was never in the perfect execution. It was in the intention.
That night, BAE'S was born. The most loving meal isn't perfect. It's personal. And sometimes it's a really good sandwich.
Love, BAE