Couples Who Cook

First comes love, then marriage, then . . . a restaurant? Many a Twin Cities eatery is the prodigy of partners in both business and life. Why not? Who is better suited to running a high-stakes enterprise than the person you trust the most? The one who knows you better than you know yourself and can read your handwriting?

A peek into the lives of these restaurateurs reveals much about risk and reward, passion and practicality, trust and independence. Clark Knutson of Pop! says, “If it weren’t for Leslie, I wouldn’t be here,” noting the role his wife and business partner plays in managing their Latin–infused bistros in Minneapolis and St. Paul. This refrain echoes through the kitchens, dining rooms, and bars of lofty white-tablecloth establishments and simple neighborhood sandwich joints. Balancing sense and sensibility, emboldened creativity and the day-to-day grind, requires extraordinary faith and a tough skin. Heidi Woodman, co-owner with her husband, Stewart Woodman, of Heidi’s in Minneapolis, quips, “Divorce? Never! Murder? Yes!"

Like many couples, Isaac Becker and Nancy St. Pierre of the acclaimed 112 Eatery in Minneapolis met at D’Amico Cucina’s bar. The difference is they were working, she as a server, he as a chef. On the job when others play, playing when others work, the two shared Isaac’s vision of being restaurant owners early on. His mom spied 112’s space in the storied Amsterdam Building; the couple designed and remodeled it with the help of friends. When it opened in 2005, their second child was but nine months old. “I like to say the baby was planned, the restaurant wasn’t,” says Isaac.

“Sure, it can get tense,” Nancy says. “But we believe that each of us is doing the best he or she can. We don’t criticize each other. We divvy up our responsibilities. It just works.” Isaac runs the kitchen, Nancy the front of the house. “Isaac has fought with general managers, but he can’t fight with me,” Nancy adds. That said, Becker runs his menus by his wife, whose palate and business savvy he considers keenest. Safe to say she deemed 112’s signature sweet-and-sour crab salad and foie gras meatballs can’t-miss brainstorms.

Photo by Steve Henke

Russell and Desta Maree Klein also met while working—at W.A. Frost. Married at the Landmark Center, they held their reception at A Rebours, and in 2007 the space became their new home, Meritage. “I swore I’d never work with my wife,” says Russell, “but now, I’d have it no other way.”

A native New Yorker who trained at the French Culinary Institute under Jacques Pèpin, Russell cooked in Manhattan’s legendary La Caravelle, but, he says, “the events of 9/11 had a way of rewriting my script.”

Desta grew up in restaurants. “Mom, a waitperson and manager, loved the community of staff and diners,” she says. Those values play out at Meritage. “Our clientele is loyal to us and we to them. They are willing to trust Russell’s new, interesting dishes.”

Boundaries, says Desta, are “clearly drawn.” She stays out of the kitchen and, with a firm handshake and wide smile, manages and greets diners. Russell emerges to chat with guests and hear reactions to his food firsthand. “It’s an honor to get to know our clientele,” says Desta. “We love it when our regular diners choose us for anniversaries and special occasions. We are close to our staff. There’s a lot of trust. Good food and wine, great people. We’re not getting rich, but we have a fine life.”

Still, things can get pretty hot in a tiny restaurant kitchen, and it’s tempting to bark at your spouse. “Yelling at each other in front of the staff isn’t good for anyone,” says Desta. She’s come up with the code “Go talk to Parker”—the couple’s dog. “It’s a signal that we’ve got an issue.”

Photo by Steve Henke

“Our staff sometimes jokes, ‘Mom and Dad are fighting,’ ” laughs Gail Mollner, co-owner with Chris Stevens of Blackbird in Minneapolis. Especially when the weather is hot, tempers flare. “But Chris has learned that a lot can be mended with a simple apology,” she says.

They met while cooking at Table of Contents, but left for the steady salaries and benefits of St. Paul city-government jobs. Both soon discovered that the food business had an inexorable pull. “The notion of owning a place just tickled in the back of my brain,” says Chris. Friends suggested the quaint neighborhood space that became Blackbird. Gail works the front of the house while Chris figures out the casual, upbeat menu—fried-chicken-liver salad, house-made gnocchi, walleye po’ boys . . . .

Photo by Steve Henke

Blackbird sits down the block from Stewart and Heidi Woodman’s Heidi’s, one of the Twin Cities’ finest bistros. The Woodmans are refugees of the New York restaurant scene, where the harsh realities of odd hours, financial uncertainty, and physical labor seemed antithetical to a happy family life. He’d worked with Alain Ducasse and had an offer to help Jean–Georges Vongerichten open Market in Paris; her star was rising in Manhattan’s tony Mercer Kitchen. Yet they knew “integrating family and work wouldn’t happen in New York,” says Stewart. They left their promising careers and headed west, seeking sanity.

These days, Stewart gets their two kids off in the morning while Heidi creates pastry, returning before Stewart leaves to fire up dinner. “Stewart’s a pedal-to-the-metal kind of cook,” says Heidi. “He determines the appetizers and entrées. Then I decide what to make for dessert.”

“I love the line,” says Stewart. “It’s a thrill, physical and demanding, and something I’d never give up.”

With its poetic, whimsical menu, the small, gracious place has been booked solid since day one. It’s not been an easy ride, however, with troubles at Stewart’s first two jobs: Restaurant Levain and the spectacular failure that was Five.

“We’ve aligned our expectations,” notes Heidi. Stewart adds, “Our lives are family and work. In fact, if I get home too early, Heidi will ask, ‘Did you get everything done?’ ” The hours are stunning, Heidi admits. “But then, today,” she says, “our oldest son, Isaac, is off school so we went to the park and hit tennis balls and goofed around. It’s Monday, and we’re closed. Stewart is making us all curry. I can’t wait.”

Does juggling two teenage stepchildren, plus three kids ages four, twelve, and fifteen sound like a lot? Then consider that Erin Ungerman and Hector Ruiz run two Latino restaurants (El Meson and Café Ena in Minneapolis). El Meson, like any first child, is quiet and self-contained. Café Ena, named for their four-year-old daughter, is closest to Erin’s heart. “We worked hard on this old space, once a grocery, laying the tiles, finishing walls, and painting it ourselves.” The older kids work in the kitchen and wash dishes.

The couple first met at Prima, where Hector was a chef and Erin a server. Now she manages the front of the house while he cooks and oversees the kitchens. “It’s a roller coaster. Hector is a brilliant, passionate chef,” says Erin, referencing the tamales and moles of his Morelos homeland. “We have our moments when we both want to say, ‘Screw it; let’s go to Mexico.’ But we know that we can’t freak out at the same time. We keep each other in balance.”

Photo by Steve Henke

Pop! is a casual Latin American–spiced bistro in Northeast Minneapolis, which just birthed a sibling in downtown St. Paul. Leslie Knutson runs the front of the house; Clark Knutson designs the menu and cooks. “At Pop! Northeast, we’ve watched couples date, get married, and then bring their kids in,” says Leslie. Having run kitchens in Florida and Arizona and at the University of St. Thomas, Clark knows the business. Leslie knows the clientele. “When you’re in love with someone in this crazy operation, you just get drawn in. It becomes your life.”

Dean Schlaak and his partner, Tom DeGree, own Wilde Roast Cafe, a casual coffee, dessert, and wine bar on East Hennepin Avenue. “Initially, we thought this area would be a gay ghetto,” he says. “But the other night, I watched a male couple snuggle on the couch. Nearby a young man and woman were flirting, sharing chocolate cake. I thought, ‘Mission accomplished.’ ” Wilde Roast serves morning coffee, casual lunch, and wine at nightfall. Its desserts have been featured in Bon Appetit. Tom teaches at an environmental center in Afton, but fills in on weekends and helps with marketing. Dean sees to the day-to-day operations. A skilled craftsman, he remodeled the space himself. There was a time when a gay couple owning a restaurant together seemed radical, Dean observes. “But as the minister at our commitment ceremony said, ‘Love is radical.’ ”

Photo by Steve Henke

Grand Café was just a glimmer in the eyes of Dan and Mary Hunter when they left Faegres two decades ago to become private chefs. When Bakery on Grand became available, they jumped in with both feet, risking everything. Mary refashioned the space into the “most romantic dining room in the Twin Cities,” said one critic. Though a fine cook herself, Mary defers to chef Jon Radle, who has garnered attention for dishes of local rabbit, duck confit, and house-pulled burrata. Dan, a skilled carpenter, executed the remodeling and bakes remarkable breads. Their two children, an older daughter and son in his teens, pitch in. “Sometimes he’s skateboarding through the kitchen,” Dan quips. The family vibe is not just frosting, it’s the “cake,” says Dan. “We all care so much about the place and each other. I’ll find a cook here on his day off checking to see that the pickles aren’t overbrined. Several of the wait staff have shared their grandmothers’ recipes with us.”

The transition from Bakery on Grand to Grand Café was especially smooth, Mary says, thanks to Jessica Anderson, who with her husband, Doug, sold the operation to create A Rebours, which is now Meritage. The Andersons moved on to open Nick and Eddie off Loring Park, a Euro-chic space that lends itself especially well to casual late-night eating with a bar menu of Swedish meatballs, buckwheat blinis, and chicken hash that goes into the early morn. Jessica is co-owner with chef Steve Vranian, while Doug works the room. “It’s not unusual for someone to order a hot dog and a great bottle of wine,” he says.

“We’ve been through all the highs and lows,” Jessica says. “This business dishes out daily lessons in humility. You learn to guide without hanging on too tightly, to be flexible, to be gracious.” Pastry chef-and-now-boss Jessica says of her new role, “I have to be careful and not get too cheeky. Back in the kitchen, we get pretty rough. It’s all blood and knuckles. Out front, I’m calm and friendly.” The Andersons’ teenage son, Joe, works as a busboy while his younger sister, Doone, makes a mean French onion soup, says Jessica.

Photo by Steve Henke

One legendary local restaurant couple is now sadly incomplete. “We all owe much to Molly and Tom Broder,” notes Stewart Woodman, who relied on Tom for advice in balancing business with joie de vivre. Tom died last summer. Molly now works closely with her eldest son, Thomas, and his wife, Annie. “They are full of energy and ideas,” she says. Her other sons, Charlie and Danny, work there as well.

The Broders founded Broders’ Cucina Italiana several decades ago after traveling through Italy and studying in Bologna. They introduced us to handmade, fresh pasta, real focaccia, and extra virgin olive oil. Tom’s pizza was truly Italian. “Not the Midwest stuff with cheese that slides off like a slab of linoleum into your lap,” he would declare. They created Broders’ Pasta Bar across the street over a decade ago. With their cured meats, bold cheeses, and heavenly sughis, the Broders continue to inspire and educate.

“It’s a business that offers so much to a family,” Molly says. “We’ve been able to travel with our kids, introduce them to different cultures and interesting people. And they’ve learned about business.”

She has also provided work for her sons’ friends over the years. “So many moms have thanked me,” she says. “Working in a restaurant, the boys learn accountability, service, punctuality, presentation. They learn to talk to people, and they seem to have fun.”

Years back, a teacher asked young Charlie Broder’s kindergarten class what their parents put out for Santa on Christmas Eve. “Gingerbread men and cocoa,” said one student. “Spritz cookies and milk,” replied another. “A glass of Vin Santo and biscotti,” said Charlie.

Lucky Santa; lucky us.

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