Couples Who Cook

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.”