mocha rum cake and deadly road rage

There was a man in a silver sedan that almost wrecked me and my car last night…not even my car really.  He was angry, and probably not even at me.  On the bright side of things, my mocha rum cake turned out fantastic. 

Maybe the angry man would like a piece of cake…

marxist shapeshifting aliens

I made 700 biscuits today, I know i added the extra zero up there…but it did feel like 7000.

I am so tired…every time I reach a new level of tired i think that it can’t get worse, and then I step up to a new level.  Is it ever going to end???  I’m sick of complaining….thank god no one else sees this blog.  Because i’m sure others are sick of it too.

It’s hard lately not to let the shit get me down.  I have avoided talk radio successfully for a few weeks now.  My usual standby’s of Glenn Beck and Laura Ingraham were whisking me away into a very depressing and doubtful place.  I know that what they rant about is reality…and a warning…but I think I’ve reached my threashold of reality.  I’m weaker than I thought.  Unfortunately I have an incessant need to have ‘my ducks in a row’ as my mom would say, and uncertainty and a lack of planning makes me, well, CRAZY!  Owning a business when a socialist snail oil salesman is headed for the oval office is scary.  And paying four times the amount for wheat flour when you are making 700 biscuits is scary too.  The disgusting intolerance of logic in Washington has lead me to believe that we have been taken over by marxist shapeshifting aliens.  If you look at San Fran Gran Nan closely…well it makes you wonder!  Oh and let’s not forget the forbodable Maxine Waters and her oober slip of the tongue….’socialized…what i mean is….the government is going to take over and run your companies.’.  You crazy nutjob!  Whether you call it socialized, nationalized, bastardized- whatever- it means the same damn thing!  When the government sits across from American Industry and tells it “You are not running industry properly, We’re going to take over”, that would be anti-capitalism…socialism……whateverism.  It’s all the same. 

The day that left wing nut comes to my door and tells me how to make biscuits will be the day she gets a swift biscuit in the face.  There should be a warning label on the footage of that comment: “Caution: May cause racism”.

 

no rest for the weary, but there is a cookie

I just landed a gig making the entire dessert menu for a restaurant downtown.  I am in love with this restaurant.  I arrived early the other morning for a tasting and meeting with the chef and owners, and as I waited for everyone to arrive I took the liberty of wandering around. Oh how I love to wander.

As you step through the back gate you can hear the clanging of a few pots…maybe water running too.  A few voices here and there.  There are birds making rediculous amounts of noise.  The sun is barely up..These are the signs of a good morning.  Upon opening the door there are a few people bustling around in chef coats.  I hate when chefs wear chef coats…but when the guy who is actually cooking your meal to a new level of perfection is wearing one, well- he’s the one that should be wearing it.  Kitchens have a morning smell…the gas from the stoves, herbs and produce having been pulled out of the cooler, french roast coffee brewing…and clean people.  I’ve always loved the smell of clean people…I’m so painfully odd.  When you walk by someone and they smell like Irish Spring…it’s not a turn-well it’s just simply nice.

I’m greeted by smiling faces (the coats).  I find that if you smile big and say ‘good morning, how are ya?’ the response will pick you up even out of you worst day.  I didn’t even know these people, and it had that effect.  I’m always amazed at how the oldest and smallest restaurant kitchens are the ones that pump out the most impressive food.  Three or four talented guys in the back…creating enchanting plates with the bare minimum.  Something so artistic and bad ass about that.

As I make my way from the lowlights of the kitchen into the dining room, white sunny light envelops me.  Each table is draped in white and dressed beautifully with water and wine glasses and shiny, shiny silver.  The big windows let in beautiful morning light and show off the waterfall and foliage outside.  This building is more than 70 years old, and all I can wonder is how many people have enjoyed meals here- how many important conversations have taken place here? How many marriage proposals? How many break ups?  How many affairs?  How many business deals have been concocted at these tables, and how many people have sat back after a long day and said…”That was so good”. 

This part of Food has become so commercialized, and now it’s so trendy and bad ass to be in this industry.  But how many people look beyond the kitchen and really want their dish to make someone’s day?  What the hell is the point if it doesn’t?  Anyone put something on a plate that will be consumed without a complaint, but why not try to make it something that makes them stop the conversation at the table, and say ‘this is so good…’  We have to eat, there’s no way around it.  And at ten bucks for a dessert plate..why not make it memorable every time? 

My dad knew a drummer once that tried to make himself sick of playing the drums.  He played for something like 4 or 5 straight days.  He still loved it, and makes his living playing the drums today.

I have been completely emersed in the world of baking for what seems like a really long time.  I leave one kitchen and go to the next (sometimes three in a day…) and I’m so tired…and everything hurts.  But I am not yet sick of baking- tired of the other stuff necessary to keep my business going…but never baking.