I hope you spend tonight safely, spookily, and loaded up with enough pumpkin and chocolate that you can’t possibly forget to VOTE.
This blog post is coming to you from my rocking chair, where it is about noon and I am still in my pajamas. This is because I have had a hell of a week, and I am getting an aggressive masterclass in How To Just Chill The Hell Out- because the five holes in my torso need to heal, and will not be denied.
As such, I have been sleeping a lot, listening to a lot of music and podcasts, and even awoke the Dread Owl from its slumber… so here’s what’s been on my mind.
If you had told me a year and a half ago that I’d be second-in-command in my bakery, I would have asked what the hell went wrong.
Well, obviously COVID did, but that was only part of it.
So far, my current employment has been where I could say my most “traditional” career growth has taken place. I started as a morning baker, became a shift lead, and then Production Lead- the right hand of my manager who runs the kitchen under the auspices of the owner. My usual station is Pastry Prep (previously considered the position for newcomers and students)- but in addition to my actual production work, my other responsibilities include:
Fielding questions to take weight off my manager.
Training, advising, and assisting the other bakers as necessary.
Troubleshooting problems with production or facilities.
Responding to the higher-ups when the manager is indisposed.
Not to toot my own horn, but I handle all of it quite well, and I feel that the responsibilities I have are well-placed. In the meritocratic lore of the kitchen, this is as it should be- employees develop, rise to the level of their capability and talent, and acquire new power, responsibility, and recognition each time.
What is NOT part of that lore, or mentioned in my own ascendancy, is just how many good people I worked with deserved those roles and recognition more than me, but left for a variety of reasons. How much of advancement in the kitchen is actually meritocratic, and how much is “dead man’s boots?”
“Many men have tried.” “They tried and failed?” “They tried and died.” (from Dune)
The day was already cooler for a Portland summer- way cooler than the oppressive heat wave we were promised for later in the week- and as the sun goes down behind the buildings and hills of the Willamette Valley, it’s starting to just get slightly chilly.
Perfect weather for eating outside and getting a cold beer or two- as long as you don’t mind your face feeling a bit warm.
In the space of a year and change, I have trained ten people in some way at my bakery. Some just to pick up a couple tasks left hanging while I’m gone, others to be assistants and stand-ins so that I can take a day off now and again. They were professionals, students, coworkers, wanna-be lifers. A few were just honestly curious- like the dishwashers that wanted to learn to pipe pate au choux, or the barista with some time to kill who wanted to try a couple recipes for themselves.
A bunch stuck around for a while- some got let go. Every one of them learned something though- and I learned that I’m really good at being a big brother.
Somewhere along the way, I was called the “Uncle Iroh” of the bakery. Not gonna lie, that’s some high praise.
I hadn’t seen the windows of the bar papered up since before they opened. The vinyl logos and graphics had been up back then, but little else indicating that The Nerd Out would be a bar and not a comic book or collectibles shop. Standing outside now, the giant neon logo had since been joined by menus, flyers for events, comic-book inspired graphics for the typical restaurant notices (“Kids welcome everywhere but the bar,” “we welcome everyone,” etc.) and a host of stickers on the door. Delivery services, local clubs, reviewers that wrote about them… and one with a black top hat on it.
I gently knocked on the door. The owner, Mitch, greeted me and ushered me into the Nerd Out for the last time.
The Black Hat Baker 