The Cult of Pastry


“Lovers and madmen have such seething brains,
Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend
More than cool reason ever comprehends.
The lunatic, the lover and the poet
Are of imagination all compact:
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold,
That is, the madman: the lover, all as frantic,
Sees Helen’s beauty in a brow of Egypt:
The poet’s eye, in fine frenzy rolling,
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;
And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen
Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.”

– A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act V Scene I

At the end of his own weird and raunchy comedy A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Shakespeare lets us in on his own thoughts regarding passion and madness. Passion, Creativity, and Insanity are the coin of the realm in culinary arts. The work of food writers, celebrity cooks, and media like The Bear parade our damage for the public and make us heroes, horror stories, characters, and even martyrs when we die.

I don’t think for a second it’s somehow undeserved. That’s the part of our lives that kitchen veterans miss and swap stories about. What some people think needs to be done about- or with- that passion, however, has me wondering. How to do you temper, train, guide, and coordinate that kind of raw passion and madness? History would tell us we need to be like the military. Owners and executives who spend more time owning and eating in restaurants than actually making them work tell us we need to lead and manage like a business or a factory- possibly one that turns Dirt into Diabetes.

Personally, I think that the answer to leading and managing cooks is to stop seeking “employees” as much as finding acolytes.

Long shot of a stone hallway in a medieval cathedral
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Curiosity and Humility- The Not-So-Secret Weapons of Leadership

When you work in a restaurant, experiencing growth in your skills or knowledge is often a humbling but pretty neat experience.

Imagine for a minute you are a capable chef. You’ve been at it for awhile and a couple cooks reporting to you. You’re not in charge of the restaurant, but the executive chef trusts you to work their will and keep the team performing. You’ve got techniques in your hands and recipes/formulas you trust to get the job done.

One day, one of your cooks- younger or maybe just newer- looks at a method and recipe you just handed them and says, “Hey, why do we do it this way?”

In a moment, a wave of responses flash through your mind: “That’s my method. Who does this little shit think they are? Kids these days are so fucking lazy… that’s the way we’ve always done it…”

You might feel enraged, exasperated, or at the very least annoyed… but there’s something else behind it all. We don’t wanna look at it. We can’t always afford to honor or accept it, so we spend a lot of time pushing it down or numbing it.

Doubt. Doubt and Questions.

It can seriously suck to feel Doubt when you are so used to the meritocracy of the kitchen. Doubt is the mind killer. Doubt is the little death that brings total clusterfuckery. You can’t afford the time or space to doubt.

But, in a moment, you realize “I never asked that question… I just did as I was told.” You look at the cook and finally say “That’s the way we do it here… why? Do you know another way?”

Maybe that cook suggests a method you know (from your knowledge and experience) won’t get the result you need. “We roast the squash rather than steaming because we don’t want the added moisture in the recipe.”We coddle the eggs so they won’t be so cold the butter seizes when we add them to the batter.”

Maybe they don’t and it’s an honest question. It seems like a wasted step. It seems redundant. In all your knowledge and experience, you can’t explain why that method is so important. “It’s the way we’ve always done it…” it made sense to someone some time ago and no one’s ever been bothered to check their work.

That’s where the growth happens. You either figure out the reason, or you figure out it HAS no reason and it’s a waste. In a meritocracy, you are judged by what you accomplish and are capable of- not what you were, who you know, or how long something as been done your way.

By choosing Curiosity and Humility over Hubris, the answer is found. Dispassionate and clear as a failed sauce or a botched bake. It’s either “this is why’ or “this is a waste.”

Curiosity weaponizes Doubt against itself. Curiosity is powered by Humility. We can’t know everything, or everyone’s experiences.

For me, Curiosity and Humilty are crucial to leading well. If my staff are watching me and hoping to see their future in the field, I need to show them that asking questions and having doubts are good.

They need to see that even the pastry chef, with knowledge and experience, still has a lot to learn and can even learn from them. It’s been a tenet of mine for a long time that if one of my apprentices comes up with a new way to do something that renders a better product, does a job more efficiently, or both, that’s how we do it now. My ego takes a backseat, and if it turns out there’s a problem with that new method, we all learn why.

Imagine what you will learn when you admit you don’t know everything.

Stay Classy,

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Too Much “Stuff?” Stop Wanting It.

I spent a good chunk of today looking for a candle.

It wasn’t just for a candle though. I went shopping for some clothes today, and I intended to pick up a scented candle for my new desk because I have apparently become a guy who likes having a nice candle burning near me when I write. I don’t really know or care if its aromatherapy, meditative, or vibes- it feels Nice and Good and Right for the Desk, so when my little lavender-scented candle burned out, I said “Time to get another.”

I grabbed the clothes from Target (if you catch me in a fancy brand of clothes, assume I got lucky at a thrift shop) and realized I wasn’t going to find the candle I wanted. All the candles that smelled good at all were way too big or pungent than I needed. I wanted it to be low-profile and not to distract me while I was working. Since Emily had come with me and was doing her own shopping, I resolved to just wander around and look for a little something extra for myself. New pins for my collection and little bags of gummy candy are my usual weaknesses and “treats” when I’m out shopping.

After walking through store after store in Clackamas Mall, I came out empty-handed and okay with it, which was an interesting moment in and of itself. Somehow, I’ve gotten to the point where I like looking at “Stuff” and thinking about it, but not getting it.

The things I want, need, and that stick with me I will get, and I will happily eat the cost. After losing my white summer hat, I had very few qualms about dropping $112 for a new, authentic Panama hat. I don’t mind shelling out for a bottle of whiskey that calls to me or that I think I’ll enjoy. Good things cost money.

Somehow, though, the kid who used to collect stuffed animals, Transformers toys, mint containers, tea, and eventually teapots has gotten past the need to have things just to have them.

A wall of similar, multi-colored stuffed animals arranged by color.
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How To Live Forever

If you would not be forgotten, as soon as you are dead and rotten, either write things worth reading, or do things worth writing.’

– Ben Franklin

You don’t get to decide whether or not you are a mentor. Your apprentices decide that when they determine whether or not they can learn from you- and the absolute greatest feeling on Earth is when your apprentices succeed.

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Making Meaning with Sauce on the Side

Like so many culinarians, I found belonging and sanctuary in the kitchen.

I am just one of a community of artists, craftsmen, lunatics, madmen, and misfits who Found My Tribe. We are passionate, angry, opinionated, and utterly devoted to Food and Dining in and of themselves arguably beyond notions of “customer service.” Serving Customers, though important, is debatably an (important) afterthought compared to the effectiveness and quality with which we just Make Things For People To Eat.

Our belonging is anchored by shared experiences, shared knowledge, shared idiosyncrasies and lingo, and our personal capacity and skill sets. In absence of anything else, I belong in any kitchen I am in because my knowledge, experience, skills, and ability to carry hard give me the right to belong.

Sanctuary,” on the other hand, is different for everyone. In general, most of the cooks I know (myself included) are terminal workaholics who fall in and out of rehab constantly. We know we shouldn’t work as many hours as we do as hard as we do. We grouse and complain about hoping to get sent home early, but we’ll be first to insist that “as soon as we look away, everything goes to hell.”

The truth is that the kitchen for many of us is not just “work”- even though we’re more than happy to get paid for our labor. The kitchen is where Everything Has A Reason and Everything Make Sense, including and especially us. It’s a space where order is established and it’s an order we know and understand well. No one has to tell us what we’re there for or what our function is after a while. We can lose ourselves in the dance of a busy service, julienne celery, or rolling seemingly endless loaves of bread. We see and feel our meaning for that day in our hands.

Close up black and white photo of a man’s hands. He is dusting them with flour in front of his black apron over a piece of flatbread he is about to work on.
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