Good evening, friends and neighbors.

This last week has been exciting and stressful for me on a number of different levels- personal and professional, across both my day job and the BHB. It gets so easy sometimes to get “lost in the noise-” become so overwhelmed that you feel like your are doing everything, when you are really doing nothing. Nothing, at least, toward what you really want to do.

Especially during times like this, it’s tempting to want to compare yourself to others. It’s easier to give in to envy and anger and self-doubt than to confront your challenges sometimes.

Recently, I’ve been able to pull out of a bit of a slump.

First though, we’re going to talk about my friend Carrie.

Carrie is a friend of mine and another baker who graduated culinary school about the same time I did. She is an extremely gifted baker and cake decorator. One of the teachers at the school put in a recommendation for her to work at a well-known local cake studio. She did extremely well, and through another teacher, she is now spending her second spring and summer working in a restaurant in the French Alps, and is currently vacationing in Spain.

Carrie is a good friend of mine. She leaves my decorating skills in the dust.

She works in a fascinating place that I have never been to, surrounded by natural splendor, loves the people she works with, and the work she does.
I envy the HELL out of her.

For someone like Carrie, it’s easy to look at her accomplishments, grumble, kick the dirt and mutter that she got a bunch of lucky breaks. She knew her teachers, her teachers knew the right people, they got her an in, etcetera.

This kind of thinking does Carrie, and talented people like her, a MASSIVE disservice. What’s more, it demonstrates an incredible consequence of comparing yourself to others- defeatism.

The old saying goes that “Luck is when preparation meets opportunity.” It’s not so much how the coin lands for you, it’s being ready to do what’s needed to make EITHER way the coin lands work out best for you- and that takes skill, planning, dedication, and hard work. 

Yes, Carrie DID get in her current position through a string of connections. Untold, however, is that Carrie:

– worked several years in a restaurant.
– worked very hard at culinary school, demonstrating impressive skill and knowledge that earned the admiration of her teachers and fellow students.
– showed enough character and determination that her teachers felt that a recommendation for her would not reflect badly on them.
– worked/works long and hard at these jobs to demonstrate that their faith is not unfounded, and making her an asset to her employers.
– made numerous sacrifices and hard decisions in all aspects of her life.


To write all of that off and just say she was “lucky” is insulting and, frankly, bullshit. Carrie was prepared, so when the opportunities came, she could reach out and seize them. She earned what she got.

In comparing ourselves against others, we rarely take into account everything a person has done that we HAVEN’T seen, or isn’t obvious. You can’t know the stories and motives behind every persons life.

Which is why it’s vital, if you are going to succeed in anything, DON’T COMPARE YOURSELF.
You have to follow your own plan and your own motives.
You have to make your own luck.

As I said before, I’ve been having a tough week. Thoughts and worries about how to move my career forward, how to build and improve on the BHB, what my next steps should be, and so on whizzed around my head like angry hornets.
Plenty of friends, family, and other well-meaning folks offered advice, suggestions, resources, connections, and more, but all of it seemed to be help for Step 3, 4, 5,7, and 12 when I wasn’t even sure what Step 1 should be.

I was lost in the noise and burying myself in daily minutiae, stagnating.

I compared myself to other apparently successful people, grumbling and envious.

Then, one night, after a talk with my girlfriend, I realized what my problem was-

Mise en place.

I may or may not have covered this before, but “mise en place” is French for “everything in place.” In the kitchen, it is having all of your ingredients right in front of you, in the forms you need them, in the ORDER you need them, before you even think of mixing anything together.
Mise en place is the motto, the creed, and religion of the kitchen.

The mise en place for my life was utter crap.
I didn’t know what Step 1 should be because I HAD no steps. Everything seemed so monumental and difficult, because I was looking at it as ONE BIG HONKING THING.

I looked up, saw the whizzing thoughts and worries around my head, and made them line them. I put them in priority order, and just looked at one thing at a time.

You know- some of the decisions I’ll be making still look really damn worrying and scary, but they are a scary I can manage now.

Once you organize yourself and break things down, things rarely look quite so confused and nerve-wracking as they do at first.

As another old saying goes, “When the ‘why’ is clear, the ‘how’ is easy.”

Stay clear, and 

Stay Classy,

Good evening, friends and neighbors! I apologize for the week of silence- the reason why will become clear momentarily.
First, a couple of my favorite food quotes:

“What does cookery mean? It means the knowledge of Medea and of Circe, and of Calypso, and Sheba. It means knowledge of all herbs, and fruits, and balms and spices… It means the economy of your great-grandmother and the science of modern chemistry, and French art, and Arabian hospitality. It means, in fine, that you are to see imperatively that everyone has something nice to eat.” – John Ruskin

“The fact is, I love to feed other people. I love their pleasure, their comfort, their delight in being cared for. Cooking gives me the means to make other people feel better, which in a very simple equation makes me feel better. I believe that food can be a profound means of communication, allowing me to express myself in a way that seems much deeper and more sincere than words. My Gruyere cheese puffs straight from the oven say ‘I’m glad you’re here. Sit down, relax. I’ll look after everything.’ 
– Ann Patchett, “Dinner For One, Please, James”

In a previous entry, I discussed (likely at annoying length) my feelings about what hospitality means- the welcoming of guests in one’s house, and kindness to the stranger at your door. In a way, I feel that charity is another form of hospitality- perhaps a different definition of the same word: giving of oneself to make others comfortable.

A while back, a friend of my family asked if I would donate some baked goods to a meeting of the Red Door Society, the donors group for Gilda’s Club. For those who don’t know, Gilda’s Club is a support group for people with cancer and their families. This includes meetings and workshops for those with cancer, cancer survivors, caretakers, and even an arts-and-crafts activity group for children. The organization was started by famous Saturday Night Live comedienne Gilda Radner and her husband, Gene Wilder. Gilda was diagnosed with (and eventually succumbed to) cancer, and the couple established the organization on the belief that no one should have to face cancer alone.

Obviously, I said yes. You may have seen the pictures of my creations for that event on the BHB Facebook page (because you’ve liked the BHB on Facebook, right?)
If not, here they are- Red Velvet Doors, and Mocha Brownie Bites!

     After I finished setting up, my friend invited me to hang around and meet some of the donors. All in all, it was a fine little party, and I’m glad they enjoyed the pastries.

     That’s not what this blog is about though.

     Towards the end of the night, a few members of the group were invited up to share their stories. A woman told about how scary it was for her and her young family when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. Gilda’s Club doesn’t ask a penny of any of it’s members, and the woman talked about how she no longer felt alone in the fight, her husband learned what to expect in caring for her, and her children could talk about everything and have fun at “Noogieland” (the children’s programming.) Every evening, all the programs would break for about 15 minutes, and everyone would convene in the kitchen area to snack, talk, and chat for a bit.

     Even in the terrifying face of cancer, the Irish proverb is true: “Laughter is brightest where the food is.”

     That night, I met the CEO of the local chapter and asked about donations. They are a non-profit organization, and start off each year with a budget of $0. Everything-  EVERYTHING- they provide to their members FREE OF CHARGE, is donated or paid for with donated capital.

     “…It means, in fine, that you are to see imperatively that everyone has something nice to eat.”

     “‘I’m glad you’re here. Sit down, relax. I’ll take care of everything.'”

     Not being an especially wealthy man, I asked if they accepted donations of baked goods. The answer was an emphatic “YES.” Those 15 minute breaks the young woman had mentioned always involve food- usually donated, occasionally cooked in-house.

     I asked her if she’d be terribly opposed to a few dozen cookies or a cake appearing on the table every week or so, courtesy of the Black Hat Bakery.

     I guess I’ll be a little more busy now.


     I get to bake and try out new recipes.
     The food gets eaten and enjoyed, by people who wouldn’t mind having something else to smile about.


     That’s about as big a win-win as I can think of.


     Whatever you can do for something you care about, do it.
     Give money.
    Offer your time.
     Bake cakes and cookies and give them away.

      Hospitality doesn’t just happen at home.



Stay Classy,

Good evening, friends and neighbors.

There is a strain of sub-culture that is common to almost every physical field of work- masochism and martyrdom.

When I was an EMT, it was common to hear the older guys compare stories of calls they’d been on- heroic things they’d done, crazy stuff they’ve seen, and so on. Even more common were stories of injuries.

“… shredded the tendons in this elbow.”
“… ripped apart both knees.”
“… my back sounded like popcorn.”


And so on- folks comparing and bragging about “cutting their teeth”, “taking their lumps.” Physical proof of their toughness, and that they’d been there, done that.

The culinary world is no different, and even a little darker- just because of the people who find themselves there.
Let’s face it- the culinary world has always had its arms open to the freaks, misfits, rebels, and weirdos. If you’ve got passion, it doesn’t matter if it’s a healthy love or a full-blown psychosis- just point it at the food, and try not to kill anyone.

After college (and earning a few lumps as an EMT,) I finally focused on my passion for food. I had already been indoctrinating myself in the lives and works of chefs like Anthony Bourdain and Marco Pierre White.

These were the rockstars of my little world. They were famous. They did what they loved, and screw the naysayers.
They were misfits and rebels, like me.

I’m fairly certain I’m not psychotic, but I would definitely say I’m a good fit for cooking. In school, I was picked on. I was chubby, had a stutter, read a lot, played NO sports, and I had braces AND glasses. After finding my tribe (music geeks, nerds, and artists) in high school and college, I took pride in my misfit status- and I wanted to let it shine.

Not just shine. I wanted to wear it like a badge.
I wanted to transform it into a tank, and smash through everything and everyone that made me feel worthless before.
I wanted to rub it in the face of the whole world and yell, “SEE THIS?! YOU SEE THIS S**T?! THIS IS WHO I AM, MOTHERF***ERS, SO BITE ME!”

Very few of my classmates in culinary school HADN’T read Bourdain’s “Kitchen Confidential” and drank in every grungy drop of it. Wanton sex on dumpsters during service. Walking into a new job and finding your staff assembling guns in the walk-in. Mid- and post-shift drinking, and drugs drugs drugs drugs drugs to make Hunter S. Thompson look like a choir boy.

A rockstar lifestyle, with gourmet food.

As soon as I joined the professional culinary world, though, I saw the pattern- the same I’d seen as an EMT. People showing off their scars from wayward knives, burns from hot sheet pans and oil splashes. Stories of friends (or even themselves) succumbing to the stress of the life and burning out- through drugs, alcohol, or any number of risky behaviors.

All part of the life, I was told. This crazy rockstar life.

No, my friends. Just, no.


I’d mentioned Hunter S. Thompson earlier- here’s a bit of his wisdom: “The Edge… there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over.”


Cooks and bakers are artists, and artists are passionate people. We seize upon things at a very deep, visceral level. Often, it can lead to genius and ecstasy. 

Sometimes, madness and isolation.

Sometimes, somewhere much darker.

In recent interviews, Anthony Bourdain has explained his misgivings about Kitchen Confidential- the book that brought him fame. He has since distanced himself from the badboy rockstar of his early years, and has mentioned that he’d be pleased if those years could just be forgotten by the world.

I have read articles by chefs and other culinary professionals who’ve lost friends to the madness, via drugs and alcohol, or who have permanently crippled themselves in an effort to “cut their teeth” and “earn their stripes.”
I’ve been among them, looking down at burns and cuts on my arms and hands with a sort of pride- like they were my own “red badges of courage.”

My friends, this is not the way to go.

Your body- your life- is the best tool you have in your kitchen- and you can’t just go out and get a new one when it breaks. You can’t create and provide for people if you’re too strung out to work.

I have unhealthy habits, and I own them. I drink regularly, though rarely to excess. I used to be a caffeine addict.I also used to be overweight, and in danger of becoming diabetic.

On the other hand, I also exercise regularly. I eat healthier and have lost weight.
Most importantly, I check myself constantly to know when I’m getting too deep- when I need to take a breath and walk away for a moment.
I look forward to a life in culinary- and I’d like it to be as long as possible.

If you see a friend going towards the darkness, don’t let them slide. 
Say something.
DO something.

There are plenty of geniuses in the graveyard, and as I was taught (ironically) in EMT school- “No one needs a dead hero.”

Stay Classy,

     Good evening, friends and neighbors!

     Around two years ago, I had just gotten home from culinary school. My uniform had just been tossed in the laundry, I was in my pajamas, and was clicking around online for something interesting to read when my phone rang. It was my father, and the conversation went like this:

Dad: “Matt, where are you now?”

Me: “Uh… just got home, Dad.”

Dad: “Do you own a tux?”

Me: “Not really… I’ve got a black suit and vest though.”

Dad: “That’ll do. How far are you from (a local country club/ golf course)?

Me: “Um… about 15 minutes.”

Dad: “Meet me there in 20 minutes. Wear your suit. Black tie. Bring business cards.” *click*

After a vague feeling of unease and a mounting excitement past, I followed instructions. I had been losing weight for a few months by then, and my suit didn’t fit. I wound up wearing a belt and doing the “military tuck,” but I looked presentable. 

Cards in vest pocket, I burned rubber to get to the country club.

There were lots of people in tuxes, some of them wearing brightly-colored ribbons and chains around their necks. I handed my car off to the valet (silently embarrassed at the cleanliness of the front footwell), and my dad met me in the vestibule of the main building. He was also wearing a tux, and a purple ribbon and chain, studded with pins. He lead me into the opulent main hall.

There was food EVERYWHERE. A large appetizer buffet had been set up in a round in the center of the room- crudite, baked brie, dips, salads, dressings. 

Waiters were milling around with trays. I heard the words “oyster,” “foie gras,” and “caviar” more than once.

This was fine dining… it was EXPENSIVE dining. On the outside, I managed to stay cool, but in my head I felt like a sinner in church. 

I was a fart in a perfume shop.

I was a warm bottle of beer at a barbecue.

My dad leaned in and muttered in my ear:

“Purple means they’re involved in food. Orange means a chef. Orange with red is head chef, Purple with orange is a chef owner. Go talk.”

Then he vanished. My brain promptly gave up and crapped itself.

That was my introduction to the Chaîne de Rôtissieurs.

The Chaîne de Rôtisseurs (“The Chaîne” for short, pronounced “shen”) is a gastronomy group- the oldest and largest food and wine society in the world, with chapters (“Baillage”, “bailli” plural) all over the world, bringing together people that love to eat food with the chefs that love to make it. 

We’ll get back to tuxedoed, poo-brained me in a bit.

     First established nearly 800 years ago in the court of King Louis IX of France, the Guild of Goose Roasters was incorporated to bring order to the various providers of roasted fowl and enforce measure of quality appropriate to the royal table. 

In 1610, King Louis XIII officially recognized the guild with its own coat of arms, and affirmed it’s responsibility for poultry, game birds, lamb, and venison.

 This position of authority and power was enjoyed for several centuries, thanks to the patronage of the more affluent heads of society. The guild disbanded in 1793, however, due to the loss of that affluent patronage- who had lost THEIR heads in the French Revolution.

One curious point in that long history- around 1787, The Chaîne filed a lawsuit  against a tavern owner known only as Monsieur Boulanger to shut down his business. Previously, food only was available as an incidental to getting a room at a tavern, and if you wanted to serve food, you bought it from guilds (such as the Chaîne.) Boulanger had a thought to open a tavern where you could pay JUST to get food, and not have to stay the night. Since there were no Soupmaking guilds, he served a thick, creamy meat stew that was considered a restorative- in French, a “restaurant.”
The Chaîne almost had the world’s first restaurant shut down, because Boulanger wasn’t buying from them.

Anyway, leaping forward:
In 1950, the Chaine was resurrected as “La Confrerie de la Chaines de Rotisseur” by Dr. Auguste Becart, Jean Valby, “Prince” Cumonsky, and Chefs Louis Giraudon and Marcel Dorin. To represent the new organization, a logo was designed based on the original guilds coat of arms:

Depicted are crossed rotisserie spits, surrounded by four larding needles with a flaming border to represent the hearth. Chains were added to be reminders of the the rotisseries chains- the small inner chain representing the professionals, the larger outer chain representing the wider community of non-professionals- and fleur-de-lis in honor of King Louis, who first incorporated the guild.

The mission of today’s Chaine is simple: to bring people who love good food, wine, and people together with chefs and professionals who love serving them. Simultaneously, the Chaine encourages its professionals to talk, converse, and explore. When a Chaine dinner occurs at the restaurant, they are not interested in the standard menu. They want the chef and his staff to play around and explore. The weird, the bizarre, the rare and unusual- all fair game, as long as they are delicious and go well with wine.

The baillage closest to me, in Atlantic City, is also very active in benefitting culinary education. Yearly fundraisers are held to help local culinary schools, and especially talented students are awarded scholarships- as well as student memberships in the Chaine itself- to help them on with their careers. As cynical as it may seem, the opportunity to simply MEET people who are higher up in the field than yourself, much less sit across a table from them for a few hours, is not one for a young professional to miss. I highly encourage any young sommeliers or culinarians out there to seek them out, or similar organizations. 

Any group that exists solely for people to enjoy food and wine together and give chefs the freedom to express themselves is a force for good in this world, as far as I’m concerned.

Oh yes… speaking of young culinarians, back to Poo-Brained Matt.

There I stood- drink in hand, business cards suddenly very heavy in the pocket of my ill-fitting black suit. Some people seemed drunk. Others seemed bored. Many seemed highly engaged. EVERYONE seemed hungry.

I packed a small plate with crudite and cheese, knocked back a glass of wine, and made straight for whoever seemed friendliest.

Many of the details of that night have faded from memory a bit, but here are some highlights.

• I met a very kind and animated older woman who was the procurer for a wine and liquor chain in central New Jersey. She would later invite me to a beer and wine festival, not usually open to the general public.
• A few drinks in, my dad flagged me over to his table and introduced me to an elegant, soft-spoken gentleman who expressed interest in my baking. I pulled out my phone and babbled my way through pictures of my work for about 10 minutes. The next morning, I realized he was the VP of Food and Beverage at one of the casinos. A few months later, he was my boss.
• At dinner, I sat next to another interesting old man- this one with longer, sort of scraggled hair and a thousand-yard stare. We talked at length about history, food, and education. He turned out to be one of the founders of my culinary school.

The week after, my dad asked if I wanted to join the Chaine.
A few months later, I was a Rotisseur (a student member.)

Last year, at the invitation of Chef Joe Muldoon (the first person to unironically call me “Chef”), I prepared this intermezzo and dessert for the Chaîne at his restaurant, Roberta’s.

A few weeks ago, I became a professional member. Apparently I am the third generation in my family to join the Chaîne- but the first to join as a chef.

I never really thought of orange as my color before.

Stay Classy,